Page 25 of The Survivor
The puzzle pieces in Blake’s head slid into place. He wanted to slap himself for missing the connection, but up until now, they hadn’t had much to go on. The first three victims were dead. Sam was attacked in her home. But Elaine had been different from the start, the only woman who’d been transported to another location. Thank God she’d remembered such a vital scent. Flowers. The guy carved roses into his victims’ skin, for God’s sake. It wouldn’t be a stretch believing his line of work had something to do with the damn things.
He sat up straight and slammed his hand down. The sound of his palm slapping on the smooth dining room table echoed through the room. “He’s a goddamn florist,” he said with a groan.
At that moment Sam reappeared in the doorway with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Her eyes widened at his declaration. “Roses,” she exclaimed. “Elaine smelled roses in that van!”
Looking excited, she returned to her seat and set down her mug. Blake wanted to ask her to leave, let him and Rick deal with this investigation without civilian involvement, but the enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes made him reconsider. She looked energized, hopeful, and he couldn’t bring himself to send her away as if she were some disobedient child who shouldn’t be talking to the grown-ups.
“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” she demanded.
“It makes sense,” he answered, still brooding over the notion. “A florist. Landscaper maybe. Gardener. Delivery guy. Whatever it is, I’m convinced the bastard works with flowers.”
“Which,” Rick said, “could explain why Diana, Candace and Roberta opened their doors to him. If he’s a deliveryman, showing up with flowers, they wouldn’t be suspicious.”
“Candace and Roberta?” Sam echoed.
“The first two victims,” Rick explained.
“They let him in? Willingly?”
“Seems so,” Rick confirmed. “There was no sign of forced entry in their homes, which led the police to believe that the guy somehow coaxed his way inside.”
“Why didn’t we think of this before?” Blake said with chagrin. “The profilers at Quantico came up with a list of people someone might let into their home. Plumber, cable guy, Avon lady. How did they miss flower-delivery guy?”
“As I recall, the profilers believed the roses were more symbolic. They didn’t associate it with his occupation.” Rick shrugged. “And to be fair, most people just sign for flowers at their doorstep. Not many deliverymen offer to come in and arrange the damn things.”
“But this one did.”
Sam intervened. “We could be wrong about this, you know. It’s just speculation.”
“It’s the first thing in this case that makes sense,” Blake corrected.
“But we didn’t find flowers in any of their homes,” Rick spoke with a troubled frown. “Forensics combed the houses for trace evidence and came up empty-handed. If our guy showed up at their doors with a bouquet, he must have taken it back with him.”
“Not to raise the suspicions of the cops?” Sam offered. She leaned forward. “Most of the victims were married, or wereliving with someone, right? If their significant other came home and saw a floral arrangement that wasn’t there before, he’d tell the cops about it.”
Blake nodded, and for a moment he experienced a flicker of deep respect for the brunette in front of him. She didn’t need to be here, to listen to details about the man who’d tried to kill her, but not only was she calm and composed, she was offering real insight. He wondered if she realized her own strength.
Then he wondered if there wasanythingabout this woman that didn’t impress him so damn much.
“What about you?” Rick suddenly asked, staring at Sam. “Did you receive any flowers the day of the attack?”
A frown creased her forehead. “The day of? No. But…” She started biting on her bottom lip in a cute way that made Blake’s mouth tingle. “A week before, I received a floral arrangement from a designer. I remember because I threw it in the trash the morning of the attack. I’d forgotten to put the flowers in water and they were a big dried-up mess by then.”
“Do you remember what the delivery guy looked like?”
She scrunched up her face, deep in thought, then released a sigh. “Honestly? No. I wasn’t paying much attention, just signed for the delivery and forgot all about it. I know it was a man, though.”
“And you’re sure the arrangement came a week before the attack?” Rick asked. He swiped Sam’s mug and took a hearty sip, a sign that he was definitely getting keyed up. Whenever Rick got excited, he had the annoying tendency to snatch other people’s drinks.
Sam didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead she nodded in response to his question. “Yeah, it was definitely about a week before.”
Rick glanced at Blake. “Goes against the profile.”
Sam looked from one man to the other. “What do you mean?”
“The impression our profiler got is that the perp is a heat-of-the-moment kind of guy,” Blake explained. “No evidence of stalking, no scouting out the victim’s home beforehand. He seems to show up—maybe to deliver flowers—and then he snaps. We don’t know why, but something seems to set him off.”
“But in your case,” Rick added, “if you’re remembering the dates right, it would seem he waited a week before acting. Maybe he didn’t want you to recognize him as the delivery guy from the prior week.” He pulled out his notepad. “You said the flowers were sent by a designer?”
