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The calls kept coming in. Even the media-hungry head of the CBI was, as TJ cleverly and carelessly put it, "Overbywhelmed."
Kathryn Dance spun around in her chair and gazed out the window at a gnarled trunk that had started as two trees and had grown, through pressure and accommodation, into one, stronger than either alone. An impressive knot was visible just outside the window and she often rested her eyes on it, a form of meditation.
Now she had no time for reflection. She called Peter Bennington, at MCSO forensics, about the scenes at the second cross and Kelley Morgan's house.
The roses left with the second cross were bound with the same type of rubber bands used by the deli near where Travis used to work but they revealed no trace that was helpful. The fiber that Michael O'Neil had gotten from the gray hooded sweatshirt in the Brighams' laundry basket was indeed almost identical to the fiber found near the second cross, and the tiny scrap of brown paper from the woods Ken Pfister had pointed out was most likely from an M&M package--candy that she knew Travis bought. The grain trace from the scene was associated with that used in oat-bran bagels at Bagel Express. At Kelley Morgan's house, the boy had shed no trace or physical evidence except a bit of red rose petal that matched the bouquet with cross number two.
The mask was homemade, but the paste and paper and ink used in its construction were generic and unsourceable.
The gas that had been used in the attempt to murder Kelley Morgan was chlorine--the same that had been used in World War I to such devastating effect. Dance told Bennington, "There's a report he got it from a neo-Nazi site." She explained about what she'd learned from Caitlin's friend.
The crime lab boss chuckled. "Doubt it. It was probably from somebody's kitchen."
"What?"
"He used household cleaners." The deputy explained that a few simple substances could make the gas; they were available in any grocery or convenience store. "But we didn't find any containers or anything that would let us determine the source."
Nothing at the scene or nearby had given them clues as to where the boy might be hiding out.
"And David stopped by your house a little bit ago."
Dance hesitated, not sure whom he was speaking of. "David?"
"Reinhold. He works in the CS Unit."
Oh, the young, eager deputy.
"He collected the branches left in your backyard. But we still can't tell if they were left intentionally or it was a coincidence. No other trace, he said."
"He got up early. I left the house at seven."
Bennington laughed. "Just two months ago he was writing speeding tickets with the Highway Patrol and now I think he's got his eye on my job."
Dance thanked the Crime Scene head and disconnected.
Stung with frustration, Dance found herself looking at the photo of the mask. It was just plain awful--cruel and unsettling. She picked up her phone and called the hospital. Identified herself. She asked about Kelley Morgan's condition. It was unchanged, a nurse told her. Still in a coma. She'd probably live, but none of the staff was willing to speculate about whether she'd return to consciousness--or, if so, whether she'd regain a normal life.
Sighing, Kathryn Dance hung up.
And got angry.
She swept the phone up again, found a number in her notebook and, with a heavy finger, punched the keypad hard.
TJ, nearby, watched the stabbing. He tapped Jon Boling on the arm and whispered, "Uh-oh."
James Chilton answered on the third ring.
"This is Kathryn Dance, the Bureau of Investigation."
A brief pause. Chilton would be recalling meeting her . . . and wondering why she was contacting him again. "Agent Dance. Yes. I heard there was another incident."
"That's right. Why I'm calling, Mr. Chilton. The only way we were able to save the victim--a high school girl--was by tracing her screen name. It took a long time, and a lot of people, to find out who she was and where she lived. We got to her house about a half hour before she died. We saved her but she's in a coma and might not recover."
"I'm so sorry."
"And it looks like the attacks are going to continue." She explained about the stolen bouquets.
"Twelve of them?" His voice registered dismay.
