“Looks like it would work,” Captain Lee admitted.
“So, what we’re saying is that the killer could be just about anybody,” Flynn said, blowing out a heavy breath as he brushed his perfectly styled dark hair back off his forehead. It fell immediately back into place, just so.
“Anyone who could lift eighty-nine pounds,” Zoe agreed. “And in the adrenaline-fueled situation of tackling a target, that could be a lot more people than you might think. We could be looking for any man or woman of average or even below average strength. If they could lift an average eight-year-old child, they could easily do this.”
“Just about the only thing we could say is that it isn’t someone with exceptional strength, since they wouldn’t need this set-up,” Flynn said glumly. “Unless that’s just to throw us off the scent, too.”
They contemplated this grim reality together for a moment, the fact that the killer could be any number of people. Zoe would have to check that the first crime scene had the same usage of physics to make the load easier, but from this scene, she couldn’t get a lot of information about the strength, weight, or height of the killer. The force of the pull had left no marks, the killer standing on the sidewalk rather than soft ground. They were going to need to look elsewhere for clues.
“We need to visit the coroner,” Zoe said, looking at Flynn. She wasn’t asking permission from the captain, or from Flynn. It was an instruction.
“Right,” Flynn agreed. “Captain, is there anyone who can drive us over there? Detective Morrison…”
“I’m right here,” Morrison said, over his shoulder. Zoe and Flynn both turned to look at him.
Zoe felt a spark of annoyance. Wasn’t he supposed to be looking up financial records by now?
“What are you still doing here?” Flynn asked, taking the words right out of Zoe’s mouth.
“I needed to check if the captain wanted me to do what you said.” Morrison shrugged, talking around a cigarette as he rubbed chilled hands together.
Captain Lee opened his mouth to reply, but it was Flynn who jumped ahead of him. “This is now officially an FBI case,” he said, icily. “Which means you work for us now. If we say jump, you better be in the air within the next thirty seconds. Got it?”
“Fine, whatever,” Morrison said churlishly, but Zoe was looking at Flynn with a newfound sense of satisfaction. He wasn’t the easiest partner to work with, thanks to his arrogance and the undying self-confidence that seemed to suggest he was the most qualified person in the room—and he rarely was. But it seemed that having someone to fight these petty battles, which were often half the job when dealing with local cops, was going to be incredibly useful.
“To the coroner, then,” Flynn said, jabbing a finger in Morrison’s direction. “And Captain, I trust you’ll be able to put someone else on the job. We want a thorough forensic financial report on both businesses.”
“Understood.” The captain nodded smartly. He didn’t look pleased with the order, but he no doubt had the experience to know that it was better to do as he was told. “Morrison, behave yourself. You do whatever they ask of you. You’re representing the department on this, son, so you better act like it.”
Morrison hung his head and stalked away, throwing his cigarette butt to the ground and stomping on it, but he was headed toward the car. Zoe took that as a small victory and strode after him. The coroner’s visit couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER SIX
Zoe followed Morrison down past flickering strip lights to a room at the end of the hall, fitted with swinging double doors that made it easy for carts bearing bodies to be moved inside. The coroner was working late. Zoe had no doubt that Captain Lee would have impressed upon him the importance of getting this case wrapped up as soon as possible, especially now that the FBI was involved. The lights were still on in a low, squat building adjacent to the police precinct, with white-tiled hallways that seemed eerie this late at night.
The coroner was there, a balding man in his fifties with bright blue headphones over his ears. He took them off when he saw them entering, and Zoe caught four tinny beats of a heavy electronic sound before the music cut off.
“This is Frank Richards?” Zoe asked, without preamble. She saw Flynn flashing his badge out of the corner of her eye; hers was already hung around her neck on a chain, the insignia visible enough that most law enforcement didn’t bother asking her to show the picture. She moved toward the body on the slab, already recognizing him enough to know that she was right. The dimensions were all there.
“I’m still completing my examination,” the coroner said, half-apologetically. “I was working on Stout when this one came in.”
“You have completed your preliminary report on Stout?” Zoe asked, glancing across the room to the closed metal doors of the morgue’s racks and then back to the more pressing view of Richards’s body.
“They look fairly similar so far,” the coroner said, which was not exactly a confirmation, but Zoe let it slide. “I’m seeing the same patterns of MO. There’s a blow to the back of the head in both cases, which was done fairly shortly premortem. By my estimations, it would be enough to stun the victims, perhaps even to drop them unconscious for a moment or two, leaving them defenseless for long enough to get the rope around their necks. The blow to the head isn’t fatal; in the first case, Stout, it didn’t even draw blood or cause any internal fracturing. For Richards, it’s a little harder, but I believe he retained consciousness given the small amount of blood on his fingertips here.”
Zoe moved closer to examine the hand that the coroner was lifting, showing a dark red smudge on Richards’s hand, now darkening closer to brown. “You are sure this is Richards’s blood?”
“I’ve sent a sample to the lab for testing,” the coroner said mildly. Zoe was half-impressed; he wasn’t flustered by her questions, and didn’t seem annoyed at having to work late or report to the FBI. He was more professional than most of the officials she found in towns of this size. Then again, Salem was bigger than it seemed; with the constant influx of tourists, their police department had to see more action than in comparable locations. “The cause of death in both cases is asphyxiation, through hanging by the neck. The same rope in both cases with the same kind of knot. There aren’t any other signs of a struggle, so I’m surmising the blow to the head was a surprise attack and the rope was lifted before they managed to regain their balance enough to fight back.”
Zoe nodded. It was all very interesting. She was already building up a picture of the killer in her mind. He, or she, was—
“Quick and efficient,” Flynn said, almost admiringly. He’d taken the words right out of her thoughts. “He knew just where to attack them, so that there would be no witnesses to help or call the police. He attacks from behind to neutralize them, then gets them in the air quickly. I’m guessing the ropes were already set up and knotted, ready to be used.”
“There must be some degree of scouting,” Zoe acknowledged, turning back to Flynn. The body had told her everything it could: the height, weight, age, just as in the report. The dimensions of the rope could be gained from the abrasions on the neck, but Zoe had already seen the rope herself. As for the blow to the back of the head, it gave her a good impression of the size and heft of the item used, and strength required, but that information was not yet enough to point the investigation in any particular direction. “I would guess that the killer observes the habitual routes of the victim first, and then sets up the rope at a position somewhere along the route where they can use existing features of the city to help in hoisting the weight of the body.”