Page 11 of Girl, Sought

Luca asked, ‘When was this?’

‘About nine-thirty.’

Ella checked her watch. Nearly five hours ago. ‘Who’s been on the scene? Uniforms, CSI?’

‘Just me and two of my guys. No forensics or coroners yet. CSI are dealing with a pile-up on the I-64. They won’t be here for another hour yet.’

‘So the body's still in there?’ Ella couldn't keep the shock from her voice. Five hours was an eternity in crime scene terms. Evidence degrading, traces fading, precious time slipping away.

‘Yeah. My guys secured the scene, documented everything. But we're waiting on the full forensics team.’

‘Jesus. We need to get in there. Now.’

‘Follow me. But prepare yourselves. This isn’t pretty.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Death had a perfume all its own. Ella knew the scent well, but Eleanor Calloway's collection room hit differently. The familiar copper-penny reek of blood was absent. Instead, something sweet and artificial hung in the air; a blend of furniture polish and old porcelain.

The collection room sprawled before her like a Victorian parlor. Custom mahogany cases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, each one lit from within by hidden LEDs. Temperature and humidity readouts glowed in the corners. Eleanor Calloway had dropped serious cash on environmental controls to protect her precious dolls.

And what dolls they were. Hundreds of glass eyes stared out from behind the pristine glass. Bisque faces with hand-painted features. Tiny rosebud mouths frozen in permanent smiles. Period costumes preserved in climate-controlled perfection. Some wore lace-trimmed dresses, and others sported miniature military uniforms complete with brass buttons no bigger than pinheads.

But the room's centerpiece made all that porcelain perfection look cheap.

Eleanor Calloway sat rigid in a high-backed wooden chair, posed like the grand dame of this twisted tea party. The unsub had dressed her in a powder-blue Victorian gown with ruffles and pearl buttons from neck to ankle. White lace gloves covered hands arranged just so in her lap. Her dark hair had been styled in elaborate ringlets that framed her face like a doll's wig.

The makeup job was what really turned Ella's stomach. Powder white foundation erased every human imperfection. Rouge circles painted on each cheek gave her that porcelain doll glow. The lips were a perfect crimson bow, probably traced with a stencil for symmetry.

And then the eyes.

The killer had glued Eleanor's eyelids wide open. The whites gleamed with an unnatural sheen and blue irises stared straight ahead, frozen in that thousand-yard stare that only the dead could manage. He’d even painted tiny catch-lights in each eye; those little white dots that made porcelain dolls look alive. Luca was the first to speak.

‘What the hell are we dealing with here?’

Ella's throat felt tight. ‘He spent hours on this. The makeup alone would've taken forever to get this precise. And what the hell did he do with her clothes?’

The dolls had been carefully arranged around Eleanor's chair in concentric circles, like attendants at court. Antique faces stared up at their new queen with empty eyes.

‘Must have taken her clothes with him. Check out the hands,’ Luca said.

Ella leaned closer, careful not to disturb the scene. Eleanor's gloved fingers were locked in an unnatural pose, curved like she was about to play piano.

‘Uh, Jesus. He broke her fingers.’ Ella turned to Detective Reeves, who was hanging near the door. ‘Did the neighbors hear anything?’

‘Haven’t interviewed them all yet, but the ones I did – nothing. Mrs. Jacobs said she heard a car about midnight, but that could have been anything.’

‘Well, we can say for sure that he did all of this postmortem. You don’t break someone’s fingers in silence.’

‘Ell, look at her neck,’ Luca pointed.

She inspected it. There was a perfect ring of red that wrapped around the whole neck. ‘He garroted her. Didn’t use his bare hands.’

‘Wanted to keep her pristine. Bare hands would have left too much bruising.’

‘Yeah. He wanted as clean a death as possible.’

‘Our guy’s got a vision. That’s for sure.’

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