Avery walked slowly down the hall of the dim apartment building, flanked by Ramirez, her heart pounding with anticipation as it always did when entering a crime scene. At this moment, she wished she was anywhere but here.
She snapped out of it. She put her game face on and forced herself to observe every detail, however minute.
The victim's apartment door was open. An officer stationed outside moved away and allowed Avery and the others to duck under the crime scene tape and enter.
A narrow hallway led to a living room. A kitchen branched off from the hall. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary anywhere; just someone's very nice apartment. Walls were painted a light gray. There were bookshelves everywhere. Piles of books were stacked on the ground. Plants hung from the windows. A green couch faced a television set. In the only bedroom, the bed was made and topped with a lacy white blanket.
The only obvious disturbance to the apartment was in the living room, where a central rug was clearly missing. A dusty outline, along with a darker space, had been marked with numerous yellow police tags.
"What did forensics find here?" Avery asked.
"Nothing," O'Malley said. "No prints. No camera shots. We're in the dark right now."
"Anything taken from the apartment?"
"Not that we know. Change jar is full. Her clothes were neatly placed in her hamper. Money and ID were still in the pockets."
Avery took her time in the apartment.
As was her habit, she moved in small sections and observed every section thoroughly-the walls, the floors and wooden floorboards, any trinkets on shelves. A picture of the victim with two female friends stood out. She made a mental note to learn their names and contact each one. The bookshelves and piles were analyzed. There were stacks of female romance novels. The rest were mostly on spiritual subjects: self-help, religion.
Religion, Avery thought.
The victim had a star above her head.
Star of David?
Having observed the dead body on the boat and the apartment, Avery began to form a picture of the killer in her mind. He would have attacked from the hall. The kill was quick and he left no marks, made no mistakes. The victim's clothing and effects had been left behind in a neat spot, so as not to disturb the apartment. Only the rug was moved, and it was dusty in that area and around the edges. Something about that harked to anger in the killer. If he was so meticulous in every other way, Avery wondered, why not clean the dust from the rug sides? Why take the rug at all? Why not leave everything in perfect condition? She worked it through: He snapped her neck, undressed her, put the clothing away and left everything in order, but then he rolled her in a rug and carried her out like a savage.
She headed over to the window and stared down at the street. There were a few places where someone could hide and observe the apartment without being noticed. One spot in particular called to her: a dark, narrow alleyway behind a fence. Were you there? she asked herself. Watching? Waiting for the right moment?
"Well?" O'Malley said. "What do you think?"
"We have a serial killer on our hands."
