CHAPTER THREE
Special Agent Hartley stood before the wall of evidence with a frown on her brow as she tried to work out what the oil could mean. She didn't ask the question. Not just yet, and Alison gave her the space to try to think it through.
As soon as Alison heard there was a small patch of oil on the skin and the location of it, she immediately assumed the killer had put it there as the final taunt.
The only question now was why? The immediate reason was obvious: the killer was making a mockery of the FBI and the Philadelphia Police Department.
What was the bigger why? What drove the killer to do that?
Special Agent Hartley sprang into action and moved to her desk, where she picked up a file and rifled through it.
Alison knew she was coming to the same conclusion—she hoped the special agent would come to the same conclusion, as it would be far easier to work with someone who understood what they were dealing with.
"The second victim," Hartley said with a smile.
Alison smiled in reply and nodded. "Eighteen years ago, they found a minuscule amount of DNA on the victim’s wrist. It almost went unnoticed, if not for the natural oils on the killer’s skin.
It was posited at the time that the killer had made a mistake, that they had removed the gloves they had always so carefully worn, and touched the victim’s skin as they had positioned the arm. "
"But it gave nothing," Hartley said.
"And I think that’s exactly what our killer is pointing out," Alison told her. "They took a sample from the skin, meticulously removing skin cells of the victim until they were sure they had enough skin cells from the killer to test. It wasn’t enough. The forensic technology wasn’t good enough back then.
They knew it wouldn’t be enough to test, but they went ahead with it anyway and used the only sample they had. "
"If they’d waited…." Hartley’s eyes widened as the realization kicked in. "If they’d waited, they would have been able to test it with how much forensic technology has advanced. Even the smallest amount can be tested, not compared to what we were once capable of."
"That’s what the killer wants us to realize," Alison confirmed. "They planted the jojoba oil on the body to bring focus to it. They wanted us to see that we sabotaged ourselves when—"
"They sabotaged themselves," Hartley corrected. "You said it yourself that you weren’t a part of the investigation. If you were at that point, maybe you could have stopped them from testing the DNA they found."
"I don't know." Alison sighed. "I have a feeling that they wouldn’t have listened anyway. Now? Maybe. But not back then when I was a wet-behind-the-ears rookie in training. And someone must have said something back then. They all would have known it was a risk."
"And the oil is just that? A way to draw attention to the spot on the deceased’s wrist?" Hartley asked.
"It’s closest to the oils on our skin and in our hair," Alison replied. "It’s clever. They could have put any oil, and we would have been drawn to it and tested it, but I think they knew that. It could be chance, but we’re definitely dealing with someone intelligent, and someone who knows forensics. "
"And someone who knows the case?" Hartley suggested.
"Possibly," Alison agreed. She looked over the photographs of the people involved in the case again. "A lot of the details would have become public knowledge over the years if someone knew where to look or who to talk to. It’s been long enough that someone could have spoken to a member of the press, someone writing a book, or someone might have regaled the story at dinner. There’s nothing there that tells me this has to be someone who was around at the time of the investigation. Still, it could be."
"Which leaves us with what?" Hartley asked.
"The only thing we know for sure is that the killer is pointing out the failures of the investigation back then.
It could be the strangler, or someone connected to the investigation, or someone else who was able to gather information about the investigation. "
"Have someone look through the original investigation files and see if there’s anything in there that the killer wouldn’t be able to find out," Alison suggested.
"If there are any confidential details included in the current murder that the current killer would only know if they were a part of the previous case, then we know where to look. What do we know about the victim?"
Hartley moved from one side of the photos to the other and tapped the headshot.
"Brian Callahan," Hartley stated. "We’re still looking into him, but as far as we’re aware, he has no links to the original case, and he’s not law enforcement. No criminal record, not affiliated with any gangs, never been in trouble as far as we know, and a hard-working regular guy."
Alison nodded. The more she was around the current case, the more the older case came back to her.
"That was the same with the original case," Alison remembered. "There wasn’t any connection between the three victims, and they seemed to be chosen at random. The victim isn’t important to the killer; only the staging is important.
We can think of the victim as a blank canvas that the killer uses to paint their picture. "
"What I want to know is if there will be more?" the special agent asked.
Alison pondered the question as she looked over the photos and files on the wall in Hartley’s office.
"I’d need to look at the original case files, but I can't think of any other things that could be construed as a mistake in the original case.
We don't know what the killer believes. There’s a chance that the killer plans three dead bodies, just like in the original case, with each one highlighting a failure in the initial investigation. "
Hartley didn't reply to that. She stood by the evidence wall, staring down at the floor, contemplating the possibility of more murders to come. Alison joined her in the silence. She was often brought on board cases that turned out to be serial killers. Alison couldn’t help but consider the possibility that there was some unseen attraction between her and serial killers.
With the evidence pointing toward it being a serial killer who murdered her sister, she had been chasing a serial killer her entire life.
A knock came at the door, and an older man entered. "Detective Wolfe from Philly PD is here if you have time for him. He says he has some information about the case."
"Show him in," Hartley said quickly.
The agent left and returned a minute later with a younger man. He entered the roof with a bounce in his step and introduced himself. He had a Celtic lilt to his voice and wore a thick stubble.
"Detective Marcus Wolfe," he said. Moving between Hartley and Alison to shake both of their hands firmly, even though he would have had little idea who Alison was. "I’m not interrupting, am I?"
"Let’s find out," Hartley said. "We were told you had information for us about the Strangler case?"
"Yeah, I do. Maybe." Detective Wolfe walked over to the chair that Alison had previously vacated and slumped down into it.
"I got a call from a friend over in Boston—he transferred out there a year ago, and he obviously misses Philly, but that’s by the by.
Anyway, he tells me that they had a case similar to this last week.
Same thing with the photos arranged around the body showing the folks involved in the original case, but a completely different case from this one. "
Detective Wolfe stood from the chair when he saw the evidence attached to the wall in Special Agent Hartley’s office. He tapped the crime scene photograph of Brian Callahan surrounded by pictures of the original investigators.
"Yeah, just like this."
He went back to the chair and clumped down into it.
Hartley didn't speak, but she did look over at Alison, who stood by the wall.
Alison nodded in return. "It started before this, and it’ll continue.
Someone is killing people, innocent people, all to point out past mistakes.
I don't like to say that this is our fault, but that’s how it looks, and if the media gets a hold of this, that’s what the headline will be.
And the longer we go without catching this guy, the worse it will look. "
Detective Wolfe raised his hands in the air and spread them slowly apart. "Police fail to solve cases in the past, and fail to solve cases now." He licked his lips and tilted his head as a small frown colored his brow. "Except," he added slowly. "That’s not quite what’s going on here, is it?"
Alison turned to look at the detective, who obviously knew something they didn’t.
"You know something we don’t," Alison said. "If you know anything that can help us catch this killer, we need to know."