CHAPTER TEN
“Maybe nothing,” Faith admitted, “but I’m trying to figure out how this killer has access to the epoxy he’s using on the victims. Speaking of that, can you check the coroner’s report and figure out what it is exactly?”
“Uh, sure.” Jessica pulled out her phone and pulled up the coroner’s report for Hayes’s death. “According to the report, it’s a reaction product of a polyether with toluene diisocyanate.”
“Nothing about what that means or what a more common name for such a substance could be?”
“Nothing.”
Faith rolled her eyes. “God spare us from nerds.”
Jessica chuckled. “That… is the most immature thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Stick around, kid. It gets worse.”
She led Jessica past the tarp-covered chainlink fence into the construction site. The workers stared at them with the typical glare reserved for idiots who couldn’t understand simple words like OFF-LIMITS or EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Those glares changed to looks of confusion, then mild fear as they saw the FBI printed across Faith’s and Jessica’s vests.
More than a few of those looks changed to lust as their eyes fell on Jessica.
A few looked at Faith the same way, and she couldn’t deny it felt good to be noticed like that after so many reminders of her advancing age lately.
Of course, most of the looks were reserved for Turk. He just had that quality that stole the hearts of everyone who saw him.
She was here for business, though, not to stroke her ego or admire her dog. She walked to the nearest construction worker, a burly man with about as much hair on his arms as on his head who leaned on a jackhammer and watched them with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself.”
“I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you tell me what a reaction product of a polyether with toluene diisocyanate is?”
The man blinked. “Come again?”
“A reaction product of a polyether with toluene diisocyanate.”
The man chuckled. “Ma’am, I use the stuff, but I don’t read the labels. If that’s some kind of epoxy or chemical, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
“It’s an epoxy,” Faith replied. “I’m trying to figure out a tool a murderer might have used to stiffen a body.”
The man blinked, no longer laughing. “Christ.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty sick stuff,” Faith said. “Any idea who I could talk to who might have an answer for me?”
The man took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. Then he bellowed, “Hey, Jon!”
Faith flinched at the sudden roar. A few of the other workers noticed and chuckled. She smiled ruefully and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Bet you’d flinch if you had to do my job too.
An equally big man shuffled over to them. Jon was more muscular than burly, though, and had a chiseled jaw and a perfectly manicured beard that suggested he was very popular with the ladies. The blush climbing Jessica’s neck suggested the same thing.
He smiled at her but turned his attention to Faith. “How can I help you?’
“I’m looking for something called a reaction product of a polyether with toluene diisocyanate.”
“HydroFill.”
“What?”
“HydroFill. That’s what it’s called. Well, that’s the brand I use. It’s a type of expanding epoxy that’s used for cast molds.”
“Cast molds.”
“Yeah. Say you have a small object, and you’re trying to make a larger version of that object.
You make it out of the epoxy, usually using a smaller mold, then expose it to water.
It expands, significantly depending on the particular balance of chemicals, and becomes larger. It’s useful for sculpting.”
“You’re an artist?” Jessica blurted.
Faith stifled a smile. At least Jessica wasn’t mooning over Michael anymore.
Jon grinned. “Yeah, I do sculpture in my spare time. HydroFill is nice because I can make a small model of something, get the details right, then make a mold from that model and create a HydroFill replica, then expand that replica to a larger size. Then I can make the actual sculpture based off of that HydroFill replica.”
“Wow. That sounds amazing.”
Faith decided it was time to return the focus to the case. “What I’m looking for is an industrial-grade epoxy designed to lend rigidity to flow-form structures. Anything like that?”
Jon tilted his head and crossed his arms in a way that made his impressive muscles look even bigger.
“Well… I guess you could use it for that. Flow-forming is just a type of metalworking process. It’s kind of like pottery.
You take a material, spin it, and use your hands—or in the case of flow-forming, mechanical rollers—to shape it.
There are other steps, but that’s the ‘flow-forming’ part.
It makes things like wheels lighter weight and stronger. ”
“Or windmill blades?”
“Probably the hubs, not the actual blades, but yeah.”
“And how is HydroFill involved?”
“It would be part of the modeling process. You’d have to work out the math to determine the perfect shape of whatever object you’re trying to create, make the small-scale model, then use HydroFill or something like it to create an expanded object, then make the large-scale master and replicate that master. ”
“Jesus, Jon, you’re only missing the wire-rimmed glasses and a signed portrait of Captain Picard,” the burly construction worker teased.
Jon blushed and chuckled. “Yeah, I’m kind of a nerd.”
And Jessica’s kind of in love, Faith thought, looking at her smitten partner. Aloud, she said, “Okay, I’ll be straight with you. This substance was used to stiffen the bodies of murder victims so that they could be staged in a prayer position without sagging or falling over.”
