Violets Are Blue

believed this case was as important as it was terrifying. I wondered what else he knew. He usually knew more than he told.
    “You’re up early, Kyle, and you’re busy. This case has caught your full attention. Why is that?”
    “Of course it has. It’s totally unique. I haven’t seen anything remotely like it. Inspector Jamilla Hughes will meet your flight if she can. It’s her case and she’s supposed to be competent. She’s one of two women in Homicide in San Francisco, so she probably is fairly good.”
    On the plane trip from D.C. I read and reread the faxes I’d gotten that morning about the horrific murders in Golden Gate Park. Inspector Hughes’s preliminary crime-scene notes were precise and detailed, but most of all, gut-wrenching.
    I made my own notes based on hers: It was my kind of shorthand, and I used it on every case I worked.
    Male and female victims found dead at 3:20 A.M. in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. Why there? Visit park if possible.
    Victims hung by feet from oak tree. Why hung? To drain the bodies? Why drain the bodies? Rite of purification? Spiritual cleansing?
    Bodies naked and covered in blood. Why naked? Erotic? Sex crimes? Or just brutal? Exposing the victims to the world for some reason?
    Male’s legs, arms, chest severely gouged — victim appears to have been bitten repeatedly. Male actually died from bites!!!
    Female bitten — but not as severely. Also cut with sharp object. Died from massive blood loss, class IV: Female lost over 40% of her blood.
    Small red dots at the site of bindings to the ankles with which victims were hung. Called petechiae by the M.E.
    Teeth marks on male appear to be those of large animal. Is that even remotely possible? What animal would attack a jogger in a big-city park? Seems far-fetched to say the least.
    White substance on male victim’s legs and stomach. Could be semen. What game were the killers playing? Sado-erotic?
    I remembered the related case in Washington. How could I forget it?
    A sixteen-year-old runaway girl from Orlando, Florida, had been found dead and severely mutilated in a hotel room downtown. Her name was Patricia Dawn Cameron. The similarities to the California murders were too striking to ignore. The girl in D.C. had suffered savage bites all over her body. She had been hung by her feet from a hotel room lighting fixture.
    Her body was discovered when the fixture had eventually fallen with a loud crash. Patricia Cameron had died of blood loss, another class IV. She had lost nearly 70 percent of her blood supply.
    The first question was an obvious one.
    Why did somebody want all that blood?

Chapter 8

    I WAS still thinking about the strange, terrible bites and all that blood as I walked off the plane and into crowded San Francisco International Airport. I looked around for Inspector Jamilla Hughes. Rumor had it that she was an attractive black woman.
    I noted that a businessman near the gate was reading the
Examiner
. I could see the bold headline on the front page: HORROR IN GOLDEN GATE PARK , TWO MURDERED .
    I didn’t see anyone waiting, so I began to look for signs directing me to public transportation. I only had a carry-on bag; I had promised to be home by Saturday for Damon’s concert. I had my marching orders, and I planned to keep all my promises from now on.
Cross my heart
.
    A woman walked up to me as I started away from the gate. “Excuse me, are you Detective Cross?”
    I had noticed her just before she spoke to me. She was wearing jeans and a black leather car coat over a powder blue T-shirt. Then I spotted the telltale holster under her coat. She was probably in her mid-thirties, nice looking, down-to-earth, pleasant for a homicide detective, who often come on a little gruff.
    “Inspector Hughes?” I asked.
    “Jamilla.” She extended her hand and smiled as I took it. Nice smile too. “It’s good to meet you, Detective. Ordinarily I’d resist any idea that originated with the FBI, but your reputation precedes you. Also, the murder in D.C. was awfully similar, wasn’t it? So — welcome to San Francisco.”
    “Good to be here.” I returned the smile and shook her hand. Her grip was strong but not overly so. “I was just thinking about the murder in D.C.,” I told her. “Your crime-scene notes brought it all back to me. We never got anywhere with the murder of Patricia Cameron. You can add that to the file on my so-called reputation, the one that preceded me.”
    Jamilla Hughes smiled