Francisco.
Next came sharp criticism of the police. No progress had been made finding the killer. The column finished with a suggestion that all young blonde women in San Francisco should arm themselves against a maniac loose in the city, since nobody could rely on the police to catch him very soon.
Wow, Christine thought, that’s pretty volatile writing. Go get a gun and arm myself because I’m a blonde. She finished the article and looked at the photo of Lieutenant John P. Kinsella, who was in charge of the investigation. She remembered having seen him once before on an evening TV newscast one night after the first killing.
She drained the last of her coffee, folded the paper, and reached for her phone. There were people she needed to call today, friends she’d lost touch with recently because she’d wasted too much time with Ted. It was time to start getting herself back into circulation again.
***
Across town, Deputy Chief Martin Connor finished reading his newspaper. Tossing it aside with disgust, he looked at John Kinsella, who was sitting opposite him. “Damn it, John! What is he trying to do now, whip the whole city into a panic? Urging women to arm themselves? We don’t have enough gun violence now as it is, so all we need are vigilantes pulling weapons out at anybody they think is suspicious.” He got up, and began pacing the office. “Talk to me, John, tell me exactly what you have on this guy so far.”
“Still very little, I’m afraid. He’s being super careful. Never leaves any kind of trail behind him, probably also using gloves because there are no prints of any kind at any scene or on anything that belonged to any of the women. CODIS is no use to us - not yet anyway, because there is no DNA available from this guy. And VICAP hasn’t given us any hits either. There are no similar types of cases here or anywhere else where the killer uses a blue silk scarf to strangle his victims.”
Kinsella took a deep breath and continued. “Nobody that we’ve been able to find saw Kelley Grant after she left the deli on Geary Street. Nobody working there that night could remember seeing the guy in the composite either.”
“Not even the cashier, the one who thought she saw Kelley talking with some man at the door?”
“Nothing. She said she never did see the man clearly. She was only mildly aware of Kelley talking to someone as she left. It might only have been somebody holding the door for her. The place was packed.”
Martin Connor made a face and continued pacing. Kinsella went on. “Then with Ann Heald, nobody saw either her or her drinking companion leave the Mark Hopkins Hotel. We checked every cab company in the city to see if anybody picked Ann up that morning at the Mark Hopkins. Again, nothing. So we have to assume she went somewhere with the guy she met.”
“Most likely her killer,” Connor said.
“More than likely, but not positive. We have no solid proof of that. Then we come to Susan Sayles. A waitress at Jaycene’s recognized our composite as the man Susan hit on. But again, nobody actually saw them both leave together. Our guy there went out first. It seems that everybody connected with this case just goes up into thin air. Until we find their bodies.”
He continued. “The waitress, Ellie, at Jaycene’s, told us the guy in question approached another blonde woman Saturday night, before Susan went after him, but he got a brush-off from her.”
“Lucky for her.”
“Ellie also told us he gave Susan a one-hundred-dollar bill, but we never found it. So I guess he took it back. As I say, he’s clever about leaving no prints anywhere. And we still have to consider that Susan was a prostitute. Her death could be either a coincidence or a copy-cat killer.”
“No coincidence, John. And no copy-cat either because nobody knows about the blue scarves,” Martin reminded him.
“True, that’s true. It’s got to be the guy in the bar, but as I say, we are still lacking solid
Next came sharp criticism of the police. No progress had been made finding the killer. The column finished with a suggestion that all young blonde women in San Francisco should arm themselves against a maniac loose in the city, since nobody could rely on the police to catch him very soon.
Wow, Christine thought, that’s pretty volatile writing. Go get a gun and arm myself because I’m a blonde. She finished the article and looked at the photo of Lieutenant John P. Kinsella, who was in charge of the investigation. She remembered having seen him once before on an evening TV newscast one night after the first killing.
She drained the last of her coffee, folded the paper, and reached for her phone. There were people she needed to call today, friends she’d lost touch with recently because she’d wasted too much time with Ted. It was time to start getting herself back into circulation again.
***
Across town, Deputy Chief Martin Connor finished reading his newspaper. Tossing it aside with disgust, he looked at John Kinsella, who was sitting opposite him. “Damn it, John! What is he trying to do now, whip the whole city into a panic? Urging women to arm themselves? We don’t have enough gun violence now as it is, so all we need are vigilantes pulling weapons out at anybody they think is suspicious.” He got up, and began pacing the office. “Talk to me, John, tell me exactly what you have on this guy so far.”
“Still very little, I’m afraid. He’s being super careful. Never leaves any kind of trail behind him, probably also using gloves because there are no prints of any kind at any scene or on anything that belonged to any of the women. CODIS is no use to us - not yet anyway, because there is no DNA available from this guy. And VICAP hasn’t given us any hits either. There are no similar types of cases here or anywhere else where the killer uses a blue silk scarf to strangle his victims.”
Kinsella took a deep breath and continued. “Nobody that we’ve been able to find saw Kelley Grant after she left the deli on Geary Street. Nobody working there that night could remember seeing the guy in the composite either.”
“Not even the cashier, the one who thought she saw Kelley talking with some man at the door?”
“Nothing. She said she never did see the man clearly. She was only mildly aware of Kelley talking to someone as she left. It might only have been somebody holding the door for her. The place was packed.”
Martin Connor made a face and continued pacing. Kinsella went on. “Then with Ann Heald, nobody saw either her or her drinking companion leave the Mark Hopkins Hotel. We checked every cab company in the city to see if anybody picked Ann up that morning at the Mark Hopkins. Again, nothing. So we have to assume she went somewhere with the guy she met.”
“Most likely her killer,” Connor said.
“More than likely, but not positive. We have no solid proof of that. Then we come to Susan Sayles. A waitress at Jaycene’s recognized our composite as the man Susan hit on. But again, nobody actually saw them both leave together. Our guy there went out first. It seems that everybody connected with this case just goes up into thin air. Until we find their bodies.”
He continued. “The waitress, Ellie, at Jaycene’s, told us the guy in question approached another blonde woman Saturday night, before Susan went after him, but he got a brush-off from her.”
“Lucky for her.”
“Ellie also told us he gave Susan a one-hundred-dollar bill, but we never found it. So I guess he took it back. As I say, he’s clever about leaving no prints anywhere. And we still have to consider that Susan was a prostitute. Her death could be either a coincidence or a copy-cat killer.”
“No coincidence, John. And no copy-cat either because nobody knows about the blue scarves,” Martin reminded him.
“True, that’s true. It’s got to be the guy in the bar, but as I say, we are still lacking solid
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