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“We know that part was intentional,” Michael said. “We don’t know that finding an open grave was intentional. He could have seen it and improvised.”
“What difference does it make?” Faith replied irritably. “He’s taunting us.”
Michael shook his head. “How the hell did he rig the bell at the fake grave to ring?”
“He probably didn’t,” Faith said. “Mrs. Hearst never actually entered the cemetery. She heard the bell, but she had no way of knowing there were two bells and only one was ringing. Neither did we.”
After a moment of quiet, Michael said, “Let’s focus on what we know. We know the killer knows about us. We don’t know that he threw the sports coat into the grave to throw Turk off the scent. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but Turk wouldn’t know the victim’s scent, so throwing his sports coat in there wouldn’t make a difference.”
“He knows the killer’s scent from the previous grave,” Faith said.
“But he wouldn’t smell it from six feet in the dirt. He either picked up the bell or the footprints.”
Faith took a deep breath and released it slowly. She didn’t want to argue this point. Like Michael said, it was better to focus on what they knew.
“So he changed his MO,” she said. “That’s the critical point. We don’t know if this was an opportunistic change or a strategic one, but we know he knows about us, and that means that he must work at one of these cemeteries.”
“So we’re back to square one,” Michael said. “We’ve already ruled out Emilio Benitez, so it has to be someone else.”
“He doesn’t necessarily need to know about you two,” Missy said.
Faith and Michael turned to see her approaching, apparently finished with the Anderson family. “He would need to know that some form of law enforcement was after him, but the police have K9s too. Frankly, he would probably assume he’s being hunted after the first two murders.”
Faith took another deep breath. “Right. So he’s taunting law enforcement and now either planning his murders around scheduled grave diggings or just so happened to be here at the right place at the right time.”
“Probably the latter,” Missy said. “Either way, it sucks.”
She sat next to the two agents and the three of them sat in silence for a moment. To their left, the coroner’s crew arrived to take the body. CSI continued to mill around the grave site, but other than another bell and the recording device, they hadn’t found anything useful.
“Do we have an ID on the victim?” Faith asked.
“William Hucksley, 52. He’s a lawyer, one of those ambulance chaser types. Divorced ten years ago after a DUI manslaughter case. The manslaughter charge was dropped, but the DUI stuck.”
“And he kept his law license?” Michael asked incredulously.
Missy lifted her hands and let them drop in awhat can you do?gesture. “Guess so. Not that it helped him much now.”
Faith was disgusted that a lawyer could get away with DUI manslaughter, but what really frustrated her was the fact that he was a lawyer in the first place. There went the medical professional theory.
“Have you notified the family?” she asked.
Missy shook her head. “We need to wait for the coroner to conduct the autopsy,” she replied.
“Make that happen ASAP,” Faith said. “We need to determine if there’s a connection between the three victims. Maybe he chased Marvin Prescott’s ambulance to Barbara Ames’s hospital.”
“I’ll get Frank to expedite it. It should be pretty open and shut. I might even have it done by sunrise.”
“Is the family local?” Michael asked.
Faith realized that should have been her first question, but her chagrin was short-lived.
“Yeah, they’re local,” Missy replied. “I looked ’em up. Ex-wife lives about twenty minutes from here. The son is another five past her.”
“Do you know if he talked to them?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Missy said, “but it’s worth a shot. I’ll get that autopsy done and call you guys when you’re good to do.”
Faith got the addresses and the three federal agents left. As they left the cemetery, they heard the coroner’s van pass them. Faith turned to see the converted ambulance turn left onto Olive Street and accelerate smoothly to the refrigerated room where William Hucksley would wait his turn to be once more buried in a grave.
