not an issue of contention between them. The phone records showed they spoke occasionally, and Giselle had called him the day before she died; it may be helpful to discover what they spoke of.
Dispatch showed that the call reporting Giselle missing was from a man who did not leave his name but said he was worried about her. It was made at 0600 hours, which did seem an odd time to be making such a call. Upon discovery of the body, Acton’s office was contacted just before 0700 hours because the victim was already in the database as a witness for one of his cases. Acton arrived at the scene shortly thereafter, presumably after ascertaining that Doyle still walked the earth and coming by to leave his note with Habib. There was no indication the caller had ever come forward.
She rested her elbows on the desk and thought about it, staring at the screen. Acton arrived at work early; mental note. She may have to start coming in earlier in the event something came up first thing, like this one—all it needed was for Munoz to be Johnny-on-the-spot one day and take her place. Pigs would fly.
Other than that, there was something not right about the caller. It was too early for Giselle to have been missed by coworkers, and if the man had been a nonwork friend, he would have waited to see if she showed up at work before calling in. In addition, there was no record of a worried friend calling back to check on what had transpired.
Doyle’s scalp tingled. The caller was probably the killer—the forensic psychology people would say some killers enjoy standing among the spectators, seeing the results of their handiwork. Doyle may even have interviewed him, which was a chilling thought, but she did not recall speaking to anyone who was trying to suppress the exaltation the killer must have been feeling. She paused, struck. Again, it made no sense; if it was a professional killer—and by all accounts it was—why would he report the murder? A professional would not have hung around to watch them process the scene. On the other hand, the ex-husband may have killed her and been remorseful enough to want her found before she lay in a congealing pool of blood and brain matter for another day.
She was just starting on an email to Acton when her mobile buzzed—he always seemed to ring her when she was ready to report, which was useful, as it saved her from typing up an email.
“Sir, I was just goin’ to write you. The report was by an unidentified male caller at oh-six-hundred, which is mighty early to be reportin’ a murder. He has not come forward.”
“Do you think it was our suspect?”
“Perhaps. Or the husband, feelin’ sorry for his misdeed.”
“Let’s check the CCTV during the time when the scene was processed for faces in the crowd. And see if Dispatch remembers anything about the call.”
“I did, sir.” She was pleased to have anticipated him this time. “Nothin’ stands out on CCTV; we’ll have to do a face-recognition review. Dispatch remembers she had trouble hearin’ him. There was a lot of noise in the background, as though it was a public phone.”
There was a pause while he was thinking. “I’d like to eliminate the ex-husband; is he at hand?”
“Yes, sir. He runs a pawnshop at Fremont.”
“I’ll meet you at the parking garage, then.”
She rang off, and as she was gathering her things, her mobile buzzed; it was a text from Williams: “RU busy?”
She texted back: “Yes; sorry,” then headed toward the lift. Williams was another DC who worked on Acton’s cases, although he didn’t interact with the chief inspector to the same extent that she did. He had been first in their class at the Crime Academy and was the current favorite of the powers-that-be, including Habib. Williams was reserved to the point where many thought him arrogant, but Doyle knew better; he had offered to help her pass ballistics when she had despaired of it, and she considered him a good friend. Munoz saw him as her
Dispatch showed that the call reporting Giselle missing was from a man who did not leave his name but said he was worried about her. It was made at 0600 hours, which did seem an odd time to be making such a call. Upon discovery of the body, Acton’s office was contacted just before 0700 hours because the victim was already in the database as a witness for one of his cases. Acton arrived at the scene shortly thereafter, presumably after ascertaining that Doyle still walked the earth and coming by to leave his note with Habib. There was no indication the caller had ever come forward.
She rested her elbows on the desk and thought about it, staring at the screen. Acton arrived at work early; mental note. She may have to start coming in earlier in the event something came up first thing, like this one—all it needed was for Munoz to be Johnny-on-the-spot one day and take her place. Pigs would fly.
Other than that, there was something not right about the caller. It was too early for Giselle to have been missed by coworkers, and if the man had been a nonwork friend, he would have waited to see if she showed up at work before calling in. In addition, there was no record of a worried friend calling back to check on what had transpired.
Doyle’s scalp tingled. The caller was probably the killer—the forensic psychology people would say some killers enjoy standing among the spectators, seeing the results of their handiwork. Doyle may even have interviewed him, which was a chilling thought, but she did not recall speaking to anyone who was trying to suppress the exaltation the killer must have been feeling. She paused, struck. Again, it made no sense; if it was a professional killer—and by all accounts it was—why would he report the murder? A professional would not have hung around to watch them process the scene. On the other hand, the ex-husband may have killed her and been remorseful enough to want her found before she lay in a congealing pool of blood and brain matter for another day.
She was just starting on an email to Acton when her mobile buzzed—he always seemed to ring her when she was ready to report, which was useful, as it saved her from typing up an email.
“Sir, I was just goin’ to write you. The report was by an unidentified male caller at oh-six-hundred, which is mighty early to be reportin’ a murder. He has not come forward.”
“Do you think it was our suspect?”
“Perhaps. Or the husband, feelin’ sorry for his misdeed.”
“Let’s check the CCTV during the time when the scene was processed for faces in the crowd. And see if Dispatch remembers anything about the call.”
“I did, sir.” She was pleased to have anticipated him this time. “Nothin’ stands out on CCTV; we’ll have to do a face-recognition review. Dispatch remembers she had trouble hearin’ him. There was a lot of noise in the background, as though it was a public phone.”
There was a pause while he was thinking. “I’d like to eliminate the ex-husband; is he at hand?”
“Yes, sir. He runs a pawnshop at Fremont.”
“I’ll meet you at the parking garage, then.”
She rang off, and as she was gathering her things, her mobile buzzed; it was a text from Williams: “RU busy?”
She texted back: “Yes; sorry,” then headed toward the lift. Williams was another DC who worked on Acton’s cases, although he didn’t interact with the chief inspector to the same extent that she did. He had been first in their class at the Crime Academy and was the current favorite of the powers-that-be, including Habib. Williams was reserved to the point where many thought him arrogant, but Doyle knew better; he had offered to help her pass ballistics when she had despaired of it, and she considered him a good friend. Munoz saw him as her
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