proof. Everything lines up but without that, a case could fall apart, even if we find out who this guy is.”
“What do we know about the scarves?” Connor asked.
“Expensive, French silk, sold only at Neiman Marcus, but not recently. Not in a few years, in fact, from this particular manufacturer. Impossible to track now who bought them and when. So we have to think our guy has a stockpile of them.”
Connor looked surprised. “You mean nobody else sells them?”
“No, not any longer. Not this exact line, since this manufacturer is no longer in business. And Neiman Marcus was the only store here in San Francisco that did carry the brand. I know, it’s just one more weird situation with this case.”
Connor shook his head. “Unbelievable. A psycho stockpiling French silk scarves to murder women with. Have we ever had any other killings like this? What about other jurisdictions, anywhere? Same MO?”
“No, not that we’ve been able to find, and believe me, I’ve run every detail of these killings through VICAP.”
“What about the composite? When do you plan to release that?”
“I’ve called a press conference at three o’clock,” Kinsella said, stopping then for a few minutes before finishing what he had to say. “You know, Kelley’s friends told us that she wanted to meet a new man, a rich guy. Susan Sayles was looking for somebody with money maybe to marry her, poor creature, somebody to take care of her. I think this guy we’re looking for comes across as a class act. I think that’s the lure. Ellie said as much, a very classy guy. And he flashes money around.”
“With his French silk scarves . . . but tell me, how does Dr. Heald fit into that trap? She was a classy woman all by herself and she certainly didn’t need any money. Did she fall for the act, too?”
“Probably,” Kinsella said. “She saw him as an equal, most likely. She was alone, remember, and from what we’ve learned, she was getting over a very painful breakup back in Portland. Her friends and family say she was heartbroken. Then along comes a charming man in one of the most respectable places in San Francisco. No harm for her to strike up a conversation and trust this man. Even the waitress up there said he was charming, that he fit in perfectly. He plies Ann with drinks, gets her very drunk. And I guess you can take it from there. Dr. Heald let her guard down.”
“But where the hell does he take them? Where are they being killed?”
Kinsella looked at him. “My guess? In a car. He gets them into his car and takes them someplace and strangles them, maybe knocks them out or drugs them first, and then he dumps them in an isolated area.” He looked at his watch and stood up. “Martin, I have to get going. You will be joining us this afternoon, I hope?”
“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In his office on Union Street early Monday, Luther Ross-Wilkerson read his morning paper, looking intently at the pictures of the three murdered women. Quickly, he folded the paper up and dropped it into the waste basket next to his desk.
He felt sick. What had he done?
He thought of the woman doctor, Ann, at the Top of the Mark. Oh yes, he remembered how lovely she was. But what happened next? He also remembered that he had gone to Jaycene’s, of all places, on Saturday night. Why in the world would he have gone there? There was a woman he liked who would not give him the time of day. She had rudely brushed him off when he’d tried to talk to her.
But there was another woman, the waitress. Susan, a bold piece of work. Something about her had disgusted him. Why had he bothered with her?
He realized he must have been seen by many people talking to both of these women, although those places were busy and really how many people would have been paying much attention to him? He had gone to both night spots purely on a whim. It had been years since he’d taken Alyson to
“What do we know about the scarves?” Connor asked.
“Expensive, French silk, sold only at Neiman Marcus, but not recently. Not in a few years, in fact, from this particular manufacturer. Impossible to track now who bought them and when. So we have to think our guy has a stockpile of them.”
Connor looked surprised. “You mean nobody else sells them?”
“No, not any longer. Not this exact line, since this manufacturer is no longer in business. And Neiman Marcus was the only store here in San Francisco that did carry the brand. I know, it’s just one more weird situation with this case.”
Connor shook his head. “Unbelievable. A psycho stockpiling French silk scarves to murder women with. Have we ever had any other killings like this? What about other jurisdictions, anywhere? Same MO?”
“No, not that we’ve been able to find, and believe me, I’ve run every detail of these killings through VICAP.”
“What about the composite? When do you plan to release that?”
“I’ve called a press conference at three o’clock,” Kinsella said, stopping then for a few minutes before finishing what he had to say. “You know, Kelley’s friends told us that she wanted to meet a new man, a rich guy. Susan Sayles was looking for somebody with money maybe to marry her, poor creature, somebody to take care of her. I think this guy we’re looking for comes across as a class act. I think that’s the lure. Ellie said as much, a very classy guy. And he flashes money around.”
“With his French silk scarves . . . but tell me, how does Dr. Heald fit into that trap? She was a classy woman all by herself and she certainly didn’t need any money. Did she fall for the act, too?”
“Probably,” Kinsella said. “She saw him as an equal, most likely. She was alone, remember, and from what we’ve learned, she was getting over a very painful breakup back in Portland. Her friends and family say she was heartbroken. Then along comes a charming man in one of the most respectable places in San Francisco. No harm for her to strike up a conversation and trust this man. Even the waitress up there said he was charming, that he fit in perfectly. He plies Ann with drinks, gets her very drunk. And I guess you can take it from there. Dr. Heald let her guard down.”
“But where the hell does he take them? Where are they being killed?”
Kinsella looked at him. “My guess? In a car. He gets them into his car and takes them someplace and strangles them, maybe knocks them out or drugs them first, and then he dumps them in an isolated area.” He looked at his watch and stood up. “Martin, I have to get going. You will be joining us this afternoon, I hope?”
“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In his office on Union Street early Monday, Luther Ross-Wilkerson read his morning paper, looking intently at the pictures of the three murdered women. Quickly, he folded the paper up and dropped it into the waste basket next to his desk.
He felt sick. What had he done?
He thought of the woman doctor, Ann, at the Top of the Mark. Oh yes, he remembered how lovely she was. But what happened next? He also remembered that he had gone to Jaycene’s, of all places, on Saturday night. Why in the world would he have gone there? There was a woman he liked who would not give him the time of day. She had rudely brushed him off when he’d tried to talk to her.
But there was another woman, the waitress. Susan, a bold piece of work. Something about her had disgusted him. Why had he bothered with her?
He realized he must have been seen by many people talking to both of these women, although those places were busy and really how many people would have been paying much attention to him? He had gone to both night spots purely on a whim. It had been years since he’d taken Alyson to
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