“You’ve read his shit?”
“Yes,” Andy said. “And I can’t see that there’s anything in the content of those essays that might be somehow linked to Trish Thrash, do you?”
“Gotta agree with you there,” Slipper confessed. “I mean, I don’t see any connection between Jamestown, mummies, and all the rest, to what appears to be a blatant hate crime targeted at gay women. And I gotta admit, Andy,” Slipper said, finally looking at him, “half the city cops always assumed you was gay, and you never have seemed to care or have a thing about gays.”
“I don’t,” Andy replied sincerely. “I don’t have a thing about anybody except bad people.”
“Yeah, that’s always been my impression.” Slipper shook his head, mystified. “But why the hell would the killer leave this shit at your house, for Christ’s sake? I’m wondering if it could be some person you’ve arrested before or somehow had contact with, maybe when you was working for the city? Is your address listed in the phone book?”
“No, Joe, it’s not. Mind if I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Have you considered that maybe the Trooper Truth link isn’t that the killer reads Trooper Truth but that maybe the victim did and somehow the killer found that out?”
“You know, I’m kind of embarrassed to tell you that I didn’t think of that,” Slipper said with interest and a spark of hope. “Damn good thought. I’ll follow up on that right away, go back and talk some more with the people she worked with.”
“Maybe with some of the people who played on the softball team that’s on her T-shirt,” Andy suggested. “What you might want to consider is not asking about Trooper Truth directly, because you don’t want people knowing the detail about what was cut on her body, right?”
“Hell no. Only the killer and us and the M.E. know that. So we need to keep that to ourselves in case we ever get a suspect and he confesses to it, right?”
“Exactly, Joe.”
“So how do you think I could find out about Trooper Truth without mentioning him directly?”
“How about this for an idea,” Andy said. “Trooper Truth gets e-mail.”
“He does?”
“Yes. It’s right there on the website that you can contact whoever he or she is and so on. Why not send an e-mail to Trooper Truth and ask for his or her help? He–let’s just go ahead and call him or her a he–can post something on his site and see if people who might have known Trish Thrash will respond.”
“Like what?” Slipper scratched his chin. “What do we want him to put on his site?”
“Okay,” Andy said, thinking. “Try this: The police are looking for anyone who knew Trish Thrash and might know her hobbies, passions, what she read, and if there was anything or anyone of late that she talked about a lot.”
Slipper was taking notes and asked Andy to repeat the statement again.
“And I would add,” Andy suggested, “that the informers don’t have to identify themselves, otherwise some people won’t feel comfortable stepping forward. And I’d offer a reward for any tip that leads to an arrest.”
Slipper started the car engine and turned on his headlights while Unique crouched behind a tree in the dark, her molecules rearranged into invisibility and her Purpose throbbing as she imagined appearing at the blond cop’s door one night.
“My car’s broke down,” the Nazi scripted. “Can I use the phone?”
The cop would let her inside, and when he turned his back for even a second, Unique would, as instructed, become invisible and slip up behind him, slashing his throat all the way through his windpipe so he couldn’t scream and would drown in his own blood. Then, the Nazi said from her dark space, Unique would slash his pretty face, cut out his eyes and tongue, castrate him, carve a swastika on his belly, and photograph the fruits of her Purpose, as usual. Finally, she would take his clothes, which Unique would deliver to whomever the Nazi directed.
“I know you’ve already thought of this,” Andy was diplomatically suggesting, “but I’d get the DNA lab to analyze the envelope, assuming the killer licked the flap, then have the profile run through the DNA database to see if we’re lucky enough to get a cold hit. Also have the blood on the clothes checked for DNA. Sometimes the killer cuts himself. I’d also get Vander to do his thing with the Luma-Lite and Super Glue in hopes there are latent prints on the trash bag and the envelope and Polaroid, which he can then run through AFIS. Of course, get trace evidence to check for fibers, hairs, and whatever on the clothes in the bag, and before any of this is done, don’t forget to let Doctor Scarpetta see everything.”