Free The Kills by Linda Fairstein Page B

to go back and swab the doorknobs and some of the
surfaces the killer may have touched."
    The
technology of this science had become so sophisticated that a serologist could
develop a genetic fingerprint from the mere sloughing off of skin cells onto
most objects that had been handled during the crime, called touch evidence.
    "But
you don't think this is your senior citizen serial killer?"
    "Too
many distinctions, Alex. The pillow was undoubtedly the weapon. That's
certainly a similarity. We'll work it up for amylase," Kirschner said,
referring to an enzyme found in saliva that might tell us whether the fabric
had been held over Ransome's mouth to kill her.
    "You're
bothered by the fact there's no sexual assault, I guess," Mercer said.
"What if he was interrupted? What if he meant to do that, but got
distracted because, unlike the others, there really were so many possessions
here that he ransacked the place. Maybe he thought someone heard noise and was
coming to check on Queenie."
    Kirschner
removed a pipe from his rear pants pocket and raised it to his mouth.
    He tamped
tobacco in, lit the match, and filled the tiny room with the welcome aroma of a
sweet, smooth blend that temporarily masked the smell of death.
    "Possible,
of course," he said. "But all the other crime scenes were in such
perfect order. Chapman left these here for you two to study. Look again. Take
your time."
    The
eight-by-ten color crime scene shots of the Ransome apartment had been
developed immediately and hand-delivered to Kirschner.
    "You've
really got juice," I said. "I'd be lucky to get these in a
week."
    "Don't
be jealous. It's not a full set. I just get a few body shots to get me
started."
    There was
McQueen Ransome, lying on her back on the bed. Her housecoat was pulled up to
expose her genitals, with panties and what appeared to be thick support hose
rolled up in a ball beside her. Her head was turned to the side, faded hazel
eyes fixed in a vacant gaze.
    "Somebody
sure wants to make the point about the sexual aspect of this," Mercer
said. "Nothing like this in the Park Plaza cases?"
    Kirschner
shook his head. "No. Unless your killer read about the exhumations in the
tabloids and decided to change his signature."
    Queenie's
legs were spread apart, twisted slightly, with one knee bent beneath the other
in what seemed to be almost an obscene pose.
    Next to
the bed was a metal walker, and I remembered Mike telling me the woman had
suffered a stroke several years ago.
    I
strained to study her head and hands more closely.
    "Are
those scratches on her face?"
    "Yes,
Alex. By her own hand. Typical in asphyxia. She was trying to clear the airways
of the obstruction, so she could breathe. Free her mouth from whatever was
covering it. Probably the pillow."
    "And
the killer?" I asked.
    "Several
of her nails are broken. We might get lucky and come up with something other
than her own blood in the cuttings. He might have some marks on his face or
hands, if she had the strength to swipe at him."
    The six
photographs Kirschner had were all of Queenie's body, taken from every position
in the room. I thought of the indignity of this kind of death, in which dozens
of strangers had entered her home to catalog and ferret through her meager
accumulation of possessions. A young medical examiner on duty and his
assistant, cops in uniform to secure the scene, a crew from the Crime Scene
Unit to take photographs and dust for fingerprints, and a team of detectives
who would try to find a motive for this murder-and a killer.
    I thought
ahead to the scores more who would pore over these photographs in the months to
come. Colleagues of mine would study them as they worked up the case for trial,
forensic consultants would enlarge them to look again for any kind of trace
material or significant detail, and psychologists would struggle with them as
they searched for an understanding of the murderer's mind. Eventually, when Chapman
and his team caught the man-and I needed, now, to