They had the body laid out on the grass when we got there, giving me a sickening sense of déjà vu. There was the one gunshot wound to the face, and then multiple stab wounds around the hips and genitals.
Also, there was a water factor. Cory Smithe had been found in the Potomac, Ricky Samuels in Rock Creek, and now this.
The only real difference I could see, besides location, was in the knife work. Each victim seemed to have been stabbed quite a few more times than the one before him. This boy’s jeans were bloodstained all the way down to his neon green shoes.
Jacobs knelt next to the body. I could tell she was doing what I did sometimes—forcing herself to get close and absorb as much as she could, subconsciously or otherwise.
“What’s this guy so pissed off about?” she said. “What’s he trying to work out here, do you suppose?”
She seemed to be homing in on some of the same anger I’d been seeing in all these cases. That word kept coming up.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it can be a vicious cycle. The harder he tries to scratch that itch, the more he’s going to find out it can’t be done, and the more desperate he’s going to get.”
“Or enthusiastic,” she said, fingering one of the perforations in the kid’s pants with a gloved finger. “Or both.”
The gunshot was a means to an end, I felt pretty sure. It was the knife work where his emotions took over. In every other respect, he seemed to be extremely well disciplined about the whole thing. These weren’t spontaneous murders. Each one of them required some forethought and planning.
And that brought up the other big question here.
The last time around, in Rock Creek, our victim hadn’t been alone. There were two bodies that night, most likely from two different killers.
The Montgomery County CSI unit had already made a first pass up and down the canal, and they were still dragging the woods, but it seemed clear to me by now that this was another solo job.
But why? What had changed? Or changed back?
I had no idea, but even as I stood there taking it all in, some part of me was already bracing for what came next. Whatever game these people were playing, it wasn’t over yet.
And the score was three to two.
CHAPTER
46
IT WAS JUST BEFORE DARK WHEN I FINALLY WRAPPED UP AT THE CRIME SCENE. I’d been there longer than I meant to be, but then again, I always am. I walked back up through the woods to the parking lot and toward my car.
When I got there, someone was waiting for me. It was dusk, and I couldn’t see who it was at first, but then I recognized the beard. Even the hoodie and cargo shorts were the same as the last time.
“Ron Guidice?” I said.
Sure enough, he turned around. I’d been right all along. It was him.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, now you want to talk?” he said, immediately aggressive. “Last time I got the brush off.”
I took a deep breath. Part of me wanted to cuff him and throw him in the back of the car. But that wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I pressed on instead.
“Listen, I’m not going to pretend that I understand exactly what you went through six years ago. But what you’re doing now? It’s not helping anyone.”
“I guess that’s a matter of opinion,” he said.
“I want you to know that I’m sorry for your loss,” I told him. “I really am, but—”
“But what, Alex? I should just shut up and go away? I already tried that, but it didn’t help. You and your department are just as incompetent as you were six years ago.”
I looked him in the eye, trying to gauge how put together this guy was—or wasn’t. Were there emerging paranoia issues here? Was Guidice one hundred percent? I wasn’t convinced.
“It’s not just my life you’re making difficult,” I said. “You’re potentially putting future victims’ lives at risk here. Do you understand that?”