“Hell,” said Captain Dougherty, “use a psychic if you think it might help. A trained cat, if you’ve got one.”
Savich laughed, not at all insulted. “I know it sounds weird, but you know as well as I do that people can be loonier than the Mad Hatter.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” Ralph Budnack said, staring at Lacey, “but I’ve seen you before. Now I’ve got it. You came in here claiming to be related to the victim.” He turned to Savich, his jaw working. “You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
“Calm down, Ralph. It’s all very understandable. Her sister was killed seven years ago in San Francisco by this guy. That’s why she realized so fast that he’d struck again. That’s why she came up here. Thanks to her, we’re on to him immediately. Now, you don’t have to worry about her. She works for me. I’ll have her under control.”
Captain Dougherty was staring at her, chewing harder on the unlit cigar. “I don’t want any vigilante stuff here, Agent Sherlock. You got that? You even tiptoe outside the boundaries and I’ll bust you hard. I don’t care if you’re FBI. I wouldn’t care if you were Hoover himself. It appears to me that Savich would bust you too. I wouldn’t want to go in the ring with him.”
“I understand, sir.” Why did Dillon have to tell them the truth? She could have lied her way out of it. She caught his eye and realized he knew exactly what she was thinking. He didn’t want her to lie anymore. Well, bully for him. It hadn’t been his sister who’d been butchered; it hadn’t been him to have nightmares horrible enough to wake you up wheezing, knowing that you were dying, that someone was close, really close, nearly close enough to kill you. She wanted to throw him through the window, although it looked as though it had been painted shut.
Now Budnack would tell the other cops who she was and what she’d done, and no one would trust her as far as the corner.
“I hope we’ll find out something about this seven-year thing,” Savich said. “It also occurred to me that he knows how to build sets and props. Not just build them, but he has to transport them to the buildings where he intends to commit the murders. They must be constructed to fold pretty small to fit in a car trunk or in a van. That means he has to be proficient at least at minimal construction.
“Also, surely a truck would have been remarked upon. And he must do it in the middle of the night to cut way down on the chance of being seen. It’s possible that the seven business will correlate to building things. Who knows?”
“Like a propman in the theater,” Lacey said slowly, hope soaring.
“Could be,” Savich said. “Let’s get the rest of the goodies in the program, then see what we come up with. He stood. “Gentlemen, anything else?”
“Yes,” Ralph Budnack said. “I want to help you input into this magic program of yours.”
“You got it,” Savich said and shook his hand.
The three of them took turns until late in the afternoon. Savich said, “There, that about takes care of it. Now let me tell MAX to stretch his brain and see what he can find for us. I inputted every instance of the number seven I could find. For example, two of the murders were committed on the seventh day of the week. Another murder was committed in the seventh month of the year. Sounds pretty far-out, but we’ll see. The real key is the seven-year cycle and the fact that he killed seven women. MAX has more to work with here than he’s ever had before. Also I gave MAX another bone-the construction angle.” His fingers moved quickly over the keys. Then he grinned up at Lacey, and pressed ENTER.
“That computer your kid?” Ralph Budnack asked.
“You’d think so,” Savich said. “But no, MAX is a partner, and by no means a silent one.” He patted the keyboard very lightly. “Nope, I’ll have some real kids one of these days.”