“Yes.” Randy passed him the last picture. “We really appreciate you taking the time to see us today.”
“A white lilac is an interesting choice. They have a very short life. It is very fragrant and associated with youthful innocence and confidence. In a nutshell, it means selflessness.”
Becca took the photo from him. “Do you know of a florist the killer might have ordered these from?”
The teacher shook his head while stuffing his glasses in a case inside his shirt pocket. He leaned heavily on his cane to stand. His obvious discomfort deepened the soft lines around his eyes and mouth. “No, I find it highly unlikely. My guess is he’s quite knowledgeable in horticulture and is growing them himself.”
Randy stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for your time. If by chance we have more questions, will you be available to see us?”
“Of course, just call before you come so they can track me down. It’s easy to get lost around here.” He winked playfully before turning his attention to Becca. He clasped her hand. “I’m terribly sorry for the loss of your friend, my dear. I know how it feels to lose a loved one. A little piece of you is gone forever.” His eyes clouded, and he gave her hand a final squeeze before stepping through the open doors to the back deck, his steps uneven. “Maybe next time I’ll take you on a tour.”
He hung on to the rail and hobbled down the few remaining stairs to where his ride waited.
“I would love that.” She whispered.
“As would I.”
Chapter Eight
Becca swallowed the bitterness at the back of her throat. Susan’s murder was now added to the white boards. She quickly looked away and shifted in her chair to block the images from her line of vision.
Chief Thomson now stood in front of the boards shaking his head. “I have to say, in all my years on the force, this is one of the most baffling cases I’ve seen.” He rested on the table edge, file in hand. “We’ve had five murders over the past couple of months and we don’t have a shred of evidence that might bring us closer to finding The Florist.
Dark circles under the chief’s eyes told of the toll this case had taken on him. Over the years, Becca had grown to think of him as so much more than just her boss.
He is family.
“Our resident profilers are going to tell us their take on this madman. Hopefully they’ve seen something we might have overlooked.”
Dylan and Carol were the male-female extension of each other. Both of them dressed in black goth-like attire, which included a piercing through one eyebrow and spacers in their ears like black holes. These aspects alone set them apart from others, but it was their snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes that commanded attention wherever they went.
Dylan stepped forward first. “I think it’s best to start by looking at the significance of each of his rituals. We believe a revolver is used to keep his victims in check and avoid any chance of a physical altercation. That doesn’t mean he’s not more than capable of holding his own.
“Each step he makes is for a specific reason—from how he lays them out on the couch to his need to clean their faces before leaving. Their heads are taped down to ensure a perfectly executed shot.”
“We feel each step is something he feels he must do,” Carol intervened. “We’re convinced the objects in their mouths are clues as to why these particular people were chosen by him. With Sandra we found birthday cake. With Derek, a hospital gown. The basketball netting and so on.... Each item means something to him.”
“Why does he sew their mouths shut? It’s not like they can tell us who killed them,” Danny, one of several uniformed officers scattered about the room, asked.
“It’s for one of two reasons: either he doesn’t want them to speak at all or simply to keep the objects in their mouths.” Carol turned back to the boards.
Becca’s stomach churned.
“The single gunshot, specifically between the eyes, is to ensure there is no chance of survival and to complete the picture. He takes great pride in how they look before he leaves them.”
Dan cleared his throat. “The single flower is like a period at the end of a sentence. Each bloom is chosen for individual reasons. We strongly believe there is a common thread between these victims.
Becca hung on every word, agreeing with everything. Unfortunately it brought them no closer to finding the son-of-a-bitch.
“Professor Davies gave us the meaning of each bloom. I took the liberty of printing off a few copies of his findings. The killer didn’t buy these from your neighborhood florist.” Randy passed the printed pages around the room. “The professor believes the killer has extensive knowledge of horticulture or at least the species we’ve seen. He also needs a climate-controlled place to grow them—like the greenhouses Professor Davies uses to grow hydroponics.”
Chief Thomson slid off the table and resumed his place at the front of the room while Dan, Carol and Randy seated themselves. “I think our main focus is to find the link between these cases. Polly, start with phone records. Let’s see if we get lucky and find a common number. Randy and Becca, find out if this guy would need to buy anything on a regular basis to sustain a grow-op sophisticated enough to produce these species.”
“I’ll see if we can get another appointment with the professor.” Randy scribbled in his notebook.
Chief nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should check out the student workers. Find out if it’s possible for them to take something from there without drawing suspicion. Do they even grow the flowers we’re looking for? That should keep us busy. Call if any of you come up with something.”
“How long will it take you to compare phone records, Polly?” Becca asked on their way out of the room.
“Maybe an hour, if I don’t run into any snags.” She cracked her ever-present gum.
“Call me when you’re done?” Becca pressed.
Polly smiled, revealing a mouthful of metal. At forty years old she wore a full set of braces. “You betcha.”
Professor Davies stood at the bottom of his porch staircase, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Well, word has it you’re the man to see when it comes to posies.” Randy rocked on his heels, pulling on imaginary suspenders.
The professor chuckled lightly. “Well, I don’t know about that, but unfortunately this old body isn’t what it once was. I’ve asked my right-hand man, Jacob, to show you around.”
A jeep-like vehicle ambled up the road toward them. The driver parked a few feet away and jumped out from behind the wheel, offering his hand.
“This is Jacob. Jacob, this is Detectives Bates and Talbot.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Jacob shook Randy’s hand and then Becca’s.
She couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something off about this friendly worker.
“Hop on! I’ll show you the fields first.”
Sensing her reluctance, the professor took her hand and ushered her to the jeep. “Don’t worry. Jacob will take good care of you. We’ve been using these Mules for years to get around the acreage. Sometimes I think he knows more about how things run around here than I do. Ask him anything.”
Becca climbed up onto the seat and gripped the crash bars of the open box truck, turning her knuckles white. Jacob drove them to the far end of a row of glass structures where a field of flowers in a riot of red, pink and yellow stretched for as far as the eye could see. Unfortunately, their escort’s jitters left her feeling a little uptight, unable to enjoy the beauty before them.