Page 121 of Sharp Force
Also, an unknown donor,Marino adds.But the kid is screwed.
He means Zain is, and that seems to be a given.
“He’s on his way to being indicted for sure,” Benton says when I pass on the information.
“But as sensitive as the testing is,” I reply, “his DNA could have gotten under her nails in a number of ways.”
I recall the piles of dirty clothing in his room and on top of his bathroom hamper. When I looked at the washer and dryer, I could tell that someone recently had done laundry.
“If Georgine handled his clothing, picking up after him, as Ihave a feeling she did,” I’m saying, “she easily could have gotten his DNA under her nails. Georgine’s and Zain’s DNA are going to be all over the house. Other people’s as well.”
“It’s hugely problematic because they lived together, and had visitors like Graden Crowley and Calvin Willard,” Benton replies. “But when a grand jury hears that Georgine fought her attacker, and Zain’s DNA was under her nails, the nuances are lost. He’s going to be charged with her murder.”
We’ve reached Old Town, and now Cate Kingston is calling me. The lab conducting the genealogical DNA analysis finally got back to her last night. She’s been following up on the information since, and I call her.
“We got a Christmas present. We know who she is,” Cate says through our SUV’s speakers, a current of excitement in her voice.
She explains that the skeletal remains of the young woman disinterred from the Mercy Island cemetery have been identified. She was the sister of a soldier at Quantico Marine Corps Base. He’s still stationed there, and Cate talked to him a few minutes ago. The murdered young woman’s name was Susan Villani.
“She was twenty-five when she vanished nine years ago on the Friday after Thanksgiving while shopping at Pentagon City Mall,” Cate’s voice sounds. “Her Honda Accord was found in the parking lot.”
“And then she ended up buried in the cemetery on Mercy Island? I wonder why the killer would think of that location unless he was familiar for some reason,” Benton deliberates. “Was Susan Villani ever a patient there?”
“I asked her brother that. He said no,” Cate explains. “But he told me what he remembers and sent me scans of the investigative reports.”
At the time of Susan Villani’s murder, she was taking veterinary classes at a community college while working as a volunteer at the local zoo. Several days before she disappeared, she confided in her brother that she’d met someone special. She was feeding the giraffes when a man started talking to her.
“She described him as super smart and a little older than her,” Cate goes on. “She planned to see him again but didn’t offer details. To this day her brother doesn’t know who she was talking about. Security camera images from inside the mall show her shopping alone and heading out to her car after dark.”
“What about cameras in the parking lot?” Benton asks, the shops and restaurants in Old Town crowded, some of the partying crowd enjoying drinks on the sidewalks.
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Cate replies. “The camera where she was parked wasn’t working. What a coincidence, right?”
“Let me guess. They were wireless,” Benton suggests.
“Yes. All the other cameras were working fine. But not that one, and the police found a homemade signal jamming device nearby.”
“Sounds tragically familiar,” I reply as my thoughts continue landing on the Phantom Slasher.
We don’t know when he started killing and possibly committing other violent crimes. We have no clue how long he’s been in and out of the Northern Virginia area. I suggest we compare the cut marks to bone in Susan Villani’s case with the Slasher murder victims.
“We’re on the same page,” Cate replies. “I’ll get going on that tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Benton says as we drive through our neighborhood. “If you could email us those reports from the brother it would be greatly appreciated.”
We end the call, having reached our property, stopping in frontof the gate. The lights of the house shine through trees, the moon pale and distant. I look around at the dark woods, and the iron lamps glowing. I listen for strange animal sounds. But all is quiet, just the rushing of the wind, the tree branches and shrubbery stirring.
As we follow the driveway, I find myself glancing everywhere, expecting the glowing red orbs to reappear. I have my window cracked, listening for growling or screaming. I feel a mixture of emotions when we pass Lucy’s dark cottage. Guilt. Regret. And sadness. I don’t expect to see her again tonight.
“You all right?” I look at Benton’s somber profile, and I suspect he’s obsessing about Lucy’s file the same way I am.
“It wasn’t easy reading all that,” he admits. “It sounds like she hated us.”
“That was half her life ago, Benton. She wouldn’t say those things now.”
“I’m sorry she ever said them at all.”
“I imagine she’s even sorrier,” I reply. “Knowing her, she feels exposed and embarrassed. And that might be why she’s not coming over tonight.”
