The Bone Fire: A Mystery by Christine Barber Page A

the need for movement to get his brain working.
    As he began to talk, he thought back to all the research he had read about offenders who committed abductions. “Okay, well . . . killers tend to be in the same racial and social categories as their victims. That means he is a white or Hispanic male, working class. He probably has a history of violence against kids, but this is the first time he’s done anything like this around here or we would have heard about it. That makes him in his early to mid twenties but with a few minor prior arrests. He would need isolation, so that would mean he’s unmarried, lives alone.”
    Joe wrote quickly on the board to keep up with Gil. The profile list now had more than a half-dozen items on it.
    Gil stopped pacing and looked up at the board, nodding. “That’s a good start,” he said. “Okay, let’s move on to motive.”
    “Are we talking about motive for the killing or for making the displays or for abducting her?” Joe asked.
    “That’s a good question,” Gil said. “I don’t know. Are they all one and the same? Did he take her with the intent of making displays with her bones, or did that idea come later?”
    Joe looked at the board for another moment before he said, “I don’t think we know enough about the guy to say for a hundred percent sure why he took her or killed her.” He hesitated before saying the next part. “I mean, I know this is your area of expertise with all that behavior analysis crap, but I feel we should concentrate on why he made the displays. I think they tell us a lot about him.”
    “How so?” Gil asked, already knowing the answer but trying to use it as a teaching moment.
    “Well . . . he didn’t hide her body,” Joe said. It was now his turn to pace around the room. “He wanted her to be seen. Not only seen, he wanted her bones to make a statement. He put time into making that necklace and putting all that stuff into the jars, and then writing those notes. This took a lot of thought, a lot of planning.”
    “So he’s organized,” Gil said, almost smiling. Joe was finally starting to think like a detective.
    “He’s creative, too,” Joe said. “I mean, to him he made something beautiful, something to look at.”
    “He thinks it’s art,” Gil said, picking up on Joe’s train of thought, “and an artist tries to convey emotion.”
    “What emotion is he trying to show with this?” Joe asked.
    “I think it’s guilt,” Gil said.
    “I think it’s pleasure,” Joe said. Gil shook his head. Despite all their theorizing, they were right back where they had been all day. Going over the same territory, still at odds.
    Gil was tired of it.
    Ashley Rodriguez felt the muscles in her stomach tightening in another contraction. The nurse said they weren’t real contractions, but they felt real to Ashley. She was alone in the exam room of the ER, waiting for the doctor to check her. The nurse had told her to wait on the table, but lying on her back was impossible. Her heavy bellycut off her breathing, as if someone were choking her. She had tried to lie on her side, but within a few minutes, her hip and thigh started throbbing.
    She decided just to stand up and walk around the room a little, pulling the IV stand behind her. Her pregnancy with Brianna had been so different, so easy. There had been no false contractions. She had been getting a prenatal checkup when the doctor said something about taking her over to the hospital for some tests. She was quickly taken to an ultrasound room. Blood was drawn. Exams were done. Then the doctor said, “Are you ready to have your baby?” It had taken Ashley by surprise. She was only at thirty-three weeks. She had almost seven weeks left to go until her due date, and she wasn’t in labor, but the doctors seemed so sure. So they gave her something to block the pain, and she had a C-section while she was still wide-awake. As soon as it was over, the nurse asked Ashley if she wanted to