Page 120 of Girl Between
LaSalle strolled up. “Neville heated over the Tower again?”
“Mm-hmm,” muttered George.
“Why doesn’t it get demolished if it’s such a problem?” Dana asked.
“Lawsuits,” Neville grumped. “City’s sued the current owners so many times they owe more in court fees than back taxes. Nobody can agree to do anything until they settle up.” Neville shrugged. “Just one of those things. It’s gonna be tied up in court till it falls apart or kills somebody. Lord knows that net ain’t protecting nobody.”
Dana raised her eyebrows. “Net?”
George chimed in. “When debris started falling from the upper floors the city had to shut down a six-block street grid in the CBD until the area could be fenced off. A large black net was constructed around the top of the tower to catch any additional debris.”
Recollection washed over Dana. “I’ve seen that building.”
“Hard to miss,” said LaSalle.
“Don’t act like it’s all talk,” Neville chided. “You add ten minutes to your daily commute to steer clear of Howard and Loyola.”
“Hell yeah!” LaSalle agreed. “If I’m going down it better be from a bullet, not some building debris.”
Neville raised his beer, and he and LaSalle clinked bottles.
George shook his head, turning to say something to Dana when his pager buzzed. A half second later, the rest of the bar was abuzz with the same sound. Every officer in the place checked their devicesand solemnly began filing out of the bar, throwing down cash on their way out.
“What’s going on?” Dana asked, praying she was wrong. But she’d heard the ominous address quietly spoken by the somber-faced officers.
5190 Canal. Greenwood Cemetery.
The Casquette Girl killer wasn’t done yet.
104
The click-flash-clickof the crime scene photographer kept making Dana lose her train of thought.
As soon as she’d crossed the threshold of the cemetery, she was greeted with the pungent smell of sunbaked limestone mingled with the metallic scent of blood. A grim reminder of the unspeakable horrors they’d been unable to prevent.
An unmistakable tension laced the humid air that hung heavy over the cemetery. The gravity of the situation pressed down on everyone, resonating with the echoes of past tragedies they were still uncovering.
Dana did her best to clear her mind and focus on this scene. There was no question this was their unsub. It was a different cemetery, but the scene was the same. Just like the other victims, the unsub had continued the ritualistic draining of blood and removal of organs. Except this time, the unsub had gifted them two doll-like corpses instead of one.
From where Dana stood, she couldn’t tell much about the victims other than they appeared to be Caucasian and lifeless. But each wore the telltale white gowns and masks, dubbing them Casquette Girls.
Standing on the outskirts of the chaos, Dana watched while Creed and the BAU made a show of securing the scene.
Gone was the quiet, respectful way George and his officers operated when they worked these hallowed grounds. Creed had turned the sleepy Greenwood Cemetery into a full-fledged production. It looked more like he was setting up for a concert or sporting event than covering a crime scene.
“Jazz Fest pulls less power than these fools,” Neville grumbled as another set of mobile stadium lights was wheeled into place.
Three large tents had been erected. Two covered the bodies and the third seemed to be some sort of mobile command center, where blue-booted FBI agents donned in latex gloves recorded everything from soil samples to barometric readings.
“Think we’ll get a crack at the evidence anytime soon?” LaSalle asked George.
“If there’s anything left they haven’t trampled,” Neville said, pointedly staring at the heavily trodden grounds.
“This is why we called the BAU,” George said. “We need to give them room to do what they do.”
“If you ask me these rats shoulda stayed in the lab. This ain’t a field trip,” said Neville.
The grumpy NOPD officer had a point. Dana had worked more than her fair share of crime scenes with the FBI and BAU alike. None of them operated like this. It was like watching bees without a queen. She hoped there was a method behind their madness, because one thing was certain: their killer’s appetite was growing.
