“Two bracelets and a necklace,” Zoe asserted. “The killer probably searched through her stuff, got the necklace, and put it around her neck after she died.”
“I doubt it,” O’Donnell said. “Her father said she always wore it. Much more likely that the killer was simply looking for anything valuable he could take. The bracelets were cheap trinkets, so he left them. We’ll ask the father if she had any valuable jewelry.”
Zoe felt a flash of irritation, but she didn’t argue the point. She kept looking as the photographer scrolled through the rest of the images, perhaps observing Glover’s handiwork again for the first time in a while.
When she and Tatum had found Glover’s alias, they’d traced his steps. They already knew he’d lived in Chicago for the past few years. They found his old apartment in McKinley Park, where a couple of students now stayed. They also traced his old job as a support technician, a position he’d lost six months before. They spent a few days just talking to his old coworkers and managers, trying to glean any piece of information. Most of his coworkers said he was a great guy. Always happy to help, quick with a joke or a laugh. His manager had actually used the phrase full of teamwork spirit.
Two of his female coworkers had thought there was something creepy about him. But they couldn’t put their finger on the reason.
Zoe knew the feeling. She’d experienced it herself when she was fourteen years old, and Rod Glover was her neighbor. At first he seemed like a nice guy, charming and funny. Then, strange, unsettling behavior patterns began to emerge. And around that time, young women began to die.
“That’s the last one,” the photographer said, lowering his camera.
“Any signs of the weapon?” Tatum asked, turning to face O’Donnell.
“Well,” O’Donnell answered. “I’m assuming there were two weapons. The marks on her neck look like ligature marks, so he used some kind of rope or a belt. And the bleeding came from an ugly cut on her arm. So some sort of blade was involved as well. Also, her shirt looks like it was partly cut with a blade. But we found nothing that fits either of those.” She pointed at the footprints. “It looks like the killer crossed the room to pick something up from the floor. See how the prints stop just before the wall? I’m betting he stopped to crouch there.”
Zoe’s opinion of the detective improved slightly. “You think it was the knife?”
“I’m almost sure it was. If you go over there, you’ll see a few drops of blood, just by evidence marker sixteen. I think they came from the blade.”
Zoe stepped over to the corner of the room and crouched to look at the floor. There they were. Several perfectly round brown stains. Tatum crouched beside her.
“Vertical blood drops,” he said. “That’s why they’re circular and not elliptical. That means it couldn’t have been spattered from the other side of the room. It’s likely that the weapon was dropped here.”
Zoe nodded, trying to imagine it. “He could have walked here, knife in hand. Then stopped for a few seconds. That would account for the drops as well.”
“I’m not a forensic expert,” Tatum said carefully. “But see how there’s no spatter pattern around the drops? If they had dropped from the height of one or two feet, you’d see a small circular spatter around each drop. There’s none, meaning the blood dropped from the height of just a few inches. I think Detective O’Donnell is right. The weapon lay here, dripping blood, and the killer crouched to pick it up.”
Zoe agreed. It was the simplest explanation. She imagined it. The killer attacked the victim, threatening her with the knife. During the struggle, the knife cut the victim’s arm. Then what? Had the victim managed somehow to disarm the killer, throwing the knife to the corner? Maybe.
She straightened and tried to think. There were conflicting behavior patterns in the entire scene. Stepping in the blood, covering the body, leaving blood smears all over the apartment. That all reeked of confusion, fear, maybe shame. But wearing gloves spoke of planning. The missing underwear was a trophy. The necklace fit nowhere. Had the death been accidental? It was impossible to guess; Zoe wasn’t even sure if the victim died of blood loss or asphyxia.
Usually she could picture the possible scenarios in her mind quite easily. But here, the different details didn’t mesh well.