“It’s your show,” Jackson replied.
Sean nodded and started his own setup. A minute later, a map of the area with an overlay noting the names of the victims appeared. “I’ll explain, although it’s pretty self-evident,” Sean said. “Here we have the Alamo, the Longhorn and the locations where the bodies were discovered. There are only a few blocks between the Alamo and the inn. We’re going to include everything here, in case there is a connection. Rose Langley was found in Room 207, soon after she was murdered. I don’t think anyone proved it was Matt Meyer, but apparently everyone knew it. Due to the amount of blood in Room 207 last year, forensic scientists and medical examiners agree that Sierra Monte didn’t walk out of there alive. If we were to draw a line around the locations where the rest of the bodies were found, including those of our other known victims—Chelsea Martin and Tara Grissom—we have a circle, and the center of that circle would fall right between the Alamo and the Longhorn.”
“Do you think the locations mean anything?” Jane asked.
“Well, it means that a killer is staying within his familiar area,” Logan said. “Every time he’s dumped a body, he’s known exactly where it could be left in plain sight and still remain hidden. So he knows the area. He also knows something about drugs, decomposition and how to manipulate people. Some of these things anyone can study online. And I’m afraid we’re a huge city, so there are plenty of drugs on the street. Plus, it’s really not that hard to go to lectures or read books on criminal science these days, although it would be interesting to find a suspect with knowledge of criminal science in his background.” He looked around at the others. “We believe this person is never seen accosting the women, because he doesn’t accost them. We also believe he’s taking them from the area of the Alamo. If he’s not creating an obvious problem, there’s no reason for tourists or anyone to notice him. Also, if he’s walking around the Alamo in costume, people just assume he’s part of the program. When Jane’s images go out tomorrow—online and in the paper—we may get more help from the public.”
He walked over to the board Kelsey had covered with the women’s J. Doe names and locations of death. “This is conjecture, but… A gem worth probably millions in today’s market disappeared from Galveston right before the Alamo. If it did come to San Antonio, it came with Rose Langley, who was killed in Room 207. We’ve learned that Sierra Monte was exceptionally fond of gems and intrigued by jewelry, and so was Chelsea Martin. We’ve also learned that Tara Grissom was fascinated by the history here, so she likely had knowledge of the Longhorn Saloon, Rose Langley and the Galveston diamond.”
“How would the killer have known who these women were, and why would he have suspected they’d even heard of the diamond?” Kelsey asked.
“That’s a good question.” Logan looked at Sean. “I’ve done computer searches and I’ve checked our identified victims’ email and social network accounts. What we need to find out is whether they were communicating with someone here, in San Antonio, who might’ve been giving them information—and maybe getting ideas or other information from them. That’s just a theory.”
“What if some of them were killed so it would look like there’s a serial murderer?” Kelsey asked.
Logan turned the question over to Jackson. He was old FBI; he’d worked as a behavioral specialist.
“It’s possible,” he said thoughtfully. “Our scientific investigations have giant holes because most of the bodies were found in such severe states of decomposition, but as far as we can tell, these murders haven’t had the markings of a sexual psychopath. The victims were murdered in different ways. They’re similar only in sex and age. And again, as far as we know, their relationship is to the Alamo or the Longhorn Saloon.”
“The killer almost has to be local, as we’ve discussed, partly because of the time elapsed. Of course, a killer could come and go, but the time and location grids suggest he’s local,” Kelsey said.
Logan nodded. “I’m going to say local for those reasons, too. We’ll accept the fact that Rose Langley was killed by Matt Meyer. And we’ll work on the theory that the Galveston diamond did come to San Antonio. Rose was the only one who knew where the diamond was, but it seems likely that it was hidden somewhere at the inn.” He looked at Sean. “Can you research the known victims, try to find out if they believed they were psychics? I didn’t see anything about that when I researched them, so I figure we’ll have to ask friends and family directly.”
Kelsey raised her eyebrows. “Kat,” she asked. “Could the killer have kept them alive long enough to question them, or try to get them to a séance, or anything like that?”
“Yes, of course, it’s possible. But still, how did the killer know which women to snatch?”
