Free A False Dawn by Tom Lowe

half-ass effort to look into this one.  Not much is done about it until it grabs the girl next door.”
    “What did you come up with on similar cases, missing or unsolved homicides?”
    “Florida’s got two things more than any state.  The coastline is the longest and so is the missing persons list.  I tried to triangulate it into stats that would correlate with the ethnicity, age and sex of your vic, and the one found today.  Went back five years.  There are ninety-three reported missing.  Nineteen known homicides.  Out of that number, four people have been convicted.  So that gives us fifteen where the perp or perps are still out there.  In each case, the bodies were found in some remote spots.”
    “Was the cause of death the same?”
    “Looks that way.  Necks broken.  Raped and sexually mutilated.  But because he’s not killing college coeds, like Danny Rolling or Ted Bundy did, it becomes old news fast.  Look how long the Green River Killer kept killing prostitutes.  The people least likely to be reported missing.” 
    “For every girl reported missing, I wonder what the ratio or percentage is of them found alive or dead?  What’s the death quotient?”
    “There are girls missing that nobody files a report on because their families live in some other country.  Human trafficking.  Sex slaves.  All here in the good ol U.S. of A.”
    “You got it, partner.”
    Ron grunted.  “Out of the fifteen we know about, one body was found the first year.  The second year produced two.  The third season, if you will, there were three killings, about one a quarter.  Year number four produced four dead girls.  And this last year there were five.  These killings were scattered in counties from the northern part of Florida to the tip of the Everglades.”
    “If all the bodies were found, and it’s the same perp, he’s killing more each year, getting bolder, or an urge can’t be satisfied for as long.  What’d you get on Joe Billie?”   
    “The print on the arrowhead could be from Billie.  There’s no record of his prints anywhere.  No criminal record.  Nothing in DMV.  Seems he doesn’t exist.  The blood on the feather you sent matches the DNA of the hair follicle you found on the cot.  Came from the same man, Billie, if that’s his hair.  No hit in CODIS.  Why his blood is on the damn feather, I can’t help you there, bro.  I’ll send the arrow back to you.”
    “Did you find anything on Clayton Suskind?”
    “Ph.D in anthropology from Florida State University.  Suskind was arrested in last year for unauthorized digging of a national historic site, the protected Crystal River Mounds.  This is probably the biggest Indian burial ground in the Southeast.  He knows, or knew, where to dig.  Collectors pay a lot for this stuff.  The good professor is another missing person who has never been found.”
    “Check with the University of Arizona.  See if he’s on staff.”       
    #
    BACK AT MY HOUSE , I dialed the Volusia County Sheriff’s Office.  I asked to speak to Detective Slater.  “There was a killing in Brevard County.  Maybe the same MO.”
    “We’re on it.  You’re not a cop anymore, O’Brien.”
    “Do you know where I can find Joe Billie?”
    “Why?”
    “He left something with me.  I’d like to return it.  Have you charged him?”
    “Not yet.  He’s probably lying low on the Seminole reservation.  Sovereignty and all that shit.  We’re watching him.  Just like we’re watching you.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You know what it means.” 
    “Did you come up with an ID on the victim?”
    “That’s not your immediate concern.”
    “I haven’t figured out your attitude yet, maybe it’s a turf thing, Detective, but your incompetence made it my business.  I assume you haven’t got an ID.  Maybe the killing in Brevard is related.  It might be a way to help ID the girl I found.”
    “I don’t need you to tell me how to