The girl's face had been lacerated by chopping blows, creating open wounds that also bled profusely.
Ridgely spotted Dr. Guisti bending over the corpse.
Guisti straightened up when he saw the D.A. approaching.
"Was the murder weapon a hatchet?" Ridgely asked when they were far enough away from everyone else so they could not be heard.
"I can't say for certain, but I will say that there are enough similarities between this crime, the murder in the gully and the murder in Blaine for me to say they are either the work of the same person or a very good copycat."
"Any signs of sexual activity?" Ridgely asked. The first two women had been raped before they were killed.
"I won't know until I examine her, but I'm guessing no. The other women were naked. She's got her clothes on. The first two were murdered in a location different from where they were found. I'm guessing the killer ah ducted the other women and held them for a while, but fouled up the abduction here and had to kill her."
"I don't like this one bit, Harold. What you're telling me is that we've got a serial killer in Whitaker County."
"Looks like it."
"Well, shit. I don't have the personnel to investigate something like this."
"You'd better figure out how to do it quick. I started doing a little reading on the subject after we found Emily Curran in that gully. One thing's for certain. Our boy has tasted blood and, according to the literature, once he's taken a liking to the killing, he's not going to stop.
The Mancini-Harmon wedding reception was held in the dining room of the Whitaker Elks Club. A long table stocked with hors d'oeuvres, salads, desserts and a selecnon of roast beef and fried chicken stood against one wall next to the bar. A band played in front of a large dance floor on the opposite side of the hall. The guests chattered noisily at tables covered by white-and-redcheckerboard tablecloths. Peter was refreshing his drink at the bar when a finger poked him in the back.
"Hi, Peter."
Peter turned too quickly and a splash of gin and tonic slopped over the lip of his glass, wetting his hand. He jerked his hand back reflexively and some more liquid jumped out of the glass.
"Having trouble holding your liquor?"
Peter looked down and found Becky O'Shay observing him with a bemused smile.
"Don't you know better than to sneak up on a person like that?" Peter asked, annoyed that Whitaker's prosecutorial pixie had made him look foolish.
"Just practicing what I was taught in law school," answered Becky, her grin widening. Peter laughed, too, even though he was upset. He couldn't help himself.
O'Shay was just too cute to stay mad at.
"Are you a friend of the bride, the groom or both?"
Peter asked.
"Steve. How about you?"
"Steve. We went to law school together. Where do you know him from?"
"Oh, here and there," O'Shay answered enigmatically. "Steve tells me you worked at Hale, Greaves before moving to Whitaker."
"Why did he tell you that?"
"I asked him," O'Shay answered with a mischievous grin. Then, she cocked her head to one side and asked, "You're related to Richard Hale, right?"
"He's my father."
"I'm impressed. He must.be great to work with."
"Dad's a trip, all right."
"Isn't Whitaker a little dull after the big city? Hale, Greaves must be such an exciting place to practice."
"Dull is what I wanted after four years in the rat race," Peter answered tersely, keeping to the story he told everyone.
"What else did Steve say about me?" Peter asked, secretly pleased that O'Shay was interested enough to pump Steve about him.
"I said you were a pervert and an incurable womanizer," Steve Mancini answered, draping an arm across Peter's shoulder. "How are you two getting along? Had enough food, enough booze?"
Mancini looked dashing in his tux, but his eyes were 'bloodshot and his speech was a little slurred.
"Congratulations, Steve," O'Shay told the groom.
"You're a lucky guy," Peter added. "Donna looks great."
"I think so," Mancini said.
"What have you got planned?" Peter asked.
"Portland ' tonight and Sunday. Then, a week in Hawaii."
"I could live with that," Peter said.
"I need it. I've been breaking my ass on Mountain View."
"Is that your condo deal?"
"Yeah," Mancini said, flashing a smile that looked a little forced. "We're almost there, but I have to stay on top of everyone to keep the momentum going. Then, I've got two cases set for trial early next month. I almost put off the honeymoon, but I couldn't disappoint Donna."
"Forget about business, will you," Peter said.
Loosen up. This is your wedding."
