She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,44

the folder to Fogel. “This guy was carrying a wallet, and we were able to lift prints that did not belong to him.”

“I’m guessing they weren’t in the system?”

“Nope. We think our perp pulled it out to get a look at the ID. He or she didn’t touch the cash or the credit cards. From what we can tell, nothing was taken.”

“Ballsy move, without gloves.”

“Or panicked, or just plain stupid. Who knows?”

Fogel studied the images, three in all. The first was of the wallet, a black leather bifold opened to the center, driver’s license on the left side, a Visa and a few other cards on the right, everything covered in white fingerprint powder. She frowned. “How big were Flack’s hands?”

“Caught that, huh?” He tapped at the photograph. “The larger prints belong to Flack, the smaller ones are the ones that came back as unknown.”

Fogel thought about that for a second, then looked at the other two photographs, both shoe prints on the grimy alley floor.

“We think those belong to a kid. They’re a size four.”

“Could be a woman.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“A kid didn’t do this. Size four would put them around, what? Ten or eleven years old? Way too small to move a body like this. What did Flack weigh?”

“One seventy-three.”

“Definitely not a kid. I’m not sure I could move him on my own.” Fogel flipped through the printed pages. Six of them had copies of receipts. “What are these?”

“He seemed to like eating at the diner across the street. Krendal’s. Went in a couple times a week. One of the waitresses recognized him from a photo but didn’t have much to add. Quiet, ate by himself. Always ordered a ham and cheese melt with a Coke and fries.”

Faustino turned the folder back around. “I ran into a kid at the diner, Duncan Bellino. I saw him standing around at the crime scene, too. He got real nervous when I cornered him about it. I get the feeling he may have found the body, tried to lift the wallet, and chickened out. I tried to get a warrant for his prints, but the judge wouldn’t sign off on it, too flimsy. Right age, though, and the shoe size looked about right.”

Fogel leaned back in her chair. “That, my friend, would be a dead lead.”

“Probably, but I don’t like loose ends. If he was first to the body, he may have seen whoever dumped Flack there. He got picked up a few years back for some petty shit, so he’s in the system now, but the records are sealed. I tried to get those to match the prints, but no-go. Different judge, same problem—too flimsy. I don’t think the kid did it, but my gut tells me he knows something.”

“Okay, so Flack is a bust, too, no real evidence.” She nodded at the board. “Tell me about 1986.”

Faustino returned to the board and pointed at the photograph under 1986. “She’s our oldest victim on record—forty-seven-year-old black female. No record. She was a cashier at K-Mart. Lived alone. She clocked out on August 6, usually walked home. That was the last time anyone ever saw her. We found her in Baptist Park on August 8.”

“Do you have a date or time of death?”

Faustino shook his head. “The ME couldn’t place it. Because of the condition of these bodies, he flat-out told me he can only provide a best guess. None of the usual markers hold up.”

“That means she was missing at least two days. Your perp might be keeping them alive. Any evidence of sexual assault?”

“The ME didn’t think so, but couldn’t be sure on that, either. We’ve got a wide range of victims here, though, all ages, both sexes, multiple races. Sex crimes usually have a type, and from what I can tell, Flack was the only sexual predator attached to this case.”

“And he’s a vic.”

“He’s a vic.”

Faustino pointed to three more pictures on the board. “’85, ’84, and ’83. ’85 and ’83 were male, ’84 was female. We haven’t been able to identify any of them. All were fished out of the Ohio River anywhere from two miles outside the city to ten. They were all nude. The condition of the bodies tied them to this case, nothing else.”

Fogel said, “1982 looks young.”

Faustino glanced at the photograph of the tiny body—black, dry, and shriveled—next to the picture of a smiling little girl. “Our youngest. Six-year-old Rebecca Pohlman. She was nabbed from Monroeville Mall on August 2 and turned up in a