Page 13 of The Broken Places

“Could be. Or the killer didn’t expect him to fight back, and the fact that he did made the person holding the knife angry enough to go for gusto.”

“Or if the women did partake in some violence, perhaps he was angry that they weren’t stabbing with enough force to do any harm. The victims at the other scenes became very violent with each other. But maybe these ones didn’t. Maybe that made the killer mad, but also meant he had to take over the job if their death was his goal,” Ambrose said.

“Okay, yes,” Lennon said, and Ambrose swore that even though he didn’t know this woman at all, he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She definitely had layers, but one thing was clear—she was also deeply intelligent. “That’s a possibility too. And further, if this killer who was there walked away, does that mean he set it up?”

“I think he would have had to,” Ambrose said, and that specific more than any other caused him great distress.

“Anything else?” Lennon asked Clyde, who had been watching them volley comments back and forth.

“Well,” Clyde said, lifting the woman’s hand and showing them her dirty fingernails. “Cursory glances at all three of them tell me they were likely living on the street, just like the other victims. Heavy drug use for all three at some point—though, again, I only detected the hallucinogens in their blood.”

“That’s a little odd, too, isn’t it?” Ambrose said. “All three of them were clean except for the drugs found at the scene. Was that true of the four other victims?”

“It was,” Lennon said. “It is odd, actually, that they’d all gotten clean for at least some amount of time before arriving at the scene of their death.”

The scene of their death.That description made a shiver dance over his skin because it was another nod to a preplanned event. “Few show up willingly to the scene of their death,” he said, meeting Lennon’s eyes.

“No, not many,” she said.

“So they probably didn’t.”

“Agreed. These people likely showed up expecting something very different than what it turned out to be.”

“I do have something that might offer a lead,” Clyde said, turning and reaching for something on the table behind him. He held up a plastic bag with a pair of folded jeans inside. “The man was wearing these.”

“Please tell me you found an ID in an inside pocket,” Lennon said. They both knew there hadn’t been one in an obvious spot, as the criminalists had carefully searched them all. ID’ing the victims had proved difficult, as was often the case with those considered transient. Locating records, if they existed, wasn’t easy, especially since these folks often came from all over the country. The fact that arrests for drug offenses—which would have put them in the system—were way down only upped the challenge.

“Unfortunately, no. But this might help.” Clyde folded the bag slightly so that the tag at the back of the jeans was showing. Ambrose and Lennon leaned in, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. He was amazed that anything could remain light and fresh in this particular room, and the brief pull of her air was a too-short but welcome reprieve.

“Does that say ...” A line formed between her brows as she obviously strained to make out the black ink on the white tag.

“Gilbert House,” Clyde said. “I googled it, and it’s a shelter for homeless men in the Tenderloin.”

“You could have led with that, kind sir,” Lennon said with a cock of her brow.

Clyde chuckled. “Yes, but I have so few breathing visitors. I wanted to make sure you stayed for longer than a minute.”

Clyde brought the sheet back over the woman. “I’ll call you this afternoon if I find anything else that might help immediately. Otherwise, the report will be sent over as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Clyde.”

Ambrose walked with Lennon out to her city-issued vehicle and got in the passenger side. He pulled his seat belt over his chest and then looked at Lennon, who was now just sitting there, moving her fingers distractedly on the steering wheel as she stared out the window. Shestretched and tapped as though playing on an invisible set of piano keys. “What are you thinking about?” he asked her.

“I was thinking about the items we found at the first two scenes. I’ll have to look back at the list because I don’t remember it all. Mostly, it was stuff the victims carried around in their backpacks or bags ... extra clothing, a blanket, a hairbrush, et cetera.” She paused. “But at the first scene, there was a belt lying near the man.”

“Were there other things strewn around, or just that?”

“Just that, which is why I remember it. The other things were cataloged from the bags lying nearby. No identifying information, but it all seemed like stuff a homeless individual would carry with them.”

“But the belt had been removed.”

“Yes. And it was right near the man’s body, just like the teddy bear at the most recent crime scene.”

Ambrose thought about that. “Are you thinking those specific items are clues? Or ... messages?”

She played a few inaudible notes on the steering wheel again. “Maybe. Or maybe the belt is a prop like the teddy bear, also used as part of a role-play.”

“What sort of role-play would involve a belt?” Although he had his own ideas, ideas that were making him more and more uncomfortable by the moment. In fact, a feeling of mild dread was beginning to drift nearer. He wanted to know what the inspector thought, however. She was familiar with murder scenes, while he was not. Not only that, but he had his preformed suspicions, and he didn’t want those to get in the way of clear sight.

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