“All right, so that gives us some questions to ask.”
“Some are already answered.” She pushed a piece of paper at him. “One of the victims’ siblings stated they found it strange that their sister was found by the community pool because she couldn’t swim but always wanted to learn.”
“Interesting.”
“I think the killer had to have at least known each woman for a minimum of a week before killing them. In some cases longer, especially the ones who were bi or gay.”
“Are you now thinking these are sexually motivated?” Jag asked.
“I don’t know. I think so, but maybe not in the way we think since she’s killing straight women as well.”
“They could have turned her down,” Jag said. “But that probably would have made her angry, increasing the violence.”
“There is one other thing that really jumped at me today, looking through all this stuff.”
“What’s that?”
“Armstrong.”
“What about her?”
“She looks an awful lot like the victims.” Callie shuffled through the papers and found the pictures of Leslie Armstrong taken over her years of service.
“What are you talking about? She was a brunette, and she was well into her fifties if not sixty when she killed herself.”
“She was fifty-eight,” Callie said. “And when she was in her thirties, she was a blonde.” Callie flashed the image in front of Jag. “She changed her hair color, it seems, about five years before the start of the Trinket Killer.”
“Jesus. She looks exactly like our… Fuck, she looks like you.”
“Similar features, yes. And she tampered with evidence on an investigation where women who looked like her were being murdered. What do you make of that?” she asked.
He leaned over and planted a wet kiss on her lips. “You’re a fucking genius.”
“All I did was raise more questions than answers.” She slumped in the chair, exhausted.
“You made connections and gave us lots of rocks to look under. I’m going to go call Albert. Why don’t you go jump in the shower? I want to be on the five o’clock ferry to my folks.”
She dropped her head to the desk with a thud. “I’m only going because… because…” Why the hell was she going?
“Because you love me,” he said.
She waved her hand in defeat. “Whatever you say.” It was the truth, but again, the words would not be allowed to flow between her lips.
That would make it too real, and she’d never leave.
She had to leave.
Too many bad things happened in Seattle.
* * *
Jag hopped up on the kitchen counter and took a long swig of his beer. “How long are you here for?”
“Just a few days,” his brother Troy said. Troy was a fighter pilot for the Navy, currently stationed at Pearl Harbor. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get here.”
“Mom and Dad were sure shocked to see you,” Jag said. “You need a place to crash?”
“Nah. I’ll stay with the folks. Besides, Ziggy says you and Callie are all cozy again.”
