‘DNA testing will take longer,’ Darby said. ‘Coop is thinking of sending the samples directly to your lab. He’s also going to send the duct tape there.’ Because duct tape was often used in murders, the federal lab kept its own library of tape samples.

Hoder shifted uncomfortably and then moved the cane to his opposite hand. ‘Why do you think the Ripper contacted you?’

‘Like I said on the way here, we don’t know that the man I spoke to actually is the Red Hill Ripper.’ Darby had told Hoder the details of last night’s phone call as she drove him to the station, which was conveniently less than two miles from the hotel, located on the outskirts of the downtown area. She had also given him a rundown of her encounter with Deputy Sheriff Lancaster. ‘For all we know it was just some local guy with a pair of binocs who gets off on watching an old lady undressing.’

‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

‘That I’m old? Yes, I do. Unfortunately.’

‘I’m being serious. How many peeping toms do you know who call to alert their target – and use a voice-changer to boot?’

‘I’m not putting too much stock in what happened last night. Williams told me the Ripper has never called anyone associated with the case.’

Ray Williams had helped her to search the wooded area near her window for footprints. They hadn’t found any. She had also searched the area again, early this morning, before going to the station, and had come up empty – which wasn’t all that surprising. As Williams had correctly pointed out last night, there was a part of the main sidewalk that offered a direct view into her bedroom window. If the man who had been watching her had used something more powerful than a pair of binoculars – a monocular or sniper scope – he could have counted the crow’s feet around her eyes.

‘If the man who called you last night is the Red Hill Ripper,’ Hoder said, ‘I guarantee he’ll call you again.’

‘Does the media know you’re here?’

‘A reporter came up from Denver the day we arrived. He was waiting outside the hotel.’

‘You talk to him?’

‘No. But that didn’t prevent him from writing a story on that “monster hunter” bullshit. It ran in yesterday’s paper.’

‘Did my name appear in the story?’ asked Darby.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t read the article, but I know I didn’t mention your name to the reporter.’ His eyes narrowed in thought. ‘If your name wasn’t in the story and if the man who called you last night was the Ripper, how did he know you’re here?’

‘Good question. I’m wondering if he was watching the house yesterday. There sure as hell are plenty of places to hide.’ Darby polished off the rest of her coffee and tossed the cup into the trash. ‘Maybe he called Lancaster for some ideas.’

‘You should’ve woken me last night.’

‘I called Williams. Besides, I thought one of us should get a full night’s sleep. You looked like you were in a lot of pain yesterday, when you came by the house.’

‘Just some minor swelling. Next time something like that happens, please include me, no matter what time of night and no matter how you think I’m feeling.’

Darby caught the undercurrent in Hoder’s tone. The man was frightened of being put out to pasture – of becoming obsolete.

‘You’re right,’ Darby said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Hoder flashed his bright and youthful smile. ‘I bet saying that hurt.’

‘More than you know.’

Hoder grinned as he reached for a thick folder on the counter. ‘Our lab identified the knot,’ he said, and removed the page and handed it to her.

The sheet of paper contained two colour photos. The top one showed two loose pieces of nylon rope loosely wrapped together, forming a knot that hadn’t been tightened. There were two twists in the bottom part of the knot and one twist on the top.

‘It’s called a surgeon’s knot, or ligature knot,’ Hoder said. ‘That bottom picture shows what the knot looks like after it’s tightened. The way the rope’s bound together, the knot doesn’t have much give, which allowed him to control the tension. He could choke them slowly over hours, listening to them beg and plead for their lives; or, after one good, hard yank, he could step back and then watch them slowly choke to death.’

The break-room door opened and a patrolman with a large Adam’s apple poked his head inside. ‘They’re ready for you,’ he said. ‘Agent Hoder, the chief would like to see you in his office first.’

20

The Ripper Task Force operated out of a squad room with white panelled walls and insanely bright overhead fluorescents that reflected off the grey linoleum floor. A dozen or so cops and patrolmen packed the small room, the warm air smelling of coffee and cigarette-baked clothes. Posters advertising the state’s $100,000 reward and toll-free number for the hotline had been tacked to the walls in the front of the room.

Ray Williams stood in the back, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. As Darby made her way to him, the haggard faces seated behind the scuffed desks regarded her with suspicion. Some blatantly looked her over from head to toe, like they were inspecting a piece of meat. She was the only woman in here – the only living one, at least. Crime scene photographs of the dead women were held by magnets to the rolling whiteboards on the far side of the room. A map of the town was pinned to a standing corkboard: the murder sites were marked with pushpins and beside each one was a Post-It note indicating the victims’ names and time and manner of death.

‘Any luck with the phone number?’ Darby asked when she reached him.

Williams leaned into her, a breath mint clinking against his teeth. ‘It belongs to a payphone two blocks from your hotel,’ he whispered. ‘Not going to get any witnesses, I’m afraid. Payphone’s set between two stores, both of ’em out of business. You get any sleep?’

‘Couple of hours.’

Darby leaned her back against the wall. Williams’s cheeks glowed from a morning shave, and his skin smelled of sandalwood and leather. Had he worn aftershave for her? She hadn’t smelled any on him yesterday.

‘How you holding up?’ he asked.

‘Never better.’

Williams leaned closer, grinning, his eyes filled with amusement. ‘Does it ever get tired?’

‘Does what get tired?’

‘Wearing all that armour.’

Darby found herself grinning. ‘Sometimes I take it off.’

‘Really? And when would that be?’

‘Depends on the person, and the circumstances.’

Williams cracked his breath mint on his molars and smiled with his eyes.

Hoder entered with Red Hill Police Chief Tom Robinson, a tall and reedy baby-faced man with marbled skin and ruddy cheeks. Williams had told her that Robinson, a widower and grandfather who suffered from Crohn’s disease, recently had part of his colon removed and wore a colonoscopy bag. The chief refused to step down from his position until the Red Hill Ripper investigation was closed.

Robinson made a point of distancing himself from the man who had entered the room behind them – Brewster Deputy Sheriff Theodore Lancaster, who was quickly finishing up a conversation on his phone. Darby, veteran of squad rooms and police debriefings, recognized a pissing contest when she saw one.

She looked sideways at Williams, who had straightened, his eyes riveted on a neutral spot ten inches from his nose. Blood climbed into his neck and she saw the cartilage working behind his jaws. Apparently he hadn’t been told about Lancaster’s surprise visit.

Lancaster matched glares with Williams as Robinson took to the podium. Darby wondered how much information the police chief would reveal to his people with Lancaster in the room.

Robinson’s raspy voice had a slight nasal twang, as though he were recovering from the tail end of a cold. ‘Everyone got their cells muted? Okay, good. Listen up. Most of you have already met Special Agent Hoder. And y’all know the man standing to my left, Teddy Lancaster.’ The chief’s face and tone echoed the contempt he felt for the Brewster sheriff. ‘I don’t have to tell y’all why Teddy’s here with us this morning.’