to the sudden blackness that threatened to smother him, Mack leaned on the table to keep from passing out or throwing up. It was then that he noticed a ladybug pin sticking in the coloring book. He snapped to awareness as if someone had opened smelling salts under his nose.
“Whose is that?” he asked Dalton, pointing to the pin.
“Whose is what?”
“This ladybug pin! Who put
that
there?”
“We just assumed it was Missy’s. Are you telling me that pin was not there this morning?”
“I’m positive,” asserted Mack adamantly. “She doesn’t own anything like that. I am absolutely positive that it was not here this morning!”
Officer Dalton was already on his radio, and within minutes forensics was back and had taken the pin into custody.
Dalton took Mack aside and explained. “If what you say is correct, then we have to assume that Missy’s assailant left it here on purpose.” He paused before adding, “Mr. Phillips, this could be good news or bad.”
“I don’t understand,” responded Mack.
The officer again hesitated, trying to decide whether he should tell Mack what he was thinking. He searched for the right words. “Well, the good news is that we might get some evidence off of it. It’s the only thing we have so far linking him to the scene.”
“And the bad news?” Mack held his breath.
“Well, the bad news—and I am not saying that this is the case here, but guys who leave something like this usually have a purpose in leaving it, and it usually means that they have done this before.”
“What are you saying?” Mack snapped. “That this guy is some kind of serial killer? Is this some sort of mark that he leaves behind to identify himself, like he is marking his territory or something?”
Mack was getting angry and it was evident by the look on Dalton’s face that he was sorry for even mentioning it. But before Mack could blow, Dalton received an incoming call on his belt radio patching him through to the FBI field office in Portland, Oregon. Mack refused to leave and listened as a woman identified herself as a special agent. She asked Dalton to describe the pin in detail. Mack followed the officer to where the forensic team had set up a work area. The pin was secured inside a Ziploc bag and, standing just behind the group, he eavesdropped as Dalton described it as best he could.
“It’s a ladybug stickpin that was stuck through some pages of a coloring book, like one of those pins a woman would wear on her lapel, I think.”
“Please describe the colors and the number of dots on the ladybug,” directed the voice over the radio.
“Let’s see,” said Dalton, with his eyes almost up to the pouch. “The head is black with a... uhh... ladybug head. And the body is red, with black edges and divisions. There are two black dots on the left side of the body as you look down from above . . . with the head at the top. Does that make sense?”
“Perfectly. Please go on,” the voice said patiently.
“And on the right side of the ladybug there are three dots, so five in all.”
There was a pause. “Are you sure there are five dots?”
“Yes ma’am, there are five dots.” He looked up and saw Mack, who had moved to the other side to see better, made eye contact, and shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate, “Who cares how many dots.”
“Okay, now, Officer Dabney . . . “
“Dalton, ma’am, Tommy Dalton.” He looked up at Mack again and rolled his eyes.
“Sorry, Officer Dalton. Would you please turn over the pin and tell me what is on the bottom or underside of the ladybug.”
Dalton turned the pouch over and looked carefully. “There is something here engraved on the bottom, Special Agent . . . uh, I didn’t get your name exactly.”
“Wikowsky, spelled just like it sounds. Is it some letters or numbers?”
“Well, let me see. Yeah, I think you’re right. It looks like some kinda model number. Umm . . . C . . . K . . . 1-4-6, I believe, yeah, Charlie,
“Whose is that?” he asked Dalton, pointing to the pin.
“Whose is what?”
“This ladybug pin! Who put
that
there?”
“We just assumed it was Missy’s. Are you telling me that pin was not there this morning?”
“I’m positive,” asserted Mack adamantly. “She doesn’t own anything like that. I am absolutely positive that it was not here this morning!”
Officer Dalton was already on his radio, and within minutes forensics was back and had taken the pin into custody.
Dalton took Mack aside and explained. “If what you say is correct, then we have to assume that Missy’s assailant left it here on purpose.” He paused before adding, “Mr. Phillips, this could be good news or bad.”
“I don’t understand,” responded Mack.
The officer again hesitated, trying to decide whether he should tell Mack what he was thinking. He searched for the right words. “Well, the good news is that we might get some evidence off of it. It’s the only thing we have so far linking him to the scene.”
“And the bad news?” Mack held his breath.
“Well, the bad news—and I am not saying that this is the case here, but guys who leave something like this usually have a purpose in leaving it, and it usually means that they have done this before.”
“What are you saying?” Mack snapped. “That this guy is some kind of serial killer? Is this some sort of mark that he leaves behind to identify himself, like he is marking his territory or something?”
Mack was getting angry and it was evident by the look on Dalton’s face that he was sorry for even mentioning it. But before Mack could blow, Dalton received an incoming call on his belt radio patching him through to the FBI field office in Portland, Oregon. Mack refused to leave and listened as a woman identified herself as a special agent. She asked Dalton to describe the pin in detail. Mack followed the officer to where the forensic team had set up a work area. The pin was secured inside a Ziploc bag and, standing just behind the group, he eavesdropped as Dalton described it as best he could.
“It’s a ladybug stickpin that was stuck through some pages of a coloring book, like one of those pins a woman would wear on her lapel, I think.”
“Please describe the colors and the number of dots on the ladybug,” directed the voice over the radio.
“Let’s see,” said Dalton, with his eyes almost up to the pouch. “The head is black with a... uhh... ladybug head. And the body is red, with black edges and divisions. There are two black dots on the left side of the body as you look down from above . . . with the head at the top. Does that make sense?”
“Perfectly. Please go on,” the voice said patiently.
“And on the right side of the ladybug there are three dots, so five in all.”
There was a pause. “Are you sure there are five dots?”
“Yes ma’am, there are five dots.” He looked up and saw Mack, who had moved to the other side to see better, made eye contact, and shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate, “Who cares how many dots.”
“Okay, now, Officer Dabney . . . “
“Dalton, ma’am, Tommy Dalton.” He looked up at Mack again and rolled his eyes.
“Sorry, Officer Dalton. Would you please turn over the pin and tell me what is on the bottom or underside of the ladybug.”
Dalton turned the pouch over and looked carefully. “There is something here engraved on the bottom, Special Agent . . . uh, I didn’t get your name exactly.”
“Wikowsky, spelled just like it sounds. Is it some letters or numbers?”
“Well, let me see. Yeah, I think you’re right. It looks like some kinda model number. Umm . . . C . . . K . . . 1-4-6, I believe, yeah, Charlie,
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