Color Blind by Jonathan Santlofer Page A

No witnesses to either crime.” He paused a second, seemed to be thinking about his next words before he spoke. “Uh, the night watchman at your husband’s building…”He paused again.

    “Yes,” said Kate, flat, unemotional. She had to show him she could handle this. “Go on.”

    “Night watchman says your husband never signed out—which he would have if he’d left after normal business hours.”

    “Yes,” said Kate, taking a breath. “That would be standard. He would have left by midday, if…”

    Brown nodded, then shifted back to the other cases. “Statements have been taken all around. Bronx landlady of one vic, Martinez is her name, couldn’t give us much. She was pretty shook up. We need a return visit there. Lab’s working overtime too, but nothing so far.” Brown rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Worries me that we’re looking at one of those VW guys.”

    Kate knew Brown was referring to the serial killer’s favorite mode of transport, Volkswagen vans. “So you’re thinking he could have come in from Hackensack or Hoboken, stalked, killed, left.”

    “Maybe,” said Brown.

    “But Midtown seems riskier,” said Kate.

    “I agree.” Brown continued rubbing his forehead.

    “Headache?”

    “These sickos always give me a headache.”

    Kate rummaged around in her soft leather bag, came up with a silver pillbox and shook a couple of pills into Brown’s waiting palm. “Extra-strength Excedrin.”

    He washed them down with a quarter inch of brown sludge from a Styrofoam cup that must have been coffee not long ago. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s a puzzle, I can tell you. No prints. No weapons at the scene.”

    “So he brought the weapon, along with those paintings. Which means he’s organized.”

    “Seems to be,” said Brown. “Lab’s going over the paintings with a fine-tooth comb.”

    “What else?”

    “Not a lot, though Tapell’s mobilizing the troops. We’ve got just about every division assisting—Latent, Crime Search, Mobile, General, all the tech services—other than the bomb squad—at our disposal. Scientific is doing workups on blood, seminal fluids—if there are any, though none have appeared, so Sex Crimes isn’t involved—not yet. Saliva ID is doing their thing, but nothing there either.” He let out a sigh. “Our lab’s doing prelims, then everything goes to FBI Manhattan. If they get stuck, they ship everything to Quantico. Of course we’re running the unsub’s MO through VI-CAP and NCIC.”

    Kate thought back a moment: Violent Criminal Apprehension Program and National Crime Information Center. “The computers find anything?”

    “A few things have popped up, but no real match.” He sighed again. “Wish I had more to tell you. You know what time means to a homicide investigation.”

    Brown did not need to explain. The rule of thumb was that the longer it took to get to the bottom of a homicide, the less chance you had of solving it.

    “Word coming down from Chief of Police Tapell is that officially you are here to consult on the paintings—”

    Kate started in her chair, mouth open, about to speak.

    “Relax,” said Brown. “I know you, McKinnon, and know you’ll be all over the case. Just thought I’d remind you of your consultant status.”

    “I can carry a gun, though, can’t I? I’ve still got a permit.”

    “Why?” Brown narrowed his eyes. “You looking to shoot someone?”

    “I just want to feel safe, able to protect myself.”

    Brown looked at Kate, then away. “Tapell appears to want you here, so…”He plucked a couple of case files from the stack on his desk. “Jackets on the first two vics.” He tilted his head at the bloody crime scene photos on the wall behind his desk. “Why don’t you acquaint yourself with the scenes. As I said, we could use a rerun up there.”

    “You want me to start in the Bronx?”

    “It’s just past your neighborhood, isn’t it?”

    “Just a bit,” said Kate. “And