A chorus of gasps erupted from the small crowd that had gathered around them. One of the others said, “Hey, I heard about that! That guy who was killed in Arlington!”
“There’s one more across the street,” another man said.
“What?”
“Yeah, in the World War Two Memorial.”
The group, except for Jon, all went to the other side of the fence to look at the memorial and see what was up. Jessica frowned, but Faith put a hand on her shoulder. They didn’t need to worry about looky-loos right now.
“Damn,” Jon said quietly. “That’s… really messed up.”
“To put it lightly,” Faith agreed. “My question is, where does one get HydroFill, and how much would one need to render a human body stiff and immobile?”
Jon took a deep breath. “Well. The second question is easy. It expands, so if you put it in the right places, like the joints—especially the knees, hips, and spine—you wouldn’t need much. I don’t know how many vertebra you’d even have to fill. Like… An ounce, maybe?”
Faith took a moment to process her shock. She had assumed the killer needed at least the equivalent of a caulking tube full. An ounce was, what? Like a tube of makeup?”
“And where would someone get HyrdoFill?”
“I mean… anywhere. Hardware stores, art supply stores, websites… I order mine from .”
And just like that, all of Faith’s excitement over this lead vanished. The killer needed a small enough amount that he could keep enough for five people in his pocket and he could order it from freaking .
She took a deep breath and sighed, dropping her chin to her chest. “Got it. Thank you for your time, Jon.”
“Yeah, you bet. I’m really sorry. I guess this wasn’t good news.”
“It’s just news,” Faith said. “Whether it’s good or bad depends on what you do with it.” Which was bullshit, but the guy had tried to help, so she might as well make him feel a little better about the situation.
“Well, whoever this guy is, I hope you catch him.” He shook his head. “That’s really screwed up. I don’t know how people do something like that.”
Because you, my sweet hunk, have probably never hated anything in your life.
Faith nodded at Jessica and turned to leave. Jessica pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to Jon, blushing furiously. “If you think of anything else, please give me a—give us a call.”
Jon smiled at her, and Faith could almost see her melt. “I’ll do that.”
Well, maybe something good can come of this, Faith thought glumly.
The three agents left the construction site. To her credit, Jessica only wore her goofy smile for a minute or so after they left before her expression grew serious. “Okay, so we know this guy knows sculpture.”
“Or he has an Internet connection and can spell ‘How to keep a dead body stiff’.”
“Oh,” Jessica said quietly.
Faith sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No, I’m not upset at you. I’m just upset because you’re right. That went nowhere.”
“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “A dead end.”
“So, what do we know?” Jessica said. “This guy hates chaplains and blames them somehow for the deaths of servicemembers. He kills them violently and stages them in a way that mocks their religion.”
“I don’t see how he can blame them for the deaths of servicemembers,” Faith said. “They’re chaplains. They’re not medics, and they’re not brass. Trust me, the rank pinned onto their epaulettes means nothing. They have no authority in combat or anywhere else in the military outside of a chapel.”
“True, but our killer isn’t thinking clearly,” Jessica said as she unlocked her car.
“Fair enough,” Faith replied as she opened the door for Turk. “But I still don’t buy the blaming them for their death angle.”
“Then that’s what we need to focus on,” Jessica said. “Why the dog tags? What do they symbolize? Why does he want them included with his sculptures?”
Faith grimaced. “I really don’t like that you just called them sculptures.”
Jessica put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. “You don’t have to like it. I’m just saying that’s what he thinks of them as.”
“You think our killer’s an artist?”
“I think so. He’s sending a message, and a picture is worth a thousand words. Or in this case a sculpture.”
Faith let that thought percolate through her mind. “Maybe we look for veterans who are artists and also bitter toward religion. I’ll look up art therapy programs for veterans. I’m sure there’s at least one or two. We’ll see if any of the students harbor a deep-seated hatred for all things God.”
“Might be the most random lead we’ve come up with,” Jessica said, “but considering how random our cases have been so far, I don’t think it’s that farfetched.”
As Faith started searching for art programs geared toward veterans, she tried to imagine the mindset of a killer who saw his victims as clay for him to sculpt. Art was, at its very core, creation. Murder was, at its very core, destruction. So, what was this killer?
“Perversion,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing. There’s an art studio in McLean that has a class reserved for veterans. That’s the closest thing I can find.”
“Punch the address in. We’ll check it out.”
Faith put the numbers into the Prius’s navigation screen, and the route to the Langley Art Academy populated. Jessica turned onto the highway, and Faith leaned back in her chair and thought about why their killer chose to pervert something beautiful.
And who would he corrupt next?