The couple next to them shifted in their chairs. Someone on the other side giggled nervously.
“Then he does a vertical cut, a little like the Y incision I use for autopsies.” He sliced down the length of the meat, then spread it open with the blade. Blood oozed over the knife’s serrated edge.
“Then he cuts through the diaphragm muscle and lastly the windpipe.” He made a horizontal slash two thirds up the prime rib and another at the top. “And when all that’s done, all he has to do is grab the trachea and pull, and all the organs come out with it.”
Val was relieved Harlan had no way to demonstrate that little move. She glanced at the table next to them, seeing the same revulsion in the couple’s expressions as she felt in the pit of her stomach. She mouthed the word sorry then returned her attention to Harlan. “So those steps were evident with both bodies?”
“Yes. But they didn’t just use those steps. Both killers used exactly the same variations on those steps.”
“I’m not following.”
“Different hunters have different approaches to field dressing. Where they make their first cut, for example. Or how they free the anus. Or what they do with the entrails after. Some of ‘em think of it as putting their stamp on the carcass, making it their own. But with Dryden, this was an even bigger deal.”
Val suspected she knew where Harlan was going with this, but she wanted him to clarify anyway. “Bigger, how?”
“According to those Silence of the Lambs dudes, Dryden got off on the gutting more than all the rest. It was his art and his porn, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, she did. And judging from the horror on their neighbors’ faces, they had an idea, too.
She tossed them another sorry, then homed in on the answer she needed most. “So it couldn’t be an accident that the two bodies were this similar?”
“If one was found on the other side of the planet, I might consider it a coincidence. But in the same area of the same county as the last one?”
“And these details…” Val gestured to the mutilated prime rib. “They wouldn’t have been in the media.”
“Nope.”
“So, it would have to be someone who knew all about Dryden.”
“Yep.”
She had another thought. A horrible thought. “And what says it wasn’t the same person who killed both women?”
“For one, Dryden is in prison. For two, we know it wasn’t someone else who killed Farrentina Hamilton, because there was a witness to her murder. For three, there’s one more thing I haven’t shown you.” Harlan gestured to Val’s prime rib. “May I?”
Not hungry in the least after this little show and tell, Val handed him her dinner plate. “Be my guest.”
He plopped her slice of prime rib in front of him and brandished the knife. “Remember how I cut my meat? Fast? With confidence?”
Val nodded.
“Well, that was the murderer twenty years ago, the one we know was Ed Dryden. And this? This is how our new mystery man accomplished his field dressing.” Harlan started making the same cuts as before, only this time he moved his hand slowly, pausing, starting again. It took him three times as long, but he finally slid the mutilated meat in front of Val.
“See the difference?”
“You didn’t know what you were doing, not like before.”
“Right. And when you cut like that, you leave what we call hesitation marks. The recent murderer didn’t have a lot of experience. He wasn’t the master chef. He was just following the recipe.”
“We’re looking for a copycat,” Val said.
Harlan nodded. “You’re looking for a copycat.”
Sylvie
Safely outside Diana’s building, Sylvie lowered herself into the plush passenger seat of Bryce’s BMW. The scent of leather interior with a hint of cologne enveloped her, an atmosphere of luxury and male that made her feel as though she’d just stepped into a foreign world.
She’d rather walk.
Sylvie wasn’t used to people taking care of her, doing her favors, making her indebted to them. She didn’t like it. It reminded her too much of the way she’d felt as a child, begging her foster families to take her into their home, wanting so badly to be able to trust them to care about her, and being let down every time.
She strapped on her seatbelt and held her satin clutch in both hands. She didn’t have a lot of options. Not with Diana’s folder still locked in Bryce’s briefcase. And although she was grateful to him for helping her smuggle the folder out of Diana’s apartment, she didn’t intend to take his kindness at face value. She’d learned that lesson before she hit puberty.
After loading her suitcase in the trunk, Bryce circled the car, opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. “Comfortable?”
She forced herself not to fidget. “How could I not be?”
“Car’s for sale if you want it.” He slipped his key into the ignition and the engine purred to life. Turning his attention to traffic, he shifted into gear and merged with the flow.
Sylvie eyed his profile in the dimming light. In all that had happened back at Diana’s apartment, she hadn’t been very aware of how attractive he was. From short golden-brown hair that held a slight wave to sharp hazel eyes to broad shoulders that looked good in a suit, Bryce Walker was what most women considered a hunk. Add ringless hands that gripped the steering wheel and he became a favorite for most eligible bachelor.
And somehow, that status only made Sylvie more uncomfortable. “Should I give you a retainer or something?”
He kept his focus on the traffic ahead. “Not necessary.”
“What if Perreth finds out you’re not really my lawyer?”
“Say you fired me.”
“Why did you say it in the first place?”
One side of his lips kicked into a grin. “He was about to haul you downtown, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Why would you care? You don’t know me. And you sure don’t owe me anything.”
He turned his attention back to the road. “We have the same goal.”
“Which is?”
“Finding your sister.”
Ah, yes. His case. “Do you lie to the police and smuggle evidence to find witnesses in all your cases?”
“Not hardly.”
“So what makes this different?”
A shadow crossed over his face. Evening had crept in while she’d been in Diana’s apartment. But from Sylvie’s angle, it looked more like a shadow of emotion rather than a simple trick of the light.
Bryce flicked on his blinker and took a left turn. “I’m not going to discuss my case, Sylvie.”
“At least tell me what you want in return.”
“You don’t trust easily, do you?”
“And you don’t answer questions.”
“We both need to find your sister. Period.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Staring straight ahead through the windshield, she watched the glare of oncoming headlights. There was more he wasn’t telling her. There had to be. Yet somehow that wasn’t what concerned her most.
What concerned her most was that she couldn’t afford to refuse his offer.
Bryce
Bryce pulled an extra chair up to the tiny desk in Sylvie’s hotel room and set his briefcase on the laminate surface. For the first time, he had something tangible at his fingertips. Now, he was finally getting somewhere.
He lowered himself into the chair next to Sylvie. Her scent teased at him, flowers with some sort of spicy edge that made him want to inhale more deeply. The jeans and sweater she’d changed into did nothing to diminish her attractiveness. She might look like the photo he had of her sister, yet Sylvie had a freshness in the pink of her cheeks and the light sweep of her lashes that he’d never noticed in another woman. Even her pierced eyebrow suggested the spunky rebellion of a teenager. At the same time, she seemed so guarded and distrustful, he couldn’t help but wonder why. He couldn’t help but want to know more.