“I might have an answer to that,” Sean said. “He saw their pictures, which made them easy to identify. They’re all over the internet. It’s a reasonable place to start.”
“We believe he’s dressed up, so we’re looking for someone who does costume events, has access to costumes or might own a costume.” Kelsey glanced at Logan, and then at Jackson Crow. “I honestly think we have that on good authority.”
“We use everything we get,” Jackson assured her.
“There’s something else to keep in mind. We need to discover who might have had an unhealthy interest in the Longhorn, perhaps because of the murders,” Logan said. “I’m almost convinced that one victim—our drowning victim—was killed by someone else, and if we determine her identity, we have a chance of finding her killer. But as to the killings that could continue, our answers may very well revolve around the Longhorn Saloon.”
“We really have to do better with this meal thing,” Kelsey said, popping a piece of cheese in her mouth as she cut pieces from a block of sharp cheddar to add to the salads. “I’m starved.”
Logan hardly heard what she’d said. He was deep in thought, trying to create a list of everyone he’d seen at the Longhorn in the past few days. Which, of course, meant very little, since the rodeo was in town.
But there was Ted Murphy, for one.
All right, he hated the man, but you couldn’t go blaming someone for serial murders simply because you found that someone to be an unbearable prick.
“Want to share your thoughts?” Kelsey asked, putting the salad on the table and taking a bottle of red wine from a nearby shelf.
“Sure,” he answered. “Sorry. I was thinking about people at the Longhorn.”
“Sandy, Ricky and a host of bartenders and hired help for starters.”
He nodded. “We’ll get the Rangers and the local police to follow through on employee dossiers,” he said. “I was thinking more about the people we’ve come across there. Like Ted Murphy.”
“He certainly seems excited by the prospect of blood and guts.” She made a sardonic face.
“Jeff Chasson.”
“He’s sort of a celebrity. Popular historian and performer. And he’s also huge on the blood and guts, or so it seems,” Kelsey said.
“Corey Simmons—but he’s here for the rodeo, and I’m not sure if he’s ever been to San Antonio or the Longhorn before.” Logan reached into the broiler for the steaks he’d thrown in. He set their food on plates and turned off the oven. “I’ll have profiles run on these people. And if we’re going to look at Jeff Chasson, there’s the rest of the film crew. The director, Bernie Firestone, and the cameraman, Earl Candy.”
They began their meal. At one point, Kelsey put her fork down and sighed. “Logan, this is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even trying to narrow down some kind of profile seems next to impossible. San Antonio is the seventh-largest city in the United States. Most Americans know the story of the Alamo, if not all the details. Anyone can rent a costume.”
“He’s going to make a mistake or he already has made a mistake, Kelsey. We have to find it,” Logan said.
“We can only hope….”
He wasn’t sure when or how, but they’d tacitly agreed that she’d come home with him. They’d slid into this naturally. When the meeting had broken up, he’d spoken first, suggesting steak. Now they were here, back in his house, as they’d been the night before. Of course, they were still talking business, trying to come up with new possibilities; it was hard to erase a mindful of theories and facts and conjecture.
But just as natural as his suggestion of steak and her agreement was the way they rose from the dinner table and melted into each other’s arms. Kelsey headed down the hall, and he practically raced after her, then paused to run back and make sure the broiler was off. When he returned, it was to find a trail of clothing leading to the shower.
Maybe touching the softness of her flesh and breathing in her scent was like a drug. Maybe making love gave them both the mindlessness they needed, if only for a few hours.
There was something about her. It began with her eyes, the emerald green that seemed so pure and untainted, even with the world around them so ugly and cruel and torn. She was lithe and beautifully golden with a fading tan; against that, her hair was like fire, a fire of temptation and seduction. She was vital in her passion, eyes flashing, whispers ever more erotic, and she moved with the fluidity of water. She could tease and excite and arouse with a sweep of that lustrous burning hair. Making love with her was like a sea of sensation. All-encompassing.
Shower and then bed. Making love in a stream of water, then making love in the softness of mattress and pillows. Afterward, he lay spent in a way he barely remembered, his mind telling him that sex was just physical heat and desire shared by a man and a woman, and yet somewhere in his soul another voice was telling him there was a difference and he should know it well. The difference between sex and making love…
