wife or kids. Coleman wants me to go with her to talk to Lynch’s father, who lives east of the city.”
“They didn’t already do that?”
“No, they didn’t. What do you think about doing a voice comparison? Check that bit where Floyd talks like a woman against the tapes we have from Jessica’s wire?”
“That couldn’t hurt. I’ll have it done at the lab here. They should also ask Mr. Floyd Lynch again about that other body they found in the car, the one he called the lot lizard. He faltered when he spoke about her at the dumpsite.”
“They, they. It’s turning out to be Coleman and me, and I’m limited by being out of the business.”
“Have you heard much about NamUs?” He pronounced it “name us.”
“Not much. An identification database. It was being developed around the time I left.”
“Civilians can look at it and add information without authorization.”
I made a note on my pad to find out what was known about the prostitute and check it against the site. “Remember the postcards?” I asked.
He shifted his head and waved a hand to indicate it went without saying.
“Zach kept receiving them. He showed me maybe a half dozen more that he stopped bothering to send to us. Told me they comforted him because he could pretend they were really from Jessica.”
“No.” For the split of a second Sigmund’s eyes narrowed and a rare wave of disgust passed over his face. It was so subtle I may be the only person in the world who could recognize it. Sigmund looked away from the screen. “We have to find that motherfucker,” he murmured in what I knew was the direction of his office window. Obscenity with Sigmund was also rare. Then he recovered his composure and stared at the screen impassively. “They need to interview Floyd Lynch again under the presumption that this is a false confession, and find out how he got the information.”
Sigmund didn’t need to defend the possibility of a false confession. More than thirty people confessed to the famous Black Dahlia murder in LA, and over five hundred came forward claiming to have some involvement. Some false confessions were coerced under the pressure to solve the case, but there were other, voluntary confessions. Sigmund was thinking about the celebrity motivation, the wannabes. Henry Lee Lucas, who confessed to six hundred murders though there was only evidence of three. John Mark Karr, who confessed to murdering JonBenet Ramsey though his DNA did not match that at the scene and there was no record of his ever having been to Colorado where the murder occurred.
Robert Charles Brown.
Laverne Pavlinac.
Those two were convincing enough to be sent to prison until the real culprit was found. You could look it up.
In Lynch’s case it would have been simpler than that. The apparent evidence of his guilt, combined with what might have been an obsession with the Route 66 killings, the lack of support from his public defender, and the threat of the death penalty, would have made a confession seem like the best option.
Floyd Lynch may have killed the woman found in his truck, or he may have found her already dead as he said at the start. He may have begun with a fascination for the Route 66 murders, and, when he was cornered, decided to take responsibility.
And voilà. The idiot goes to prison and the asshole stays free.
But it all went back to how Floyd Lynch knew about the details withheld from the public. That’s what was different in this case. Barring the extreme coincidence that someone on the inside at the Bureau had leaked those details, which had somehow found their circuitous way to Lynch, it could only mean one thing. He knew the killer.
“It’s been a whole seven years since the last killing,” I said, hoping Sigmund would get my point and agree.
“No killings that we know of,” Sigmund said. “He may have just changed his venue and mode, may even now be planning his next kill. Or he’s stopped temporarily like the Grim Sleeper.”
He had to remind me of the guy out in California who was dubbed that because he killed half of his victims in the mid-eighties, then took a break and killed the other half after 2002. I groaned.
“Don’t deny you’ve already considered it. Besides, the Route 66 killer is enormously controlled. He was able to wait precisely one year before he killed again. That’s frankly another point against Lynch being the killer. I don’t see him as