Forty-five minutes later, Reed found Ransom in Sergeant Valenti’s office, along with Trent Duffy, an older detective who’d worked with Zach before he’d left. Sergeant Valenti wasn’t there and Ransom had his feet up on the desk, eating a bagel slathered in cream cheese. He nodded at Reed as Reed took a seat in a chair next to them.
Ransom handed a file to Reed and he opened it. “I came in early this morning and started looking through the database for any similar crimes in surrounding areas.” Reed nodded. It was protocol for any murder, but especially one where the suspect had left a calling card. “There have been enucleations in other cases, but none recently, and none close by. And the black paint? That’s new. I didn’t find anything similar to that in any case, recent or otherwise.” Reed flipped through the file as Ransom spoke. He stopped on a photograph of a small red brand. “But the leaf brand? That got a hit.”
“Margo Whiting,” Reed read, looking at the photo of the deceased woman. “It was your case, Duffy?”
“Yup. Pretty recent too. Forty-six-year-old hooker took a tumble off a fifth-floor balcony. There were rumors that she’d had a public altercation with her pimp and that he might have pushed her.” He pointed to the file. “Name’s in there. There was no evidence he was at her place that day, but we questioned him. Real asshole. Unfortunately, I couldn’t arrest him on that alone.”
“Forty-six? Christ,” Reed muttered. He’d seen some twenty-year-old sex workers who looked twice their age. That sort of work, mixed with the inevitable drug use, aged the body in drastic and cringe-worthy ways. He didn’t even want to think about what it did to a soul. “What made you think she hadn’t jumped of her own accord? Was it the brand?”
“No, actually, I didn’t think much of that. It was fresh, we knew that from her autopsy, but she also had a couple of tattoos that were done somewhat recently. Her whole body was a canvas of ink and piercings. It was very possible she’d had that put there herself.” He looked at Ransom. “Do you know there’s this kid who works the window at the coffee joint up the street who has his whole neck laced up with some kind of leather string?” He tipped his head back, using his finger to zigzag across his throat from base to chin. “It threads from one hole to another all the way to the top. If my kid did that, I’d break my foot off in his ass.”
“You’re a dad for the ages, Duff. When does your parenting book release?”
“Yeah, you’re funny. Wait until you have a few little Ransoms of your own. Then you can critique my parenting. Kids need discipline, you ignorant motherfucker.”
Ransom looked up, stroking his chin. “Little Ransoms populating the earth. Beautiful thought, isn’t it?”
Duffy made a snorting sound. “It’s a thought, all right. How’d you get the name Ransom anyway?”
“My mom found it in a book titled, Dope-Ass Names for Your Badass Baby.”
Reed chuckled. “All right, focus, dipshits.” He leaned forward. “Who did Margo Whiting’s autopsy?”
“Dr. Egan.”
That’s why Dr. Westbrook hadn’t recognized the brand on Steven Sadowski, Reed thought. It was one of the reasons the database was so useful. No one person had to be responsible for all the case information, but they all could access it, and cross-reference when necessary.
Ransom handed Reed the printouts of the brand on the back of Steven Sadowski’s neck and the man found in the alleyway. “They’re definitely the same,” Ransom noted.
Reed looked between the three of them before nodding. “I agree.” He looked up at his two co-workers. “So why the different MO? Something connects these three victims, and yet this one”—he tapped on the photo of Margo Whiting—“died in a completely different manner. She either jumped or was pushed. We don’t even know if it was a murder, just that she was branded the same as these two eyeless murder victims.”
They looked between each other. “Yeah, I got nothing,” Ransom said.
“Margo was killed in a different part of town than our second murder victim, but they both led street lives. Any chance there’s a connection there?”
“We can show her picture around to people who knew him and vice versa,” Ransom said.
Reed nodded. “It’s something.” He looked back at the three pictures side by side. What