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That had been the beginning. But this? This “memorial”? This sham?
This is not the end. That will come soon. A date that’s been forever lodged in his mind, that will shortly be marked by something else. Something impressive. Magnificent. Something that will haunt them all for the rest of their lives.
If they survive.
CHAPTER
59
EVERYTHING IS A puzzle. They are studying the photographs from the memorial, painstakingly trying to identify every face in the crowd. Shenton is working on the cipher again.
“Any luck?” Cara asks him, and he frowns.
“I hate to say this,” he mutters, “but I’m starting to think it’s not possible to crack. After all, some of the original ciphers from the Zodiac Killer were never decoded.”
Cara stares at him. A thousand swear words filter through her mind, but she somehow doesn’t say any of them.
“Did you hear back about the handwriting?” Shenton asks in the face of her silence.
She nods. “The expert thinks left-handed. And distinctive enough to compare if we get any suspects.”
“You know the Zodiac Killer was thought to be ambidextrous,” Shenton says, off-hand. “So any handwriting analysis might not work.”
Cara grits her teeth. He’s just trying to be helpful, she tells herself. Don’t take this nightmare situation out on him.
She moves away from Shenton before she says something she’ll regret, and goes over to the whiteboard. She stares at the rows of victims, the woman found outside Griffin’s apartment added to the grim lineup. Dr. Ross has given his view. Cause of death: electrocution. That, and contributory factors from starvation, dehydration, sexual assault, torture, and blunt force trauma. He guesses she was held against her will for about a week. “Gary Heidnik,” Shenton had muttered, allocating a serial killer to the murder.
She picks up the lab report received that morning. Libby had a blood alcohol level in line with the few drinks they knew she’d consumed in the bar. Michael Sharp had a long list of drugs in his bloodstream, but again, nothing strange knowing the sort of pharmaceuticals he liked to imbibe.
There were no prints on the gun. No DNA. The only cells under Libby’s fingernails were her own. No foreign saliva. The material sent to the newspaper with the cipher was confirmed to have traces of Libby’s blood, and a matching hole was found in her dress. But nothing else.
It’s been the same, all along.
“Come on,” she mutters under her breath. “Make a mistake.”
But she knows that might mean another murder. And how could she wish for something so evil? Even if they could catch the guy.
She looks at the names of the victims across the top of the board. Lisa Kershaw. Daria Capshaw. Sarah Jackman. Marisa Perez. Ann Lees. Elizabeth Roberts. Michael Sharp. Multiple people they haven’t yet been able to identify. And Mia Griffin.
Cara resolves that once this is over, once the Echo Man is caught and behind bars, she will make sure these are the names that are remembered. These were all someone’s daughter, father, brother, wife. These are the people that matter.
She taps a finger on Libby’s photo, then one on Mia’s. “I’ll find this guy,” she mutters to herself. “For you.”
Then Cara wonders about Libby’s phone and laptop. She takes a long breath in and out. I need a change of scene, she thinks, and leaves, walking down the five flights of stairs to the basement.
* * *
The digital lab requested their offices were sited down here. It was the place nobody else wanted, with the lack of natural light, the distance from the canteen. But that must be what they like about it, Cara thinks, the automatic lights flicking on as she walks down the corridor.
The room seems in darkness as she comes to the door at the end. She tries the handle, but it’s locked. There’s a doorbell to the right, and she presses it.
After a minute, a hiss announces someone listening.
“DCI Elliott,” she says to the intercom.
A buzz indicates she’s allowed inside, and she pushes the door open.
The room is dimly lit. On one side, shelves of equipment dominate, wires falling haphazardly out of their boxes, some littering the floor. There are rows of computers, a gentle glow coming from one in front of her.