"You're right," Mancini said as he took a scotch from the bartender and swallowed half of it.
"You need an associate to take some of the pressure off you. Why don't you put Donna through law school?" O'Shay joked.
"Donna? A lawyer?" Mancini answered derisively.
"Not a chance. Besides, she's going to be too busy with the little Mancims to have much time for anything else."
"What's this about little Mancinis?" asked Donna, who had a middle-aged couple in tow. She looked radiant in white.
"I was just telling Peter and Becky about our plans," Mancini said, as he gave Donna a kiss. Donna blushed with pride.
"Steve, I want you to meet Bob and Audrey Rosemont," Donna said. The Rosemonts and the newlyweds wandered off.
"They make a great couple, don't they?" Peter said.
"They sure do," O'Shay answered without enthusiasm. Then, she added, "I hope Donna's driving to Portland."
"I just had an idea."
"Oh?" O'Shay said, returning her attention to Peter.
"I've been told that you can get a great steak at the Range Rider. Want to help me find out if the rumors are true?"
"How would I do that)" I'By accompanying me to dinner tonight?"
"don't know if that's such a good idea."
"I can assure you that the idea is brilliant," Peter said, flashing her his best smile.
"Look, Peter, this is a small town and we're adversaries. How would it look if a juror in one of our future cases remembered seeing us together on a date)"
"Ah, come on, Becky. I've spent most of my evenings staring at my TV since I movd to Whitaker. I'm going stir-crazy."
While O'Shay considered his proposal, Peter sucked in his cheeks, hunched down and made himself look pathetic.
O'Shay laughed. "Oh, all right. If you're that desperate."
Peter strat htened up and grinned.
"Great," he said. "I'll pick you up at eight-thirty and I'll treat you like a goddess."
"You'd better."
Gary took two more shrimp from one of the silver platters on the massive table that held the hors d'oeuvres, then wandered down the line and put another chicken leg on his plate. Next, Gary spotted something wrapped in bacon near the cold cuts. He liked bacon with pancakes, but this bacon looked as if it was wrapped around liver. Gary did not like liver. He wondered if it would be okay to eat the bacon and throw out the liver.
He wanted to do the riaht thing. He did not want to embarrass Donna and Steve. After all, he was the best man.
Gary remembered his part in the ceremony and smiled. When Steve drove im to the church this morning, he told Gary that he looked handsome in his tuxedo. Gary wondered if there had been a girl in the church who thought he was handsome. That would be something. Gary looked around the crowded room to see if any girl was looking at him. He did not see any, but he did hear a lady with gray hair tell another lady with gray-streaked brown hair about a body that had been found by the wishing well. Gary walked over to listen.
"Eric thinks this killing might be connected to the girl they found in the gully and the other girl who was murdered in Blaine," the gray-haired lady said.
"Oh no.
"Eric saw the body. He said it was awful. The killer used a hatchet. Her head was almost chopped off."
"I remember when you could walk anywhere in town, any time of day," the other woman said with a shake of her head. "It's getting so I'm afraid to go out at night."
"That girl was at the Stallion last night," Gary said.
The two women looked at Gary. He smiled, proud to know something they did not.
"Hey, Gary, you look great," said a big, balding man in an ill-fitting brown suit. Gary recognized Eric Polk, a Whitaker policeman, whom he had met at several Elks Club functions.
"Bon, we got to go," Eric said. "It's one-thirty and we're expected at the kids' at two."
Wilma looked at her watch. "I had no idea. I'm going to have to leave, Mabel. It's Kenny's third birthday."
Ccis that grandson of yours three already?" Mabel Dawes asked.
"Looks five, he's that big," Eric said proudly.
"Donna looked lovely, Gary," Wilma Polk said, as she, her husband and Mabel Dawes walked away.
Gary's chest swelled with pride. His sister was beautiful.
So was that girl at the Stallion who had been mean to him. Mrs. Polk said the girl's head had almost been chopped off. Gary thought of the hogs he had butchered on his family's farm. They would squeal and get all excited on the way to die. A picture of a mean girl all tied up and squealing came into his thoughts unbidden. For a moment, it was like it was really happening. Gary's mouth was dry and he started to get hard.
