And then he stopped. She wished she knew why. And why it had started again.

Ritual complete, Taylor brought her attention back to the table. There was a separate pile of information in front of them. On the top was the key piece of evidence from the killings—the letter written by the Snow White Killer back in 1988. A polite fuck you, you’ll-never-catch-me type of communication to the police. Every bite Taylor took, her eyes were drawn to the letter. She just knew, in the way of all good detectives, that there was something in the killer’s words that would help solve the cases. There must have been something in the old files that the detec

tives who handled the cases back in the eighties had missed.

That was next on Taylor’s agenda, speaking to the homicide detective from the case. His name was Martin Kimball, and he’d retired the year before Taylor joined the homicide team. She needed to interview him, glean all she could from his memory. She hoped it was solid and intact. Taylor swallowed her chicken salad and mused. She also needed to talk to the reporter who’d handled these cases from the beginning. She’d been trying to reach the man but had been stymied; he was in Europe. He was due back tomorrow, and he was aware that she needed to talk to him. Those were her next steps, talking to Martin Kimball and Frank Richardson, the Tennessean reporter. She put down her sandwich and started in on her Kettle chips.

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“So,” she crunched, “the crime scene was clean. No new evidence. Talk to me. Why are we so sure that this isn’t the Snow White Killer?”

“We’ve gone over this a million times,” Fitz grumped at her.

“I just want to have all the information in front of me to think on. Start talking, old man.”

“Naw, I’ll go. He still has half a sandwich left.” Marcus threw the older man one of his trademark puppy-dog grins, and Fitz nodded his thanks.

“Yeah, let the little man speak,” Lincoln teased. Marcus responded with a halfhearted “Shut up, Lincoln.” Taylor was reminded of two wildly diverse brothers, two boys who loved to razz each other. They all interacted in a family dynamic. The closeness of their unit simply escalated their success rate. Taylor oversaw all of Homicide, Fitz was her sergeant—the troops reported to him. But this core group of four was responsible for an eighty-six percent close rate on their individual cases, a record unheard of in the rest of Metro.

Marcus was running the case down. “Okay, here’s what we know for certain. Snow White was left-handed. He attacked from behind, pulling on the hair of the victim to expose the throat. The knife moved across the girls’ necks from the right side, severing the exterior carotid artery and moving across, through to the internal carotid, to the left. The knife impressions were deeper at the end of the slash. This was consistent on all of the victims.

“Our new killer is right-handed, though he’s trying to make it look like he’s left-handed. He’s cutting their throats from the front. The knife enters the right side of the victims’ necks, moves across, severing both carotid 68

J.T. Ellison

arteries. But the knife slash is deeper at the point of origin, instead of at the end. So it’s safe to conclude that this new killer is right-handed.”

“That’s a biggie, too. Good. What else?” Taylor finished her last chip, pushed her plate away.

“The DNA hasn’t come back yet, but the blood types match. The rope fibers lifted from the victims’ wrists and ankles are inconsistent with the fibers from the earlier cases, though the knots are nearly identical. Obviously the original Snow White killer didn’t leave presents in his victims’ hoohahs, either.”

Taylor suppressed the urge to laugh. “Hoohahs? Some

thing wrong with the technical term?”

Lincoln and Fitz cracked up when Marcus blushed.

“No, I just hate that word. It sounds so, I don’t know. Fine, never mind. He didn’t leave news articles in the victims’ vaginas. Happy now?”

“Very, puppy, very. What else?”

“Tox screens on the first three new victims show high levels of Rohypnol, and elevated BALs. So they all drank doctored drinks. That wasn’t something the original killer did, either.”

Taylor fished a piece of paper out of her pile. “Make that four. Giselle’s lab work was identical. He’s getting them wasted to lower their inhibitions.”

Fitz chimed in. “You’re right. I was in uniform when these cases were ongoing. The word from Homicide was Snow White was a charmer, he sweet-talked the victims instead of drugging them. All the reports say he’d approach them in a safe environment, was someone they could trust. Girls nowadays aren’t as trusting, they’ll need a little extra incentive to go with a stranger willingly.”

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Taylor nodded in agreement. “Well, now we have the makeup of this cream found on their temples. Arnica, frankincense and myrrh? What’s up with that?”

“I think we’re dealing with a religious nut. Look at the biblical aspects—the gifts of the Three Wise Men were gold, frankincense and myrrh. They also used myrrh oil in Roman times to cover up the smell of dead bodies. I looked up the modern uses—perfume, anti-inflammatory, ho

meopathic cholesterol-lowering agents…there’s tons of uses and tons of availability. But the most common use is in churches and synagogues. It just makes more sense that this has some sort of significance to the killer. And the placement on their temples makes it seem like he’s anoint

ing them.”

“Lincoln’s right, there might be a religious component to all of this. Toss that into the mix.”

Marcus played with one of his chips. “Maybe he stopped killing back then because he got called to God. You know, took the opposite road, tried to repent. Hell, he might have become a priest or something. And then he just couldn’t stand it, broke free and started killing again.”

They were all silent for a moment, thinking about those implications.

“I wish we had the DNA comparison. That would at least tell us definitively if we are dealing with the same man or a copycat,” Fitz said.

“You’re right, Fitz.” Taylor absently twirled a piece of her ponytail around her forefinger. “Without the DNA, we can’t go too much further.”

“Have you heard what the holdup is? I know TBI is backed up and they passed it up the chain to Quantico, but still. This should be a priority case for them.”

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“I know, Fitz, I know. Now that Baldwin’s assigned to the case, I’ll ask him to tag a priority to the lab work. Remind me, okay?”

“When’s Price back?” Lincoln asked.

“He should be here tonight. Baldwin sent the plane for him. Let’s get back to the rundown, boys. Now, the lipstick. Giselle St. Claire’s neck wound was rimmed in red lipstick. Tests aren’t back yet, but I’ll throw out the as

sumption that it’s the same lipstick that was found on all of the previous victims’ lips, that Chanel Coco Red. As far as we know, this is a new step, one he hasn’t done to any of the other victims. Coupled with the fact that there wasn’t a separate dump site. Why? Any ideas?”

Marcus nodded. “There has to be a pathology behind the lipstick in the first place. Something from Snow White’s past that drove him to defile the girls, to paint them. To alter the way they looked naturally. Something his mother did, perhaps? But the new killer, he’s just copying his predecessor. So the lipstick on Giselle’s throat could just be his way of saying this is my kill. I did this one. It screams ‘Mine.’”

“That’s a good start, puppy. Why wouldn’t he do it to the first three?”

“Because he knew by this kill we would have figured out that he was a copycat. He knew we’d have DNA to match, and would know he was right-handed instead of left. He’s ready to be acknowledged.”