But even the FBI profile hadn't provided a clue about where to find him. There was nothing at all that provided a different slant or perspective. Nothing new. Wait. She scrolled up again and reread two sentences. "The subject would never vary in his execution. His mind is locked into performing this single repetitive act again and again."
It made sense. As far as she knew, each of the seven murders had been utterly identical. She slowly went through all the police reports, including Belinda's, then printed them out.
She hated the autopsy reports, but through the courses she'd taken, she'd learned to remove herself from the gruesome details, most of which were couched in medicalese. But the photos were different, tougher. She didn't read Belinda's autopsy report. She knew she'd have to, but not now. No, not now, or tomorrow either. She printed out all of them, including Belinda's.
She had to stop. She'd barely be able to carry out all the papers she'd already printed out.
Nick was smiling, that jaw of his out there, when he saw her. "You got lots of stuff there, Agent Sherlock. You gonna take it all back to two twenty-one B Baker Street now? I just remembered the two twenty-one B part."
"Yep. It's all on Moriarty, you know. I'll catch that villain yet."
"I don't know about this Moriarty. But I did see a Sherlock Holmes movie about that hound. Boy, was that hound mean."
"It was a good one," she agreed as she signed out.
"You'll be working more overtime?"
"Probably. They're all real hardnoses here. They never let up."
When she reached her car, she clicked her security alarm before she reached her Mazda 4x4. Everything worked. Lights went on inside the Navajo. No one had broken in.
When she got to her town house, she checked all the entries, then fastened the dead bolts and the two chains. She turned on the security alarm. She left her bedroom door open.
She read over the reports far into the night. But not Belinda's, not just yet.
"Just feast your eyes on this, Sherlock."
She looked down at a map with dots on it. The computer had connected a number of lines. "It's the Star of David, Ollie. So what?"
He was rubbing his hands together. "Nothing bad happened, Sherlock. Savich and I got there and we talked with everybody. You know Savich, he was cool and low-key and then he just showed this to everyone. I thought Captain Samuels-she's with the St. Petersburg Police Department-was going to kiss him. These four dots are where the killer's already hit. Savich just did some extrapolation and voila!"
"It could be anything, Ollie. A Star of David?" She studied the three dots that represented murder sites. They formed a nearly perfect right-side-up equilateral triangle. The other murder could very well be the beginning of an upside-down equilateral triangle, but who knew? "Well, sure, it could be, but it could also be random."
"We'll soon see," Ollie said. "If you go with Savich's reasoning, then the guy is going to kill right here next." He pointed to the next point.
"That's pretty neat," she said. "But no ideas on how the Ghost gets into the nursing homes and out again without anyone noticing?"
"Not yet. But the surveillance on the next one Savich pinpointed is going to be intense. You know what? The media took up your word. All the papers and TV are screaming about the Ghost murdering their grandmothers."
"Surely not. How would they know about our saying that?"
Ollie looked down at his black wing tips. "Well, I kind of said it to a TV woman who was really pretty and wanted something so badly." Ollie looked up at her and grinned. "I thought Savich was going to deck me."
"Better you than me. He's already thrown me all over that gym of his. I'm still sore, but I don't dare say anything because he'll accuse me of whining."
"Ain't that the truth? He's got you into karate?"
She nodded.
"He told me I was one of the best basketball players in the Bureau. He said I should keep myself in shape playing games with all my nieces and nephews. He said kids kept you honest and in shape out of fear of humiliation."
"Ha. He just said that because he realized he couldn't throw you around, the sexist jerk."
"Nah, he cleaned my clock but good when I asked him about karate. He really flatten you, Sherlock?"
"More times than I can count."
"What's this about a sexist jerk?"
Both she and Ollie turned to see Savich standing behind them, his laptop in one hand, a modem in the other.