If the mean girl was tied up in his room, he could ask her why she was being mean to him. No, not his room.
Mom would find her when she came to clean. But some place. He could put her someplace where no one could find her. Only he would know where she was.
And she would have to do what he said. She would have to kiss him if he wanted and learn to love him. That was the most important. Love him like Donna loved Steve. Love him for ever and ever.
Marjorie Dooling's shoulders shook convulsively each time she sobbed into her boyfriend's shoulder. Tommy Berger held Marjorie and tried to comfort her. Dennis Downes waited patiently. He understood the shock ariorie experienced -when she saw Sandra Whiley's face, because he had experienced the same feeling that morning in the park.
"I'm sorry," Marjorie apologized, trying hard to stop her tears.
"You take your time," Downes answered compassionately. "Do you want some water?"
Marjorie nodded and Downes poured some from a pitcher he made certain was on his desk before he brought her back from viewing the body.
Marjorie sat down. "I'll be okay," she managed after taking a few sips. "It's just ..
She shook her head, at a loss for words.
"What made you call the police?" Downes asked, giving the girl an easy question to distract her from her grief.
"I saw the sketch on the front page of the afternoon Clarion. It looked so much like Sandy."
Downes nodded. "You two share a dorm room?"
"No. We live in a boardinghouse near the campus."
"Did you worry when Sandy didn't come home last night?"
"We, uh, spent the night at my place," Tommy answered.
"When I got back to the room this morning, Sandy wasn't there," Marjorie told Downes. "I figured she was studying or something."
"When was the last time you saw her?"
Marjorie looked at Tommy.
"About ten-thirty," he said. "We all went to the Stallion."
"Tommy and I wanted to leave. We offered to drop her off at the house because we came in Tommy's car, but she wanted to stay." Marjorie's eyes teared again.
"If she'd only come with us ..
Downes waited patiently while Dooling gathered herself.
"Sergeant Downes, I was wondering ... When they found Sandy, was she wearing a necklace?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Sandy always wore a medallion around her neck. A Crusader's Cross. It would be for her mom. I know she'll want it. Sandy's grandma gave it to her and it was her lucky piece."
Sandy Whiley wasn't wearing anything around her neck when the first officer arrived on the scene, but it seemed to Downes that one of the officers had found something resembling the jewelry Dooling had described. He would check on it later. For now, the medallion was evidence and would have to be held until the killer was caught and convicted.
Business was usually slow at the Stallion at four in the afternoon, and the stunning summer weather was keeping all but the staunchest regulars outdoors. Dennis Downes spotted Arnie Block and Dave Thorne chatting behind the bar as soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the tavern. Downes was in uniform and the bartenders stopped talking when he sat down.
"Hi, Sergeant," Block said. "The usual?"
"Not today, Arnie. Were you and Dave on duty last night?"
"Yeah. We were both here."
Downes took out a photo of Sandra Whiley that Marjorie Dooling had given him when he followed her back to the boardinghouse.
"Do you remember seeing this girl in here?"
Arnie studied the photo. "She looks familiar, but I don't know if she was here last night."
Thorne frowned. "It could be ... Yeah. Her hair was a little longer, but I'm sure.. ." He took the photo from "See that medallion around her neck? She was playing with it at the bar. It's definitely her."
"When was she in?"
"It had to be around eleven. In fact, I'm sure of it, because I remember seeing her leave shortly after the fight broke up."
"What fight?" Downes asked.
"Oh, it wasn't anything. Gary Harmon was yelling at a woman. Arnie calmed him down."
"What's with the girl?" Block asked.
"We're trying to trace her movements. She was murdered sometime after she left the Stallion."
"No shit!" Thorne said, looking more closely at the photograph. "Hey, she's not the girl they found by the wishing well?"
Block and brought it closer.
Downes nodded.
"Jesus. A couple of customers were talking about that earlier. We thought it might be the other one."
"What other one?"
"The woman Gary was hassling. I saw the sketch in the Clarion and it looked a little like her."
"What happened?"