“We’ve run like crimes,” Carina said, “and so far nothing. I have two dedicated officers on it now, so we’re digging deeper.”
Gage said, “Dr. Chen, you said there was another difference between the first and second victim.”
He nodded and motioned them to a light box against the wall, flipping the switch while dimming the overhead lights at the same time.
“The second victim has two head wounds. The first is a faint subdermal bruising. Not fatal and likely caused by a hand-see, you can see distinct fingers. It’s on the side of the head, as if he slapped her hard. The second is on the lower left quadrant of her skull. I don’t see how he could have hit her there. He would have had to swing up with something sharp enough to leave this deep gash.”
The wound was about two inches long, wider in the middle.
Gage nodded. “From the angle, I think she fell.”
“How could she fall if she was restrained?” Carina asked.
Nick spoke up. “He untied her to wash her, probably in a bathtub. He wouldn’t let her walk behind him, so she comes out first and makes a run for it. Maybe slams the bathroom door to delay him, throws something in his path. It had only been a day, she wasn’t as weak as Angie, with a burst of adrenaline she runs.”
“But he catches up with her,” Gage said, nodding. “Maybe pushes her.”
“Look here,” Chen said. “This is another faint subdermal bruise, a minor wound, in the very back of her head, which might indicate that she was pushed against a wall. No broken skin.”
“So,” Nick used Carina to demonstrate, taking her by the shoulders and gently pushing her against the wall. “Becca runs. He catches her and slams her against the wall.”
Nick stood very close to Carina and she held her breath.
“He’s angry. Furious that she tried to run. He wants her back in position so he can finish it. But he’s mad, throws her down.” Holding Carina by the arms, Nick pretended to throw her, going with the momentum to control it. “Maybe a coffee table, a cabinet, a chair-something with a sharp corner-is in the way and she hits it.” Without letting Carina hit the ground, he pulled her up. She stumbled and he caught her, gave her a wry grin. “Sorry.”
She swallowed, nodded, unable to talk. Few men made her feel small and feminine. Nick Thomas was definitely one of them.
Gage was nodding. “I can see it.”
Chen concurred. “Holds with the evidence. There is no soap residue in the wound, which suggests it occurred after the washing.”
“Anything else that’s different about this crime scene?” Carina asked, finally finding her voice.
“Look at her right hand.” Chen lifted the victim’s hand, showing deep gashes under her nails.
“What did he do to her?” Carina asked.
“Cleaned her fingernails with a knife,” Chen answered. “Then doused them in bleach.”
“Why?” she asked.
Nick answered. “Remember that she ran. She’s unrestrained and fighting back. What would you do?”
“Hit, kick, scratch-” she paused. “She scratched him. Were you able to get a sample of his skin?”
Jim shook his head. “Doubtful, though we’re taking extensive samples from her fingers. The knife turned the ends of her fingers to pulp, the bleach messes with the tests.”
“Anything else?” Nick asked.
“Becca Harrison had been a virgin.”
“Well, that certainly shoots down the theory that she had an online sex diary,” Carina said. “So where’s the connection?”
“Let’s go to the library,” Nick said. “They should be open by now.”
The library wasn’t open to the public yet, but several people were inside. Carina knocked briskly on the glass double doors and flashed her badge when someone looked her way.
A petite silver-haired woman unlocked the door, her eyes red-rimmed. She clutched a pile of damp tissue in one hand.
“Is this about Becca?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman’s eyes teared again. She let Carina and Nick in, locked the doors behind them. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
“Are you the librarian?”
“The head librarian, yes. Marjorie Kimball.”
Carina introduced herself and Nick, then asked, “Were you working Wednesday?”
“Yes.” She rubbed the tissue against her eyes. “Please come in. I called the other staff and volunteers when Mr. Harrison told me Becca had been…” Her voice trailed off. “We were so worried yesterday, but thought for sure there was some logical explanation. At least we tried to tell each other that.”
“Ms. Kimball, we’d like to speak with you first, then to the rest of the staff, in private. Is there a room we can use?”
“Um,” she looked around as if she’d never seen the library before. “We have a meeting room in the back. Will that do?”
“Perfect.”
Carina let the librarian lead the way. The La Jolla Public Library had been lovingly maintained and upgraded. It was multileveled, with skylights in the large reading room and work stations throughout. Far different from her small neighborhood library, which had been walking distance from the house her parents still lived in. But this library smelled the same, of books new and old, newspaper, and quiet.
Carina let Ms. Kimball give them Becca’s schedule-Tuesday and Thursday from four in the afternoon until eight in the evening. Becca had been volunteering at the library for more than a year, since she turned sixteen. She’d been filling in for a friend on Wednesday.
After going through the preliminaries, Carina asked, “On Wednesday did Becca tell you she was planning on being picked up or meeting with anyone?”
Ms. Kimball shook her head. “No. She left promptly at eight.”
“Has she talked about a boyfriend or special friend?”
Again, no. “She didn’t date. She’s shy around boys. A late bloomer.”
“Do you know if she had a Web page or an online journal of some sort?”
“She never said.”
“Did she ever tell you about someone who’d been harassing her or any fears that she was being followed?”
“No. She was always joyful. That’s what I think of when I think of Becca: joy. On Wednesday she was just as happy as ever.”
This wasn’t getting anywhere. “Did she talk to anyone here?”
“Patrons.”
“Anyone who was new? A stranger? Someone who wasn’t a regular patron?”
“I don’t know. No one I noticed as strange. I don’t know everyone who comes in here, but I recognize most of the faces of the regulars.”
“Okay, think back to that night. Was there anyone who left either right before or right after Becca?”
“I wouldn’t know. I was at my desk, which is in the back of the library. Midge, she’s out in the annex waiting, was at the front desk. She would have a better view of everyone who enters.”
Nick escorted Ms. Kimball out and brought in Midge. They went through the same questions. “Becca talked to everyone,” Midge said. She was younger than Ms. Kimball by at least ten years, but seemed stodgier. “I had to constantly work on her to focus on her job, not chatting. But she’s a volunteer,” she said in a “what can you do” tone.
“And on Wednesday?”
“She talked to at least six people while she was working. I can’t imagine any of them hurting her.”
“Can you describe any men she spoke with?”
“Mr. Sanders and his wife. They come in every Wednesday and Sunday to read newspapers.”
“How old are they?”
“In their eighties.”
Forget them, Carina thought.
“Who else?”
“The nice young man who lost his cat.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No, he comes in a few times a month, in the evenings usually. Doesn’t have a library card.”
“And his cat ran away?”
She shook her head. “Becca said that someone shot the poor animal. Can you imagine? She was heartsick over it.”