Jennifer nodded. “Might it stand to reason then, that the John Doe with the brand who fell from the overpass is connected somehow to the third discoverer, Sabrina McPhee?”
“Bingo,” Reed said quietly. “Which is why we need to get all the information we can on Sabrina.”
“It’s all twisted together somehow. Did the killer pose the victims for them? As some sort of sign or . . . message or . . . whatever? Did he kill people who’d caused them to suffer? And if so, why? What’s in it for him?”
Reed shook his head, at a loss. “Both Elizabeth Nolan and Milo Ortiz had really bad childhoods,” he said. “That’s a link between them. Although, the people who caused them some of their suffering are the ones pushed to their deaths.” He’d shown Liza a picture of the enucleated victims, similar to Sadowski, the one she’d discovered, in an attempt to find a link there, but she hadn’t recognized either of them. He hadn’t shown her a photo of Milo Ortiz or Sabrina McPhee because their role had appeared to be nothing but chance at the time. But now . . . he needed to get their photographs in front of her.
“I’ll look more into Sabrina McPhee’s background,” Jennifer said. “See if I can find some more specific links or similarities. See if there’s anyone from her past who caused her pain or suffering. Maybe that will help identify John Doe.”
Reed nodded. “Her studio’s pretty close by. I’ll stop by after I leave here and question her further and show her some photos.”
“Great.”
“I’ll give Milo Ortiz a call, too,” Reed said, “and question him about Elizabeth and Sabrina.”
“Sounds good.” Jennifer took a big bite of her sandwich, and Reed finished off the last of his cold coffee. He picked up the check and started gathering his things. “Thanks again for meeting me here.”
She nodded up at him. “I’ll call you later.”
**********
As Reed walked back to the office to pick up his car, he went back over what he and Jennifer had talked about. He had this feeling they’d just had a breakthrough, but goddamn it, there were still too many missing pieces.
His cell phone rang, breaking him from his thoughts and he took his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen but not recognizing the number. “Hello?”
“Detective Davies?”
Reed stepped to the side of the sidewalk, using his finger to press on his other ear to better block out the city traffic. He recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. “Yes?”
“This is Gordon Draper. We met several weeks ago at my home—”
“Ah, yes. Hello, Mr. Draper. How are you?” Reed asked, recalling his meeting with the wheelchair-bound former Lakeside director.
“Very well, thank you.” He paused. “I’ve been watching your case on the news. It’s all very disturbing, isn’t it? This Hollow-Eyed Killer?”
“Very,” he agreed, wondering what the old man was calling about.
“I saw the photograph of the victim that was in the news. Dreadful, of course. I was afraid I’d have nightmares after I saw it. I don’t know why those news people think it’s okay to splash that sort of thing all over the television.” He paused. “Anyway, something about the image was familiar and I couldn’t put my finger on it right away, but this morning, I did, and I hope you don’t mind me calling you. It might be nothing, of course—”
“I don’t mind you calling at all, Mr. Draper,” Reed said, trying to be patient. “I appreciate it. What was familiar to you?”
“Well, funny enough, the image of that man . . . the black, dripping eyes, it made me think of a comic book.”
“A comic book?” Down the street a car horn blared and he turned briefly in that direction.
“Yes. My grandson Everett loved comics. I . . . donated his things, so I don’t have any of that particular one around here anymore, but I remember it. I remember that image.”
A comic book? Reed wasn’t sure what to think. “Do you remember the name?”
“Yes, it’s a series called Tribulation. If I once knew the storyline, I’m afraid I can’t recall it now.” He let out a brief chuckle. “Lucky thing I remembered the title. There are a few comic book stores in the city that might sell copies if you think it’s worth looking into.”
“Thank you, Mr. Draper. I’ll definitely do that.”
“Good, yes. Again, it might be nothing more than the flawed memory of an old man but . .