Free BoneMan's Daughters by Ted Dekker Page A

out in seven columns, one for each case, in the order they’d been investigated. A map of Texas
     faced her from the wall behind the tables, showing the path of death BoneMan had carved from El Paso to Austin.
    Four days had passed since Kracker asked her to dive back into the case that had consumed her two years earlier, and she’d
     spent half of that time pacing. Running her hand along the table, examining each piece of data, each field report, each photograph,
     with the intent of extracting even a whiff of evidence they’d missed before.
    Her task was a simple one: Keep Switzer behind bars, because they all knew that Switzer was BoneMan. Save the DA. Prevent
     a killer from breaking another bone.
    Convince the evidence to tell her something new.
    But the evidence wasn’t cooperating.
    Mark Resner, her partner on the case, leaned against his desk ten feet to her left, sleeves of his white shirt rolled up,
     tapping a pencil on his palm as he watched her.
    “The lioness stalks,” he said quietly.
    She looked at him and saw that he was smiling.
    “Is that what I am? I feel a bit more like a snake at the moment.”
    “Now there’s an image.”
    “Snaking through all this slimy mess.”
    “Give it a break, Ricki. We’ve both been over it a hundred times; there’s nothing new on that table.”
    She shifted her gaze to the black picture window. They were three stories up, facing a large brick building that cut out the
     city’s night lights. Her reflection stared back. Haunting. Her black hair was absorbed by the night, leaving only a face with
     brown eyes gazing at her.
    To think that the fate of BoneMan was held in the grasp of this petite thirty-five-year-old woman. An odd thought.
    “Mind closing the blinds?”
    Mark walked to the window and lowered the white blinds.
    It was more than just BoneMan’s fate. It was the fate of other victims, should BoneMan strike again. Of the DA, should Switzer
     go free. The people when the realization that the killer who’d terrorized Texas was not behind bars.
    “I think you’re right, Mark,” she said, turning her attention back to the stacks of files. “There’s nothing new here.” She
     walked to the end of the table, picked up one file marked Blood Lab, and headed back the way she’d come, drumming her fingers
     on the file.
    “I can’t help but thinking…” But she wasn’t sure quite how to put it.
    The thought had run circles through her mind all afternoon and into the evening, but she’d refused to give it much attention,
     because her task was to find
new
evidence, not rehash old.
    “Blood?” Mark asked, eyeing the file. “The blood work’s been verified in three separate lab workups.”
    “I know, Switzer’s blood, both samples apparently from the original sample.”
    “But not conclusive.”
    “Not conclusive in our way of thinking. But the margin of error is so small, we both know the judge will probably allow the
     new evidence and declare a mistrial. That’s why we’re here.”
    “But…” Mark said expectantly.
    Ricki took a deep breath and eased to the middle of the room, eyes on the table all the way. She stopped, held out the blood
     file, and released it.
    The manila file landed on the carpet with a soft
plop
.
    Ricki put her hands on her hips and nodded at the table. “What do you see?”
    Mark joined her and stared at the stacks, the map, all that was BoneMan in the FBI files.
    “You’re saying Switzer isn’t BoneMan?” he said. “I know how it looks, but—”
    “No, Mark. Just tell me what you see. What do you know about the files on that table?”
    “They meticulously detail BoneMan’s work in seven murders. Crime scene investigation reports, lab work, evidence gathered
     and analyzed, interviews, behavior profiles, photographs. You want me to go on?”
    “You see BoneMan.”
    “I see BoneMan.”
    “Do you see Switzer? Just what’s on the table, do you see Switzer?”
    “I think I do, yes.”
    “Well, I’m