For Love or Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page B

they observed everything and used it to his advantage. The fact that he gave her barely a once-over also told her that despite the lack of a wedding ring, Daly was seriously involved with someone.
    After Daly shook hands with Sanchez, he motioned them in the direction of where the first body had been found—the decaying framework of an old pier on the West Side. A damp morning chill permeated the early fall day as they stood on the weed-choked grass and dirt at what had once been an entrance to the building on the pier. All that remained now were the twisted and rusted struts of the walls and roof.
    “Motorist on the parkway thought they saw something weird,” Daly said, and pointed toward the road that ran beside the water. It was the Henry Hudson Parkway. On a typical morning, cars would inch along on it as commuters made their way to work.
    “The call came in during the early morning rush hour,” Sanchez said, moving to the mouth of the building, arms akimbo as he examined the structure.
    “Motorist phoned it in from their car,” Daly said. “Police unit arrived about ten minutes later and found the body. Secured the scene.”
    Helene walked to stand by Sanchez, considered the dilapidated structure, then turned to review the area around them. Violence left behind a disturbance in the forces of the universe and at times she could pick up on such a rift. Unfortunately, the incident had happened too long ago for her to read anything from the energies. They had long since returned to normal.
    “Not many ways to access this spot,” she said.
    Daly nodded. “Just this small side street or an approach from the water. There’s a marina a few blocks south of here.”
    Sanchez shifted to look down the river toward the marina. “Lots of boats. Your report says that no one at the marina noticed anyone docking or leaving this area that night.”
    “That’s correct. Which leaves us with someone using a vehicle to transport and dump the body,” Daly said.
    “Time of death was around 9:00 p.m.?” Helene asked, wanting to confirm.
    “The ME says TOD was around nine. Cause of death was strangulation, but not before the bastard tortured the victim,” Daly replied. Deep lines bracketed his mouth for a moment before he continued. “I was the first detective on the scene. I knew we would be looking for more victims as soon as I saw the body.”
    Helene could well imagine his reaction. She had seen the photos and picked up on the remnants of the violence.
    Some cultures believed photographs captured the souls of individuals, and while not completely accurate, some photographs could record the essence of the subject. It was why good photography invoked such emotions in people—because even with a mortal’s limited abilities to see beyond their plane, the strength of the energy captured in the photo resonated with them.
    “Report says you checked all the traffic cams in the area,” Sanchez said as they moved away from the building and back toward Daly.
    “We did. Unfortunately, the parkway gets a lot of traffic all day long. Cams on the various traffic lights in the area didn’t reveal anything unusual.”
    “No witnesses?” Helene asked.
    “No witnesses,” Daly confirmed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “Vic was last seen at around 6:00 p.m., three nights before. He told a neighbor he had gotten a call for an audition.”
    Sanchez asked, “But you have nothing as to who called, where they were meeting—”
    “Nothing. Same for the other three victims. This guy is good at hiding his tracks.”
    “Why do you say ‘guy’?” Helene asked, although she knew the answer that would come.
    “Most serial killers are white and between the ages of twenty and fifty. Intelligent. Loners. Male,” Daly responded.
    “ Usually male, although we shouldn’t exclude that it could be a woman. The damage to the genital area spoke of great rage,” Helene reminded them. She could well