Free Don't Say a Word by Beverly Barton Page B

killer. Will agreed.
    Fetching a second beer, he walked through the quiet house to his computer room and sat down just as the security lights flared on all around his property. Maybe this wasn’t the first case in which a killer used a severed tongue, dimes, and scales as his MO. He needed to search all the FBI databases, which the TBI had access to, and see what he could turn up. It wouldn’t be hard to find another murderer this depraved, here or anywhere else in the world. He took off his Reeboks, popped the beer tab, and keyed in the web addresses for the Quantico databases. This was going to be a long night, and so were a lot of others before they caught this guy.
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    The Elite Escort Service didn’t look so elite to Julia Cass. Will had picked her up at her brother’s house at seven thirty on the dot. Now that his red-haired, clingy lovebird had flown the coop, he was prompt personified. She had been ready for an hour before he got there, champing at the bit, even. Raring to go was putting it mildly. Unfortunately, it looked like the so-called classy call girls weren’t so classy after all. Ginger and her ilk were apparently housed in a circa 1930 shabby redbrick warehouse in a deserted industrial area near downtown. She leaned forward and looked up at the building’s facade. Faded yellow letters across the second floor spelled out Smith Toilet Company. Wow, what more could a hooker ask for.
    She glanced over at Will, who hadn’t said two words to her on the way downtown. He was dressed today in a very nice charcoal-gray suit—expensive, Julia would say, if she knew anything about men’s designer suits, which she didn’t. The crisp white shirt, blue silk tie, and spit-shined black shoes didn’t look too shabby, either. He looked good, of course, but somehow she liked him better yesterday in his Alabama T-shirt and jeans. She had on black pants and a white polo shirt. Both of them had buckled on their matching guns. Will had a brown leather hip holster. She did, too. They were quickly becoming Starsky and Hutch and a good title for a TV movie: Twin Guns Visit Ginger the Call Girl .
    â€œI spent most of the night going through law enforcement databases,” Will said, shoving the gearshift into park. “I found no reference to other cases that involved severed tongues and dimes and scales. At least, not all three in the same case.”
    â€œI spent time on the Internet, too. Nada. Tongues, maybe. But the dimes and scales are a unique twist. Our perp likes to be different.”
    Will leaned against the steering wheel and stared at her. He was so serious, no kidding around, no flirting. Would the real Will Brannock please stand up? Julia thought.
    â€œOur gang database said that cutting out tongues is a practice of several U.S. gangs,” Will continued. “One of them operates out of Chattanooga. The Battle Street Ten gang. You ever heard of them? They are known to cut out tongues as retribution for betrayal.”
    â€œYeah, I’ve heard of them. So you’re thinking this is gang-related? What about the dimes and scales?”
    â€œWho knows? Criminal gangs adopt all kinds of weird practices and initiation rites. I think it could be their work. Maybe they were sending a message.”
    â€œWant me to look into CPD’s records of gang activity here in the city? See if I can come up with a name known for mutilations?”
    â€œYes,” Will said. “When we talked to Maria Bota yesterday, did you notice the tat on her left ring finger?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t see any tattoos. Is it a trademark?”
    â€œYes, a triangle made of six red dots.”
    â€œAnd the significance?”
    â€œAny female wearing that symbol is the initiated woman of a Battle Street Ten gang member.”
    â€œSo we’ve already got a definite tie to that gang.”
    â€œDamn right.”
    â€œSo we interview her