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“No.” Allison spoke softly but with finality. Then she started sobbing and wrapped her arms around herself awkwardly until Cheryl Beth hugged her. She said, “I don’t believe he did it. I’ve seen how Noah reacted to things, loud noises, things like that, and he was never violent. He was scared.”
“He was Special Forces?”
“No, he was a combat medic. He was assigned to a Special Forces base once. But he was there to help people. He watched his friends get blown up by I.E.D.s. He saw a lot. Too much.”
“Why didn’t he call you from the jail?”
Another sob, and then: “Would you call your lover after getting caught like that?”
“I guess not.”
***
The men and women who built Cincinnati were under the sod of Spring Grove Cemetery. Like so much else in town, it was a National Historic Landmark. Amid the trees, flowers, ponds, and chapels were the monuments and mausoleums carved with names such as Kroger, Procter, Gamble, Chase, Lytle, Fleischmann, and Taft. This morning, beyond the oxidizing statue of a Civil War soldier with a bayonet attached to his rifle, there were also five CPD patrol cars. Will parked behind the last one and they walked up the sloping drive.
Dodds, who had a solid sense of dignity, straightened his dress uniform and precisely placed his cap. He uncharacteristically slowed his pace to match Will’s.
“Detectives.” A female sergeant met them. “Thanks for getting out here. There’s something you should see. Over here.”
A body was sitting against a large marker overseen by a statue of a weeping angel. It was a male in his twenties, completely nude, with bloody wounds between his legs, his clothes neatly folded in the grass, and more gore around his mouth. The sudden knowledge about what was in his mouth made another observation secondary. A piece of paper was attached to his chest.
“Fuck me…” Dodds whispered.
The newly dead was leaned precisely against the monument, so it appeared as if the angel, its head down and wings drooped in grief, had discovered him that moment.
His penis had been cut off and stuffed in his mouth.
His hands were cuffed behind him.
A sheet of white paper was attached to his chest by the large safety pin run through his right nipple. It was encased in a clear plastic sheet and looked like ordinary printer paper, with large typed letters in a single paragraph.
Both Will and Dodds were slipping on latex gloves.
Dodds bent forward and read aloud:
“Detective Borders, meet Noah Smith. I had planned to kill him along with the women, but things didn’t work out. It spoiled what would have been a masterpiece. I couldn’t let the police give him credit for my art, now could I? Kristen was easier, but the result was beautiful. I cut them where they get their pleasure and I watched them die. Don’t think I’m bragging. I have a lot to learn. But you probably won’t hear from me again. Serial killers don’t know when to stop. My deathscapes are rare and executed with discipline, like all great art. I wish we could have spent time together, detective. On my terms, of course. I’ve seen how you struggle to walk, how your affliction keeps you up all night. But I know you would fight and it would be beautiful. I think about this temptation…”
Dodds turned back and faced Will. “Looks like you’re still on the case.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Okay, Devil, advocate.”
It was one of their procedures when they were partners and Will happily took the cue.
“He’s a copycat claiming credit for all the other murders.”
“Nope,” Dodds said. “He said he ‘cut them where they get their pleasure.’ The genital mutilation is information we held back and they also held back in Butler County.”
“Maybe the killer is law enforcement.”
“That can’t be ruled out.”
“These are still separate murders. The same subject who did the two nursing students killed Noah Smith. But Gruber is separate, another murderer. This killer is claiming credit for her.”
Dodds thought about it. “You’ve got the same problem with him knowing that Kristen was mutilated. Lucky guess? Maybe. The scenes weren’t exactly the same. The two female nursing students’ clothes weren’t neatly folded, like with Smith and Gruber. Their purses and wallets were still there. Their panties were gone. Unlike Gruber, he took the handcuffs off the bodies.”
Will leaned against another gravestone. It was as tall as he was and green with moss. He tried to choreograph it. “So the killer is watching the three of them get it on…”
