Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 25: Mystery Meat

Spencer had been right. Of course he'd been right. And it was a very rare bolt of excitement to discover that. The photos he'd shoved across Henry's table had all been close-ups. Two of them, small hands, curled and limp where they rested in the grass. The third was the ragged stump of a neck where unpracticed hands had severed the spine and removed the head. It wasn't the wounds, though, that Lassiter was examining. It was the cheap plastic jewelery. A bracelet, a ring, and a necklace. Hadn't really been attention grabbers, before. Should have been. Should have glowed in his head like neon.

Why strip the bodies but leave the jewelery?

The population of Santa Barbara was roughly 89,000 give or take. Around 5,500 of those were children under the age of ten. About half that number were girls.

Of those odds, what was the likelihood that three random girls, all murder victims of the same killer, would be found wearing the same make of kid's jewelery?

That lead, after having next to no leads, had been like fire. And in that same analogy, it had burned to have the lead chasing passed to O'Hara. It wasn't that he wasn't heading the charge to gather the evidence. It wasn't even that he was stuck at the station while O'Hara was in the field. It was more basic. The need to excise the pounding ache of guilt.

O'Hara had been partnered with Dobson to call on the parents of the murdered girls. Requiring a face to face both for sensitivity as well as to show the physical items. Meanwhile, though, Lassiter wasn't left without a job. There would be no release of guilt in the task, however. Rather, the culmination of his shame waited on the other side of the door before him. But there was no other choice. He had been personally requested for this duty. By the man waiting to speak. Waiting to share a story they had hoped, once upon a time, had been forgotten. And now they would demand that every scrap be revealed. Remembered. Lived through. All over again. Lassiter knocked, and then opened the door.

Shawn Spencer stood next to the window.

They'd chosen one of the larger conference rooms and the only one with a view outside. Henry had dropped some suggestions after a very long talk the day before – about lighting and space. He hadn't been okay with this. He still wasn't okay with this but Vick had finally managed his consent. Lassiter didn't know if it was relief he felt that Shawn hadn't been verbal with his opinion. Other than a few forced bits of dialogue, Shawn hadn't been verbal for a long time. And other than the choice of interviewer, he hadn't invested himself in the process. But there was too much at stake to think about that further.

A camera was in the corner of the room, ready to record the next several hours. Lassiter had an audio device as well. There was a pitcher of water and a number of places to sit, other than at the long table. Spencer, though, seemed to prefer standing. Lassiter stood next to the table and placed his tape recorder at the center.

“Whenever you want to get started.”

The way those shoulders flinched as he spoke, Lassiter wondered where Spencer had been in the last several minutes.

A few long moments more, staring at what could be seen of the lot behind the building, and finally Spencer turned to face him. Attention roved around the room – alighting on the moulding on the walls, the blinds on the inner windows, the door... A few dry swallows and Shawn blinked; looked up from beneath his brows at the tape recorder on the table. Lips worked around non-words – that now familiar shaping and seeking. Then, in a sharp blow, knuckles slammed on the table top. The arm held tight and shaking pushed down for a few seconds. Lassiter could feel how much frustration was squeezing out between those clenched fingers.