"Running."
"Yeah," she said. "That's like walking, but faster."
"Ah, okay. It kind of rings a bell. I think I did it once when I was a kid."
"I may have a boxing match set up for the end of March, so I better start doing roadwork. We could run together. It does wonders, believe me. Clears the mind completely."
Byrne tried to suppress the laughter. "Jess. The only time I plan on running is when someone is chasing me. And I mean a big guy. With a knife."
The wind picked up. Jessica shivered, turned up her collar. "I'm gonna go." There was a lot more she wanted to say, but there would be time. "You sure you're okay?"
"Never better."
Right, partner, she thought. She walked back to her car, slipped in, started it. As she pulled away she glanced at her rearview mirror, saw Byrne silhouetted against the lights on the other side of the river, now just another shadow in the night.
She looked at her watch. It was 1:15 AM.
It was Christmas Day.
44
Christmas morning broke clear and cold, bright with promise.
Pastor Roland Hannah and Deacon Charles Waite offered service at 7:00 AM. Roland's sermon was one of hope, of renewal. He spoke of The Cross and The Cradle. He quoted Matthew 2:1-12. The baskets overflowed.
Later, Roland and Charles sat at the table in the basement beneath the church, a pot of cooling coffee between them. In an hour they would begin to prepare a Christmas ham dinner for upwards of one hundred homeless people. It would be served at their new facility on Second Street.
"Look at this," Charles said. He handed Roland the morning's Inquirer. There had been another murder. Nothing special in Philadelphia, but this one had resonance. Deep resonance. This one had an echo that reverberated over the years.
A woman had been found in Shawmont. She had been discovered at the old waterworks near the train station, just on the eastern bank of the Schuylkill.
Roland's pulse raced. Two bodies found on the banks of the Schuylkill River in one week. Then there was the story in the previous day's paper, an article reporting that Detective Walter Brigham had been murdered. Roland and Charles knew all about Walter Brigham.
There was no denying the truth of it.
Charlotte and her friend had been found on the bank of the Wis- sahickon. They had been posed, just like these two women. Maybe, after all these years, it was not about girls. Maybe it was about the water.
Maybe this was a sign.
Charles dropped to his knees and prayed. His big shoulders shook. In moments he was whispering in tongues. Charles was a glossolalic, a true believer who, when overtaken by the spirit, would speak in what he believed to be God's idiom, an edification of one's self. To the casual observer, it might have sounded like so much gibberish. To the believer, to one moved to tongues, it was the language of Heaven.
Roland glanced back at the newspaper, closed his eyes. Soon, a divine calm descended upon him, and a voice inside gave query to his thoughts.
Is it him?
Roland touched the crucifix around his neck.
And knew the answer.
PART THREE
THE RIVER DARKNESS
45
"Why are we in here with the door closed, Sarge?" Park asked.
Tony Park was one of the few Korean-American detectives on the force. A family man in his late forties, a wizard on the computer, a skilled interrogator in the room, there was not a more practical, streetwise detective on the force than Anthony Kim Park. This time, his question was on the mind of everyone in the room.
The task force was four detectives strong. Kevin Byrne, Jessica Balzano, Joshua Bontrager, and Tony Park. Considering the enormous job of coordinating the forensic sections, collecting witness statements, conducting interviews, and all the other minutiae that made up a homicide investigation-a pair of related homicide investigations-the task force was meager. There simply was not enough manpower available.
"The door's closed for two reasons," Ike Buchanan said, "and I think you know the first one."
They all did. Task forces were played close to the vest these days, especially those given the challenge of hunting a compulsive killer. Mostly because a small group of men and women tasked with tracking down an individual had a way of drawing that individual to them, putting wives, children, friends, and family in jeopardy. It had happened to both Jessica and Byrne. It happened more than the general public knew.
"The second reason is, and I'm sorry to have to say this, is that things have had a way of making it into the media from this office lately. I don't want to start any rumors or any panic," Buchanan said. "Besides, as far as the city is concerned, we're not sure we have a compulsive out there. Right now, the media thinks we have two unsolved homicides that may or not be related. Let's see if we can keep it that way for a while."
It was always a delicate balance with the media. There were a lot of reasons not to give them too much information. Information had a way of rapidly becoming disinformation. If the media ran with a story that a serial killer was walking the streets of Philadelphia, many things could result, most of them bad. Not the least of which was the possibility of a copycat killer taking the opportunity to get rid of a mother-in-law, husband, wife, boyfriend, boss. On the other hand, there had been a number of occasions when the newspapers and television stations had broadcast a suspect sketch for the PPD and within days-sometimes hours-they'd had their man.
As of this morning, the day after Christmas, the department had not yet released any specific details about the second victim.
"Where are we on the ID on the Shawmont victim?" Buchanan asked.
"Her name was Tara Grendel," Bontrager said. "She was identified through her DMV records. Her car was found half in, half out of a parking space at an indoor lot on Walnut. We're not sure if that was the abduction site or not, but it looks good for it."
"What was she doing in that garage? Did she work nearby?"
"She was an actress, working under the name Tara Lynn Greene. She had an audition the day she went missing."
"Where was the audition?"
"At the Walnut Street Theater," Bontrager said. He flipped back through his notes. "She left the theater alone at around 1 PM. Parking lot attendant said she walked in about ten after one, took the steps to the basement."
"Do they have surveillance cameras?"
"They do. But nothing is taped."
The maddening news was that there was another "moon" painting on Tara Grendel's abdomen. A DNA report was in the works to determine if there was a match to the blood and semen found on Kristina Jakos.
"We showed Tara's picture around Stiletto, and to Natalya Jakos," Byrne said. "Tara was not a dancer at the club. Natalya didn't recognize her. If she's connected to Kristina Jakos, it's not from her place of employment."
"What about Tara's family?"
"No family in town. Father deceased, mother living in Indiana," Bontrager said. "She's been notified. She's flying in tomorrow."
"What do we have on the crime scenes?" Buchanan asked.
"Not much," Byrne said. "No footprints, no tire tracks."
"And the clothes?" Buchanan asked.
The consensus now was that the killer was dressing his victims. "Both vintage dresses," Jessica said.
"We're talking thrift-store stuff?"
"Could be," Jessica said. They had a list of more than one hundred secondhand clothing and thrift stores. Unfortunately, the turnover in both product and personnel at such stores was quick, and none of the stores kept any detailed records of what came in and went out. It was going to take a lot of shoe leather and interviews to gather any information.