We also located the car the killer was driving at the time. That's about it."
"Go on."
"It seems the wino, a Mr. Louis Bluwell, was sleeping off a couple of bottles of gin under some garbage bags when he heard the car and saw a man he described as 'a big monster' get out of the car and dump the body amongst the garbage bags. Mr. Bluwell said the car was a beat-up green Chevy. We found a car matching that description abandoned on Riverside Drive around 145th Street. There was a fair amount make that gallons of the victim's blood splashed all over the floor of the trunk. The car had been stolen the previous evening."
"Did the lab find anything else in the car?"
"One set of fingerprints the victim's. A few hairs all belonging to the victim." "Figures," Sara said.
"Anything else?"
"According to Mr. Bluwell, the man in the car was big a mountain-size guy with dark hair. No noticeable features."
"So what do you make of it?"
Bernstein leaned back, placing his hands together, the fingertips of his index fingers resting against his nose. He put his feet on his desk.
"I find it all interesting," he remarked.
"How so?" Sara asked.
"It just doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?"
"Okay, help me here, Sara. What do we know so far? First, all three victims were homosexuals. Second, all three victims were being treated at the same AIDS clinic. Third, all three died of stab wounds within the past three weeks."
"So?"
"So take a look at the cases one by one for a second." Max sat up quickly, opened up his pocket pad, and read.
"Victim one:
Mr. Scott Trian. Trian had been found tied spread-eagle to his bed in apartment 8G at 27 Christopher Street. The corpse was found with twenty-seven stab wounds. The murderer sliced off Trian's left ear, both thumbs, and left nipple while he was still alive, we think. He also castrated Trian."
"Unbelievable," Sara whispered.
Max nodded.
"Even more unbelievable is that we've managed to keep the mutilation and torture away from the media."
"Won't last," Sara added.
"Someone will open his mouth."
"True enough, but until then I can use it to cut through all these phony confessors. When pressed for details about the killings, none of the confessing Gay Slashers knew about the mutilation or torture. They only knew what they had read in the papers. But we're getting off the subject. Let's move onto the second victim."
"Okay."
Bernstein wet his index finger and turned a few pages.
"Victim number two: Mr. William Whitherson. Mr. Whitherson's boyfriend, a Stuart Lebrinski, stepped out of their co-op on the Upper West Side to pick up some groceries. When he came back an hour later, Whitherson was dead. Twenty-three stab wounds.
There was no mutilation or signs of torture."
"There was no time," Sara said.
"The boyfriend was only gone an hour."
"Could be," Max allowed.
"But now things get really interesting. Victim number three: Mr. Bradley Jenkins." Pages were once again turned before Max continued.
"A limousine driver dropped Bradley off in front of his apartment building after the charity ball at your father's estate. One neighbor thought he saw Jenkins leave the building a few minutes later with another man the neighbor described as 'very big'."
"Probably the same guy the wino saw."
"Makes sense," Max agreed.
"Anyway, the next thing we know Jenkins winds up dead behind the Black Magic Bar and Grill.
Several patrons of the bar recognized Bradley from his photograph, but all swear that he had not been seen that entire evening."
"So? He was at my father's party until late."
"One other thing the lock on Bradley's apartment door was jimmied." "The big guy probably broke in," Sara said.
"I don't see what part of it doesn't make sense."
Max put down his notebook.
"Put the whole thing together, Sara. First, Bradley Jenkins comes home from the party. Then some big guy jimmies the lock and breaks in.
Fine, okay so far.
You with me?"
"Go on."
"Now from the looks of Jenkins' apartment, the struggle if there was one was painfully short. Then Bradley and the killer leave the apartment and drive off together. Based on the tremendous amount of blood in the trunk, we can speculate that Bradley was murdered while lying in the trunk of the car. No mutilation, but like the other two, approximately two dozen stab wounds cover his face, chest, and groin.
The killer keeps the body in the trunk overnight, wakes up the next morning, and dumps his body behind a gay bar."
"Maybe Bradley knew the guy," Sara said.
"Hold on, skip that. If they knew each other, there would have been