nearly drowned as a kid, and I’ll never forget the sensation.”
Rokov glanced at his partner, and for the first time, she looked upset. However, a tender word would be met with scorn, so he ignored the comment. “She was drowned in one location, brought to the abandoned restaurant, and staked to the ground.” Rokov made notes in his book.
Dr. Henson continued her autopsy with a vaginal examination. For this Rokov did drop his gaze and waited to hear the doctor confirm what he already suspected.
“She was sexually assaulted,” Dr. Henson said.
Sinclair muttered an oath. “Any semen?”
“No. He was careful to use a condom. I would suggest that, based on the damage, he raped her several times.”
A heavy silence filled the room as she finished taking swabs and then covered up the lower half of the body. When Henson pronounced the autopsy complete, the detectives moved toward the door. They pulled off their scrubs, dumped them in a laundry bin, and moved into the hallway.
Sinclair pressed fingers to her temples. “He’s going to do it again.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He went after her like he was on some damn holy mission. And fanatics on a mission don’t stop at one.”
Rokov often played devil’s advocate. “A bad breakup or divorce. Emotions run hot.”
“Hot? Shit. This goes beyond regular anger and frustration. This is crazy-guy behavior.”
“No argument.” Rokov’s cell buzzed. He removed it from the holster, and checked the caller’s identity. “It’s Kier.”
Detective Malcolm Kier was partnered with the senior member in the unit, Deacon Garrison. Kier hailed from the southern part of the state and last year had married Angie Carlson, Wellington’s associate.
Rokov opened his phone. “Rokov.”
“I got your DMV picture. Where are you?”
“Medical examiner’s office.”
“I’ll send it to your phone.”
“Thanks.”
“The magistrate says if the photo matches this victim, you’ll have your search warrant right away.”
“Good.” His phone beeped. The image of Diane Young’s driver’s license photo appeared on the screen.
He held the DMV photo next to the victim on Dr. Henson’s table. Dark eyebrows, round face, full lips. It was a match.
Rokov raised the phone to his ear. “Tell the magistrate the photo is a perfect match.”
“I’ll get the warrant,” Kier said.
He checked his watch. “It’s past seven so the traffic should be gone. I want to search her place tonight. The sooner we catch this nut, the better.”
Chapter 6
Tuesday, October 19, 7:30 p.m.
The detectives arrived at Diane Young’s house just after ten p.m. Forensic technicians were backlogged at another crime scene but had said they’d follow within the next half hour.
Diane Young lived on the top floor of a three-story brick apartment complex in New Market Apartments off Beauregard Street. The three-hundred-plus-unit complex was constructed mostly of brick and had plenty of grass and well-established trees for shade. Located on the border of the city of Alexandria and Arlington County, it had been built in the late seventies and was considered nice and affordable.
A single light illuminated the top level and the metal doors that led to the four different units. Each of the doors had either a wreath or a welcome sign, including Diane Young’s, which sported a piece of stained glass artwork fashioned into a half-moon.
Rokov pulled on his rubber gloves, and then using the master key from the complex manager, he opened the front door. He flipped on the light just inside the front door. He glanced inside the apartment, taking note of parquet floors that led to a galley kitchen, and then to a dining room.
An eleven-by-fourteen painting featuring the sun and the moon hung on the wall just inside the small foyer, and below it a small table sported a basket and a cell phone charger. No doubt, like him, Diane put her keys in the basket and her phone on the charger in the
Rokov glanced at his partner, and for the first time, she looked upset. However, a tender word would be met with scorn, so he ignored the comment. “She was drowned in one location, brought to the abandoned restaurant, and staked to the ground.” Rokov made notes in his book.
Dr. Henson continued her autopsy with a vaginal examination. For this Rokov did drop his gaze and waited to hear the doctor confirm what he already suspected.
“She was sexually assaulted,” Dr. Henson said.
Sinclair muttered an oath. “Any semen?”
“No. He was careful to use a condom. I would suggest that, based on the damage, he raped her several times.”
A heavy silence filled the room as she finished taking swabs and then covered up the lower half of the body. When Henson pronounced the autopsy complete, the detectives moved toward the door. They pulled off their scrubs, dumped them in a laundry bin, and moved into the hallway.
Sinclair pressed fingers to her temples. “He’s going to do it again.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He went after her like he was on some damn holy mission. And fanatics on a mission don’t stop at one.”
Rokov often played devil’s advocate. “A bad breakup or divorce. Emotions run hot.”
“Hot? Shit. This goes beyond regular anger and frustration. This is crazy-guy behavior.”
“No argument.” Rokov’s cell buzzed. He removed it from the holster, and checked the caller’s identity. “It’s Kier.”
Detective Malcolm Kier was partnered with the senior member in the unit, Deacon Garrison. Kier hailed from the southern part of the state and last year had married Angie Carlson, Wellington’s associate.
Rokov opened his phone. “Rokov.”
“I got your DMV picture. Where are you?”
“Medical examiner’s office.”
“I’ll send it to your phone.”
“Thanks.”
“The magistrate says if the photo matches this victim, you’ll have your search warrant right away.”
“Good.” His phone beeped. The image of Diane Young’s driver’s license photo appeared on the screen.
He held the DMV photo next to the victim on Dr. Henson’s table. Dark eyebrows, round face, full lips. It was a match.
Rokov raised the phone to his ear. “Tell the magistrate the photo is a perfect match.”
“I’ll get the warrant,” Kier said.
He checked his watch. “It’s past seven so the traffic should be gone. I want to search her place tonight. The sooner we catch this nut, the better.”
Chapter 6
Tuesday, October 19, 7:30 p.m.
The detectives arrived at Diane Young’s house just after ten p.m. Forensic technicians were backlogged at another crime scene but had said they’d follow within the next half hour.
Diane Young lived on the top floor of a three-story brick apartment complex in New Market Apartments off Beauregard Street. The three-hundred-plus-unit complex was constructed mostly of brick and had plenty of grass and well-established trees for shade. Located on the border of the city of Alexandria and Arlington County, it had been built in the late seventies and was considered nice and affordable.
A single light illuminated the top level and the metal doors that led to the four different units. Each of the doors had either a wreath or a welcome sign, including Diane Young’s, which sported a piece of stained glass artwork fashioned into a half-moon.
Rokov pulled on his rubber gloves, and then using the master key from the complex manager, he opened the front door. He flipped on the light just inside the front door. He glanced inside the apartment, taking note of parquet floors that led to a galley kitchen, and then to a dining room.
An eleven-by-fourteen painting featuring the sun and the moon hung on the wall just inside the small foyer, and below it a small table sported a basket and a cell phone charger. No doubt, like him, Diane put her keys in the basket and her phone on the charger in the
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