Dillon nodded at Carina, who handed out assignments. Two officers added to e-crimes to help Patrick; one officer to canvas the university; two officers to interview Becca’s friends and family; and two officers dedicated to reviewing like crimes and following up with outside jurisdictions.

“Chief Causey is also issuing a warning through the media for young women in the La Jolla area to be cautious, not be out alone after dark for any reason, and to go through the standard safety checklist,” Carina said. “Any questions?”

Finally, Chief Causey looked everyone in the eye. “Let’s get this guy before he strikes again. Dismissed.”

TWENTY-ONE

NICK WALKED WITH CARINA to the coroner’s office. “I’m glad Dr. Chen is willing to come in early and take care of Becca Harrison,” Carina said. “You don’t have to observe.”

“I do,” he said. Of course he would observe. Knowing the victim helped know the killer.

So far, law enforcement hadn’t come up with any similar crimes. Nothing in California matched, and so far the FBI database had come up dry.

He couldn’t help but think about the Butcher’s first victim. If the investigators had followed up on every thread, talked with more people, did more legwork, maybe-maybe-the killer would have been stopped before claiming twenty-one additional lives. Because the Butcher’s first kill had been personal. Something starts the chain reaction. Something leads to the first kill. Going back to the first kill of the Butcher led them to the killer.

If Angie was, as Nick suspected, the first victim of this San Diego killer, it was personal. Something about Angie had specifically set him off. What was it? Her double life? Something else?

They walked into the overly air-conditioned laboratory and Jim Gage, who Nick had met at the crime scene the night before, approached.

“I’m assisting Dr. Chen on this one.” He stared at Becca’s prepped body on the cold stainless-steel table, his expression unusually grim.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” He looked over her shoulder at Nick. “You were right.”

“About?” Though he didn’t need to ask.

“Her entire body is covered in plastic wrap except for her vagina. There’s residue from a condom and spermicide. I’ve already sent it to the lab for identification.”

“DNA?” Carina asked.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Was her body washed?”

“Yes. But he was rushed this time. There’s a lot of soap residue. And get this: there was a head injury.”

“Maybe he hit her when he abducted her,” Nick said. “The Butcher lured his victims from their vehicles, then knocked them unconscious.”

“Possibly, but-”

Chen interrupted. “Rather than speculate, let’s observe the body.”

Carina gathered her professionalism and looked at the victim as a puzzle, not a person. Becca Harrison’s autopsy was as methodical as Angie’s, but this time Carina focused on similarities and differences.

Both victims had been sexually assaulted, including raped with a closed beer bottle, the marks on the inside of the vagina now distinctive. Both had had their mouths glued shut and secured with a black bandanna, and had been restrained with white nylon rope. Both had been released from their restraints and thoroughly washed before being killed. Both victims had suffocated in a garbage bag. Both victims were in their late teens. Both victims lived or worked in La Jolla, the upscale community in north San Diego but still within the city limits. Both had been kidnapped after dark.

Angie had been raped both anally and vaginally, Becca only vaginally. Angie had been imprisoned for more than forty-eight hours before being killed, Becca between twenty-four and thirty. While both bodies had been dumped, Becca had been returned to the library where she was last seen.

Why had Angie been dumped on the beach? Had Angie gone to the beach after Steve had followed her home? If so, why? Or did the beach hold some significance for the killer?

Carina noted that the plastic wrap on Becca was a key difference. Dillon and Nick had agreed that the plastic wrap had allowed the killer to get physically closer to his victim while still giving him a level of protection against leaving evidence on her body. Gage was taking the plastic to the lab to see if he could collect any trace evidence, because plastic attracted hair and fibers.

“We might get lucky here,” Gage said. “The plastic garbage bags don’t hold fibers as well as plastic wrap. Different properties. And the contamination at the scene with the sand is making any evidence harder to find. I’m going to prioritize this.”

“The killer has been so careful with the bodies and not leaving evidence, it seems odd that he’d change his MO to a less-safe method,” Carina said.

“You have to think like the killer,” Nick said. “It’s not about protecting him, though he has taken a greater effort than many serial killers to foil forensics.”

“If it’s not about forensics, what’s it about?” Carina asked.

“His pleasure. His fantasy. It’s all about him. On the surface, he gets what he wants-closer to the dying victim. Logically, he’s thinking the plastic wrap will prevent evidence transfer. And if he’d dumped her body on the beach, the sand would contaminate any evidence. But a parking lot isn’t the same, just like the properties of the plastic wrap and garbage bags aren’t the same.”

“So he made a mistake.”

“He’s going to realize it,” Nick said.

“You think?”

“Eventually.”

Jim Gage spoke. “He’s taking such pains to stymie the forensics investigation it makes me think that he’s in the system.”

“We’ve run like crimes,” Carina said, “and so far nothing. I have two dedicated officers on it now, so we’re digging deeper.”

Gage said, “Dr. Chen, you said there was another difference between the first and second victim.”

He nodded and motioned them to a light box against the wall, flipping the switch while dimming the overhead lights at the same time.

“The second victim has two head wounds. The first is a faint subdermal bruising. Not fatal and likely caused by a hand-see, you can see distinct fingers. It’s on the side of the head, as if he slapped her hard. The second is on the lower left quadrant of her skull. I don’t see how he could have hit her there. He would have had to swing up with something sharp enough to leave this deep gash.”

The wound was about two inches long, wider in the middle.

Gage nodded. “From the angle, I think she fell.”

“How could she fall if she was restrained?” Carina asked.

Nick spoke up. “He untied her to wash her, probably in a bathtub. He wouldn’t let her walk behind him, so she comes out first and makes a run for it. Maybe slams the bathroom door to delay him, throws something in his path. It had only been a day, she wasn’t as weak as Angie, with a burst of adrenaline she runs.”

“But he catches up with her,” Gage said, nodding. “Maybe pushes her.”

“Look here,” Chen said. “This is another faint subdermal bruise, a minor wound, in the very back of her head, which might indicate that she was pushed against a wall. No broken skin.”

“So,” Nick used Carina to demonstrate, taking her by the shoulders and gently pushing her against the wall. “Becca runs. He catches her and slams her against the wall.”

Nick stood very close to Carina and she held her breath.

“He’s angry. Furious that she tried to run. He wants her back in position so he can finish it. But he’s mad, throws her down.” Holding Carina by the arms, Nick pretended to throw her, going with the momentum to control it. “Maybe a coffee table, a cabinet, a chair-something with a sharp corner-is in the way and she hits it.” Without letting Carina hit the ground, he pulled her up. She stumbled and he caught her, gave her a wry grin. “Sorry.”