Free Last Known Victim by Erica Spindler Page B

streets. Stacy followed Gabrielle as best she could, at times forced to anticipate his next move. She managed to keep them in sight until he turned onto Rampart and a delivery truck cut her off, then stopped, blocking the narrow street.
    By the time she made it onto South Rampart, Gabrielle and Yvette were long gone. She drove around the area for twenty minutes, in the hopes of spotting the Boxster, then gave up.
    If they had been heading for a rendezvous, why had she been dressed so conservatively? Because it turned him on? Hardly, the guy was a strip club regular. Clearly he liked to play on the wild side.
    She glanced at her watch. After four already. She had enough time to do drive-bys of a few of Gabrielle’s listings and still meet Spencer at Shannon’s by five. Tonight she would try to get some information out of Yvette.

14
    Saturday, April 21, 2007
4:15 p.m.
    P atti sat at the IBIS console while the device compared the striations on the bullet found in Sammy’s body to the one they had test-fired into the box of gel.
    They matched beautifully, leaving no doubt both bullets had been fired from the same weapon.
    She gazed at the computer-enhanced images. She had him. At long last. Her husband’s murderer. Most probably the Handyman killer as well.
    Her feelings swung between elation and doubt. The elation she understood, but not the doubt. Ben Franklin did not seem a terribly menacing villain. More a low-level hood and all-around loser.
    Which meant exactly nothing. Real life wasn’t like Hollywood, where the bad guys screamed the part. The most vicious killer she’d ever busted had had the appearance and demeanor of a choirboy.
    She sat back. She felt he had been telling the truth about his reason for contacting Anna. Sharing that had been too uncomfortable to have been a lie.
    If he was Sammy’s killer, if he had buried him and the woman there in City Park, would he have admitted being anywhere near there? Sure, he could simply be an extremely stupid thug. A lot of them were.
    But she didn’t want to spend time or energy on the wrong guy. She didn’t want to celebrate prematurely.
    She wanted him. Sammy’s killer.
    And she wouldn’t rest until she was certain she had him.
    â€œGood news?”
    She glanced over her shoulder at Spencer and smiled grimly. “We may have him. Take a look.”
    He crossed and peered at the IBIS-enhanced images. A moment later, he straightened. “It’s a good match.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut you want more.”
    It wasn’t a question; she answered, anyway. “What if Franklin did find the gun? The real killer buried the bodies, then disposed of the weapon.”
    â€œAnd got the hell out of town before Katrina struck.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo, we find a connection between Franklin and the woman, and we’ve got him nailed. This might help.” He handed her a legal-size manila envelope. “The analysis of the City Park Jane Doe. Elizabeth Walker dropped it off.”
    Excited, Patti opened the envelope and slid the report out. Female. Caucasoid. Approximately twenty to twenty-five years old. Sixty-four inches tall. Hadn’t given birth. An unusual number of broken bones. All old breaks. Probably the victim of childhood abuse. Badly overcrowded teeth.
    â€œShe could have been strangled,” Patti said. “Says here the hyoid bone was broken.”
    â€œElizabeth mentioned that. Problem is, as young as the victim was, she can’t say for certain.”
    Patti nodded. The hyoid bone was a horseshoe-shaped bone at the base of the skull that anchored the tongue in place. It started out in three pieces, not fully fusing until around age thirty-five.
    Patti read on, through information she already knew from the crime scene, stopping when she found what she was seeking.
    This victim belonged to the Handyman. The bones, the dismemberment point, fit perfectly.
    It was official then—this