Chapter 28 Kobe
Kobe
I snapped off my gloves, stuffing them into a pocket as I followed Dominique outside the cordoned area and across the street to where he had parked. “I need that hair sent to a lab pronto. You can get DNA from hair, right?”
“From a root, but even then, the results can only be used in a comparison, to confirm or eliminate a suspect.”
“How long does that take?” I knew the answer, even as the question left my mouth.
Dominique tossed his instrument bag in the trunk and slammed the lid. “Weeks. Months. It depends on how backed up things are at the lab. We’ll be able to confirm if it’s human hair sooner, but—”
“It is. Did you see how long it was? That is the best piece of evidence we’ve found. Holy shit. I’m practically giddy. Can you put a rush on those labs?”
Dominique huffed derisively. “Good luck with that. I’m not sure even your sergeant has the power to move those kinds of mountains.”
“Damn.”
A car drove by, spraying slush in our direction, so we moved to the curb to talk.
I had inspected the hair, but it was so tangled in the fabric that I couldn’t determine if there was a root.
It was long, that much I knew, and darker in color, between brown and black. It was impossible to say exactly.
“Can you tell if it’s natural or dyed?”
“It will come back with the testing.”
“I need it sooner.” But I was shouting into the wind, and I knew it. “Never mind. Are you going home?” I asked reluctantly.
“No. I have a frozen body to thaw and a boyfriend who I suspect would be upset with me if I didn’t start that autopsy as soon as possible.”
“He wouldn’t be upset, but he would appreciate it.”
Dominique had been off since he’d shown up at LeBreton Flats earlier.
My eagerness to get a close look at the messy scene had irritated him more than I expected, but I understood.
Dominique was a professional. He was meticulous about his job, and although my erratic behavior might be fine off the clock, it didn’t go over well when we were deeply entrenched in work.
I glanced around, but we were alone. Anyone who remained was on the field, wrapping up. Those who could get away had done so. Dominique had supervised the team removing the body. A handful of CSIs lingered, along with the constables who had been instructed to secure the area.
I took Dominique’s hand and drew him closer. The cold wind had turned his cheeks raw and red. Mine felt no different and likely appeared equally abused. We’d been outside for hours, starting with our trip to the toboggan hill with the kids. My bones ached, and I needed a hot drink.
Dominique’s husky blue eyes shone pale under the winter sun as he searched my face with a quiet restraint.
“I’m sorry our day got ruined.” I squeezed his hand. “I was having fun.”
He looked down, a stitch in his brow as he nodded. “Me too. Sorry I’m so agitated. I like things to be in order, and—”
“And I stomped all over the scene without permission. You don’t have to apologize. It was my fault, and I deserved the reprimand. Rue would never have let me get away with that.”
I jostled his hand when he continued to stare at the ground. Dominique lifted his gaze, and I had to stop myself from reaching out and cupping his jaw. “Are we okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“No, I… It’s nothing.” He smiled his unique Dominique smile, and my unease settled a fraction.
“I’ve got to get to the office and unpack this mess. I told Rue I would call her with an update. Will you let me know if you make any more discoveries, or do I have to wait for a prelim?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” I wanted to kiss him, take his cold cheeks between my hands and hold him close, but I didn’t, mindful that anyone might see us.
The last thing I needed was it getting back to my boss that I was sleeping with one of our forensic specialists.
There was probably some sort of rule against that, and I would land in shit. Again.
I squeezed his hand instead, stepping back. “We’ll talk later.” One way or another.
Dominique left, and I headed for my car, head spinning with all we’d discovered.
The bullpen was quiet. Not a single detective seemed to be around on the Boxing Day holiday. I aimed for my desk and turned on the laptop. I wanted to start by unpacking all the notes I’d taken at LeBreton Flats and filling in the blanks, so I had a complete overview of the most recent kill.
Once I’d compiled the information, I would ring Rue and give her an update. I was secretly relieved not to have her lording over me and the case. Although I suspected Golding would check in at some point, since she barely trusted me to write a traffic ticket, let alone run a homicide investigation.
Until that happened, I would examine everything through my own lens and draw my own conclusions.
Another spike through the penis. Another leading note.
A cocky manipulator. It wasn’t hard to see the underlying message.
The killer was practically screaming at the top of their lungs.
