It was not a pretty sight. Mrs. Eleanor Maddox, not above thirty-five, two children, and a whiz at teaching geometry, had been shoved in beside the boiler. Because the weather was cool the boiler had fired up, and that was why the janitor had smelled her body. She’d been shot right between the eyes, up very close, just like the other two women.
Chief Martinez said, “The forensic team finished up about three hours ago. The ME said if he had to guess, it was a .38, just like the other two. He also said that this time, the guy had moved her here after he’d shot her.”
“No witnesses?”
“Not a one, so far.”
“Not even a strange car in the vicinity?”
He shook his head. “No. I have officers canvassing the entire neighborhood. No one saw a thing. Basketball practice and the student club meetings were over, so there weren’t any other students or teachers around that we know of.”
Sherlock said, “I guess he didn’t want her found right away. What does the husband have to say, Chief?”
The husband, Crayton Maddox, was a big legal mover and shaker in Washington, his forte forging limitless access to politicians for lobbying groups willing to pay for the privilege. Exactly what that meant, Mr. Maddox didn’t explain, and Savich, cynical to his toes, didn’t ask. It was nearly six o’clock in the evening, but Mr. Maddox was still wearing his robe. There were coffee stains on the front of it. He was wearing socks, no shoes. He looked like he’d been awake for a week, and none of those waking hours had been pleasant.
Crayton Maddox said, “I called all her friends, all the teachers she worked with, I even called her mother, and I haven’t spoken to that woman in nearly two years.” He stopped a moment, tears choking him, and stared at Savich. “God, don’t you see? This just isn’t right; it shouldn’t have happened. Ellie never hurt a soul, not even me, and I’m a lawyer. She planned on working until we left for the Caribbean, even though I tried to convince her to stay home, not take any chances. Why did he kill her? Why?”
Savich had no answer. “I know you’ve already spoken to Chief Martinez, and he’ll give us all the details. We’re here to ask you to join us at a press conference in a couple of hours at FBI Headquarters. I know you’ll want to hear about all that’s being done and it would be helpful to us if you came. I think it’s important that the world see victims’ families, see what devastation this sort of mindless violence can cause. Mr. Ward and Mr. Fowler, the first two victims’ husbands, will be there. Will you join us, Mr. Maddox?”
Crayton Maddox bent his head and, to Savich’s surprise, didn’t ask a single question. Then he said, “Did you know that I called Margie, my assistant? She was here before seven o’clock this morning. She knows everything, that’s what I told Chief Martinez, everything about both me and my wife.” He paused a moment, glanced down at his Rolex, then out the living room window. “Good God, it’s dark outside.” He looked up at them. “I’m usually about ready to come home from my office at six o’clock in the evening. Ellie always got home around four o’clock. She wanted to be here when the kids got home.”
They heard crying from upstairs, a woman’s soothing voice. The children, Sherlock thought. There’d been no children involved in the first two killings. Why had the killer changed?
“My mother-in-law,” he said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Margie called her and she was here in ten minutes. I guess we’ll have to start speaking again.” He stood, all hunched forward, like he hadn’t moved in far too long. “I’ll be at your press conference, Agent.”
Assistant Director Jimmy Maitland nodded to Savich, then stepped to the podium. He spoke of the cooperation among the three police departments, spoke of the activity by the FBI at the crime scenes, and repeated the hot-line number for any information on the killings. He finished his words to the roomful of reporters with “And this is Special Agent Dillon Savich, chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit of the FBI.”
Most of the reporters knew who Savich was. Jimmy Maitland barely had time to shut his mouth before several reporters yelled out together, “Agent Savich, why is he killing math teachers?”
“Since all the victims are women, do you think it’s a man?”
Savich stepped up to the podium, said nothing at all until the room was quiet, which was very quickly. He knew many of them were jotting down descriptions of him and of the grieving husbands. He said, “Mr. George, you asked why is he killing math teachers, and Mr. Dobbs pointed out that all the victims have been women. Yes, we believe the killer is a man. As to why he’s doing this, we have some ideas, but it’s not appropriate to discuss all the possibilities with you at this stage in the investigation.”