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“I don’t think it takes a genius to put two and two together here.” Laura blushed under the gaze of Cassie and Underwood. “All the victims were recently released addicts. They’d been pumped full of heroin and killed with a tourniquet. The murderer had a vendetta.”
“He did.” Cassie pointed to Shapiro. “This is the original serial killer.”
“Fascinating.” Underwood stared at the body in awe. “I’d love to study his brain.”
“That’s above my pay grade.” Cassie shook her head. “We finally solved a twenty-year-old murder, but only because the original killer wound up being killed in the exact same way.”
“So, now we have to figure out who murdered the murderer.”
“Considering how many victims this man had, there are plenty of people with motive.” Cassie ran a hand through her hair. “But who’d be able to solve a cold case that the Savannah PD couldn’t even close?”
18
David stood with his back against the far wall and surveyed the mess he’d made of the room. About twenty minutes prior, he’d rolled up his sleeves and gotten to work. He’d cleared all the boxes and bags of old evidence from the table and laid out each letter from Robert Shapiro’s house, almost 200 in total. Now, his brow was beaded with sweat.
He’d grouped them by name and was unsurprised to find Shapiro had corresponded with more than seven people. David and his colleagues figured there were
more victims, but they never could get an estimate on how many more were out there. David remembered trying to collate a list of names of recently released addicts who’d gone missing, but that was comparable to keeping tabs on a hundred birds without the use of trackers. Most of these guys didn’t have families or homes to go back to. They lived on the streets or under bridges, and if they didn’t want to be found—which they often didn’t—then they stayed out of arm’s reach of the law.
“Twelve victims,” David mumbled to himself. “Five bodies missing.”
With the cold case solved, David had to turn his attention to who killed Shapiro. The families of the victims were all prime suspects, but tracking all of them down was going to take some time. He now had the names of the final five victims thanks to the letters, but no clue where to find their bodies. There was likely some evidence hidden within the correspondence but combing through them one by one would be a tedious task.
A sharp knock at the door stole his attention, and as it opened, Harris popped her head through.
“Ah, perfect timing. I need a distraction.”
“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” She closed the door behind her and surveyed the table full of letters. “You need help?”
“You offering?”
“Oh, no. But Paulson has been following me around like a lost puppy. He needs a menial task to keep him out of my hair.”
“I think he’s taken a liking to you.”
“Unfortunately for him, he’s not my type. Want me to send him in?”
“I don’t like people touching my things. They mess it all up.”
Harris rolled her eyes. “You’re worse than a four-year-old. Has anyone ever told you that you have control issues?”
“My wife.”
“You should listen to her.”
“That’s what she keeps saying.” David huffed. “If you’re not here to help, then what? To annoy?”
“Something like that.” Harris plopped down a chair, then kicked her feet up on the table, careful to avoid the letters. “I needed a break. Figured you could use one, too.”
“I’ll take any excuse.”
“How’s Cassie?”
“Good, I think. Her sister’s in town. It’s weighing on her. Doesn’t want to get her involved, but I have a feeling that’s not going to last long.”
“Is her sister anything like her? You know.” Harris widened her eyes and wiggled her fingers around.
“What the hell was that supposed to be?”
