Cereal Killer

fingering the simple padlock.
    He said nothing as he watched her examine the mechanism.
    “There’s nothing to this,” she said. “I had one of these on my high school gym locker.”
    “I could get a warrant,” he said. “Maybe... in a few hours. Of course, by then Nurse Blabbermouth back there at the desk will tell a dozen people we were asking about Murray and that we came into this room. And they’ll tell Nurse Murray, and she’ll get rid of anything in there that might be any good.”
    “Ninety seconds,” she whispered... the voice of temptation. “That’s all it’d take me to have her open.”
    “I can’t. The chief would be having my oysters fried for dinner.”
    Savannah reached into her purse and fumbled around, searching for her lock pick. “Why don’t you go see if you can track down Murray?” she suggested. “And maybe check with security to see if they keep track of what vehicles come and go out of the parking lot. They might have one of those gates where you have to use a card to get in. Or maybe they have a camera set up, showing who’s doing what.”
    “Good idea,” he said. “I’ll see if either Connor’s or Murray’s vehicle left during the day.”
    “You do that.” She gave him a big grin and a wink. “And I’ll meet you in the lobby in a while.”
    “And when we hook up again,” he said, “you can let me know if it would be worth my while to get that search warrant.”
    “Oh... let’s just say I’ll be able to give you an informed opinion.”
     
    Half an hour later, Dirk found Savannah sitting on a chair in the lobby, reading a year-old copy of People magazine. She had a satisfied smirk on her face that matched the one on his.
    “Did you find Murray?” she asked him.
    “Nope. Get this: While we were in the locker room, somebody—I can’t imagine who—told her we were there, asking for her. She split, said she had a headache and had to go home.”
    “Are you going to put an APB out on her?”
    “Not yet. Let’s go by her house and see if she’s there. With any luck, she’ll still be driving her brother’s van.” As they walked out to the visitors’ parking lot, Savannah asked him, “Did you get anything interesting from security?”
    “Yeah, I did. Murray left the garage at ten forty-nine that morning and didn’t come back until eleven thirty-five. Connor stayed here,” he said, “according to the cards that they use to get through the gate.”
    “Or Connor could have left, using Murray’s card. The record wouldn’t necessarily show what vehicle was being driven.”
    “True.”
    “Is there a video?”
    He shook his head. “Nope.”
    “Darn. There’s never a video when you need one.”
    “Unless it’s a convenience store that’s being robbed. Then there’s a camera, but some moron forgot to put in a tape. What did you find in the locker? Anything?” She suppressed a chuckle. “Oh, I guess it’s a matter of opinion. But I think so.”
    “Talk to me.”
    “How about a pair of red clogs, exactly like the ones I saw in Kevin Connor’s living room?”
    “We already figured they’re fooling around. That’s old news.”
    “How about a pair of men’s jeans... about Kevin Connor’s size... wadded into a ball in the bottom of the locker?”
    He shrugged. “I’m not excited, Van. I hate to tell ya, but—”
    “What if I told you that those jeans have some suspicious dark brown stains on them?”
    “I’m breathin’ hard....”
    “And some interesting white lines on the knees that look sorta like tic-tac-toe marks.”
    “White lines? Tic-tac-toe?”
    “Yeah. Ring a bell?”
    He shook his head. “Not at all.”
    ‘You said you bleach your toilet and bathroom floor once a week. Haven’t you ever gotten a few drops on what you’re wearing and ruined it?”
    “Naw, I clean it when I’m naked, just before I get into the shower.”
    She grimaced. “Gee, thanks for the visual I didn’t need. Anyway... trust me, when you’re cleaning a floor with bleach, you don’t want to kneel on the floor with good clothes on.”
    He brightened, stopped, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Or you wind up with white marks on your clothes.”
    She nodded. “And remember Kameeka’s kitchen floor? It’s tile—those little tiles that are about two inches wide.”
    “Are the tic-tac-toe lines on those jeans about two inches wide?”
    “Bingo!”
    Before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her, pulled her to him, and planted a