about the condition of her face?” Birley asked.
“Right.” Cushing nodded. “Yeah, she was in bad shape, jaw busted in two places, nose broken, a tooth chipped, a fractured cheekbone, a fractured eye socket.”
“Which one?” Palma asked.
“Uh,” Cushing referred to the report, “her right one.”
“Could he tell what she’d been hit with? Fists?”
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t think so. Maybe something rounded and covered with padding. He didn’t see any serious abrasions or evidence of a sharp edge. Something blunt and padded.”
It was clear to all of them that the intensity of the killings, if they continued, was likely to follow an accelerating pattern. It was a grim prospect.
“Samenov’s photographs will be ready in the morning?” Frisch asked.
Birley nodded. “They’ll get them up here tonight, probably.”
“Okay.” Frisch was thinking, looking at Birley. “Shit,” he said, turning his chair sideways to his desk and throwing a look out into the squad room. He thought about it, ignoring them in his silence, and then said, “Okay, I’m not going to expand this thing. I’m going to let the four of you go after it. Put all your other cases on the back burner and concentrate on getting a handle as soon as possible. I’ll go to the captain when we get through here and tell him what we’ve got and that I’m going to put the four of you on all the overtime you can handle. That’ll piss them off in the chief’s office, but if this thing gets away from us, gets out of control, the bad P.R. would be worse for the department than a drain on operating funds.”
He looked at each of them. “First things first. How do you want to proceed?”
After a brief discussion they agreed to have one of the evening-shift teams follow through with trying to locate Dennis Ackley.
“If they find him,” Palma said, “I want them to call me. I don’t care what time it is. I’d like a little time with him before a lawyer gets in on it.”
Frisch looked at her, and she could see him trying to assess her request. After a moment he nodded without saying anything. She raked her eyes across Cushing, who was trying to decide what she was up to and whether or not he should be there too.
They decided Cushing and Leeland would follow up with Samenov’s associates at Computron, including Wayne Canfield, and try to find Gil Reynolds, Dirk somebody, and somebody Bristol, the bank vice president. Palma and Birley would make another call on Vickie Kittrie after she had calmed down and would talk again with Andrew Moser. They would also canvass the neighborhood and check into the question of the time of the pizza delivery, and make a more thorough check of the house.
“One other thing,” Palma said. She was really stepping out in front on this one. Frisch looked at her again. “I want to get an FBI criminal personality profile on both of these. I’ve got everything I’ll need for Moser—our case report, the photographs, the autopsy protocol and lab reports—and by tomorrow morning I’ll have Samenov’s photographs. I can pull together a case report. And I’ll do the VICAP report for both of them too. If any cases ever justified it, these do.”
Frisch raised his eyebrows in surprised approval. “Good,” he said. “This guy sure as hell qualifies for a psychological analysis. Fine, go ahead.” He looked around at each of them. “I want you to pull out the stops on this one. I’m going to be glued to your supplements, and I want you to feed them to me often. No big lag times. After I brief the captain on this he’s going to be on my tail for updates, and I don’t want to be empty-handed. What comes down, goes down. So help me out.”
8
B ernadine Mello was forty-two. She was wealthy, living with her fourth husband (who was also wealthy, even before marrying Bernadine), and she was delicious to behold. When she had met with Dr. Broussard for her first interview five and a half years ago,
“Right.” Cushing nodded. “Yeah, she was in bad shape, jaw busted in two places, nose broken, a tooth chipped, a fractured cheekbone, a fractured eye socket.”
“Which one?” Palma asked.
“Uh,” Cushing referred to the report, “her right one.”
“Could he tell what she’d been hit with? Fists?”
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t think so. Maybe something rounded and covered with padding. He didn’t see any serious abrasions or evidence of a sharp edge. Something blunt and padded.”
It was clear to all of them that the intensity of the killings, if they continued, was likely to follow an accelerating pattern. It was a grim prospect.
“Samenov’s photographs will be ready in the morning?” Frisch asked.
Birley nodded. “They’ll get them up here tonight, probably.”
“Okay.” Frisch was thinking, looking at Birley. “Shit,” he said, turning his chair sideways to his desk and throwing a look out into the squad room. He thought about it, ignoring them in his silence, and then said, “Okay, I’m not going to expand this thing. I’m going to let the four of you go after it. Put all your other cases on the back burner and concentrate on getting a handle as soon as possible. I’ll go to the captain when we get through here and tell him what we’ve got and that I’m going to put the four of you on all the overtime you can handle. That’ll piss them off in the chief’s office, but if this thing gets away from us, gets out of control, the bad P.R. would be worse for the department than a drain on operating funds.”
He looked at each of them. “First things first. How do you want to proceed?”
After a brief discussion they agreed to have one of the evening-shift teams follow through with trying to locate Dennis Ackley.
“If they find him,” Palma said, “I want them to call me. I don’t care what time it is. I’d like a little time with him before a lawyer gets in on it.”
Frisch looked at her, and she could see him trying to assess her request. After a moment he nodded without saying anything. She raked her eyes across Cushing, who was trying to decide what she was up to and whether or not he should be there too.
They decided Cushing and Leeland would follow up with Samenov’s associates at Computron, including Wayne Canfield, and try to find Gil Reynolds, Dirk somebody, and somebody Bristol, the bank vice president. Palma and Birley would make another call on Vickie Kittrie after she had calmed down and would talk again with Andrew Moser. They would also canvass the neighborhood and check into the question of the time of the pizza delivery, and make a more thorough check of the house.
“One other thing,” Palma said. She was really stepping out in front on this one. Frisch looked at her again. “I want to get an FBI criminal personality profile on both of these. I’ve got everything I’ll need for Moser—our case report, the photographs, the autopsy protocol and lab reports—and by tomorrow morning I’ll have Samenov’s photographs. I can pull together a case report. And I’ll do the VICAP report for both of them too. If any cases ever justified it, these do.”
Frisch raised his eyebrows in surprised approval. “Good,” he said. “This guy sure as hell qualifies for a psychological analysis. Fine, go ahead.” He looked around at each of them. “I want you to pull out the stops on this one. I’m going to be glued to your supplements, and I want you to feed them to me often. No big lag times. After I brief the captain on this he’s going to be on my tail for updates, and I don’t want to be empty-handed. What comes down, goes down. So help me out.”
8
B ernadine Mello was forty-two. She was wealthy, living with her fourth husband (who was also wealthy, even before marrying Bernadine), and she was delicious to behold. When she had met with Dr. Broussard for her first interview five and a half years ago,
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