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“Based on what I readin Eloise Creighton’s autopsy report,” said Maura, “I’m having trouble seeing many similarities between these two murders. Which makes me think you’re not dealing with the same killer.”
Jane watched as Maura washed her hands in the morgue sink, seemingly oblivious to the stench from the postmortem she’d just completed. Jane stood near the door, her elbow lifted to her nose to shield it, but the smell had already seeped into her nostrils, her lungs. Even if she stripped off her clothes and took a shower, she wouldn’t be able to erase the memory of that odor.
“What the hell did you just slice up in there anyway? It smells like a sewer.”
“Eighty-eight-year-old female, lived alone. She was dead for eight days in a warm house before anyone found her.” Maura shut off the water and reached for a paper towel to dry her hands. “A very sad but ultimately natural death.”
“Can we get out of here? I need some fresh air.”
“Gladly.” Maura tossed the paper towel into the trash can. “Let’s go outside.”
Another storm system had rolled in overnight, and dark clouds hung low over the city. The air was cloying and damp and Jane could taste more rain in the air. They sat outside on the bench behind the building, facing the underpass, where concrete magnified the roar of traffic. It was a decidedly unscenic view, and auto exhaust tinged the air, but at least it did not smell like death. Something they had both had their fill of today.
“Iwantthis to be the same killer,” said Jane. “It would make things so much simpler. All I’d have to do is find James Creighton.”
“The Maine police never proved beyond a doubt that he killed his ex-wife.”
“Detective Thibodeau’s pretty sure he did. And if Creighton killed one woman—”
“It doesn’t mean he killed a second one.”
“But there are similarities. Both were home invasions. And it looks like both victims were caught by surprise.”
“If it is the same killer, he’s changed his MO. Sofia was clubbed with a hammer, an efficient and matter-of-fact killing. Eloise Creighton was strangled in her upstairs hallway. That’s a very personal, very intimate way of killing someone. It requires strength and skin-to-skin contact, close enough for the killer to feel her struggles, the last twitches of her body.”
“You’re saying it’s someone who knew her.”
“It doesn’t rule out a stranger. Maybe it was someone forced to use his own hands because that’s all he had at the time.”
“James had a motive. He and his ex-wife were battling over child custody.”
“If he did it, then where’s the child? Why would he kill her?”
“You know the way some of these exes think.If I can’t have her, nobody can.They just haven’t found Lily’s body yet. And that was his blood in the upstairs hallway.”
Maura nodded. “I saw that detail on the report: A negative.”
“Hisblood type. And he had a fresh cut on his finger.”
“Which he had an explanation for. Plus they found blood on his sailboat, where he said he hurt himself.”
“Conveniently enough.”
“You’re still reaching, Jane. Think about the ways these cases are dissimilar. One victim was in her thirties, the other in her fifties. They lived in different cities, different states. And the first murder was nineteen years ago.”
“Nineteen years ago, Sofia was working as a nurse in Maine. The murder of Eloise Creighton was splashed all over the local newspapers, so Sofia would have heard about it at the time.”
“Why was she looking it up now? Nearly two decades later?” asked Maura.
“That’s what I have to figure out.” Jane looked at a slice of gray sky above. Took a deep breath to wash the fetid air from her lungs. They sat silent for a moment, listening to the clang of a manhole cover as cars rattled across it.
“Maybe she just came across something. Heard a conversation, read a news item,” Maura said. “It reminded her of the murder and curiosity sent her to the web.”
“There’s that sequence of dates, Maura. Early April, she starts her online search for Creighton. She tracks down his old address and sends him a letter. A month later, she gets an email from someone who tells her to call his burner phone. That’s got to behisphone. James Creighton’s.”
“It’s also possible the burner’s not his and Sofia’s death had nothing to do with the Creighton murder.”
“So why was she searching for him online?” asked Jane.