With the exception of Navid, they had purposefully maimed the victims’ sexual organs. The sexual component was obvious.
Three university students and one professor. A party that got out of hand? Drinking? Dancing? Drugs, perhaps? A flirtatious girl? A girl in revealing clothes? Hormones?
Get her alone and then what? Sexually assault her? Rape her? How far was it taken? How did Navid fit?
Did the professor cover it up? Did he supply the drugs? The location? Did he lure her into danger?
A heartless bastard. It implied a different role. Navid was uncaring, that much we’d gleaned from his colleagues and students—except for his TA, who boasted superfluously about how he was such a great guy.
I considered Buckley as a suspect but dismissed him just as quickly.
Leafing through the accumulation of files on the desk, I uncovered a photograph of Navid.
“You knew what they did, didn’t you? You didn’t stop them. Did you help? How were you involved? Because you were involved.”
I wasn’t wrong. My gut didn’t lie. I knew the reason why these men had died, but who had killed them?
When had the assault taken place? Ford’s parents claimed he was depressed and rarely left the house since dropping out of school.
Was it possible they were wrong? Could this have happened when he was a student?
That defied Rue’s thinking, but I had never agreed with her direction.
Yates’s report lingered. Two girls, hardly old enough to be considered teens. Accusations of rape. Three men. Jesse and two others. Not Navid. Jesse, Ford, and Malik?
A long, dark hair tangled in a tassel that had clearly been attached to a scarf of some kind. A woman’s scarf. It was a goddamn woman’s scarf. I would bet my job on it. One made for fashion, not the cold.
Like I’d seen Fatemeh wear both times I’d talked to her.
Like Blaze and Cheyenne wore on the day we’d interviewed them.
I had noted the trend.
How popular were they?
Perfume. Women’s perfume. On the rose.
“Wait a minute.” I snagged the phone and located the number for the forensic lab. When no one answered, I called Dominique’s personal cell.
“Still thawing,” he said in lieu of hello.
“I didn’t smell perfume. The rose was crushed. Stomped on. I never got close enough. Did you notice a smell or if it was sprayed?”
Dominique was silent for a long time, then, “I don’t recall smelling anything, but considering the weather and time frame, it’s possible the particulates had dispersed by then. There’s a nasty wind off the water, moisture from the snow.”
“Right. Shit. Okay.”
More silence.
“I won’t keep you.”
“Are you making any headway?” Dominique asked when I was about to say goodbye and hang up.
“Haven’t got far yet. A lot of hunches.”
“Keep me posted?”
“I will. You too.”
“I will.”
A pregnant pause bled through the line, then Dominique hung up.
Something was wrong, but I didn’t have the capacity to deal with it right now. I had to focus before my boss showed up and decided to reassign me or the case itself.
My heart knocked harder and faster as I considered the events that might have led to the murder of four men. Whatever the circumstances, it would have been bad. Worse than bad. Ugly. Vicious. Enough to cause a break from reality. Enough for her to spiral and stop thinking rationally.
Enough to turn a vulnerable woman into a killer. And yes, I was convinced it was a woman.
Fatemeh had never struck me as vulnerable. Angry and vengeful, yes.
Cheyenne? She seemed meek and mild, incapable of harming a fly, but if she was put in a compromising situation…
We tried to report them.
We still aren’t safe.
It was our word against theirs.
We still aren’t safe.
We still aren’t safe.
We still aren’t safe.
The school had done nothing.
I glanced at Navid’s photo again before putting it aside and locating one for Ford and Jesse. I lined them up and peered into the still images of two young men who, at one time, thought they ruled campus.
“Did you rape her?” I asked them. “Did three of you team up and attack an innocent woman? Did you take something from her that she could never get back? You fuckers did, didn’t you?”
The photographs didn’t respond, but it felt like their smiles grew more sinister the longer I stared at them. Taunting. Asking me what I was going to do about it.
I shoved the photos aside and drew the laptop forward.
Building a profile for Malik Quinn took no time.
He was a fourth-year law student, still enrolled at the University of Ottawa.
No driving infractions. His lawyer father ran a prominent firm in the city.
His mother was a nurse working in a cancer clinic.
Malik’s school record was immaculate. Awards.
Scholarships. Commendations in the media.
A high-achieving student who was expected to go far.