Washington, D.C.

The number-one tool for dismemberment was the hacksaw, but from what Maggie could see, this guy must have never had one handy.

Stan Wenhoff dropped several strands of the victim’s hair into a bottle of solvent, giving the liquid a swirl before capping the bottle and setting it aside. While he removed hair and tissue samples, Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off the decapitation area. A hacksaw usually left a fairly clean cut through the skin, joints and bone. Oftentimes there might be some bone chattering where the blade would jump and come down on a different area of the bone. For the most part a hacksaw was quite effective. Whatever tool this guy used had left a mess. Forget a little bone chattering. After Stan had cleaned the caked blood and river mud, the gaping area looked raw and shredded. There were jagged cuts, almost hacking marks in the bone and torn flesh where it looked as if he had ripped instead of cut.

She had ruled out a disorganized killer because of the planning and discipline it had taken not just to discard the heads but to complete the grisly process three times. Not to mention that he had also been able to hide or dispose of the torsos without getting caught. Dismembering a body took time and privacy. No matter where he killed his victims, he would need to take them back someplace safe, someplace where he knew he wouldn’t be interrupted, where he could make a mess and have time to clean up.

And yet, something bothered Maggie. If he was, indeed, organized and had carefully planned each murder, why hadn’t he gone to the trouble of buying a hacksaw or something that would have made the job much easier?

The sound of electric hair clippers interrupted her thoughts as Stan began shaving off the victim’s long hair. She looked younger than Maggie had first thought. Without the tangles of hair, she noticed small diamond studs in one of the victim’s earlobes. As far as she could tell, there were no other piercings in either brow, the nose, lip or chin. She made a mental note to have Stan check the woman’s tongue.

“We don’t have much to go on,” Stan said, as if reading her thoughts.

As soon as he finished with the clippers, however, he pointed to a wound, a circular indent smashed into the top left side of the victim’s skull.

“I’m guessing ball-peen hammer,” he said, running a gloved index finger over the area.

“Is that how he killed her?” Racine asked, swiping a couple of maggots to the floor before coming in for a closer look.

“He smacked her pretty good,” but Stan didn’t look convinced. He continued his hands-on examination. “The hair samples should tell us if she was on any drugs at the time.”

Maggie nodded; she knew the hair bulbs could be read almost like a drug timeline, since substances are captured and remain locked as the hair grows.

“What if he gave her something to knock her out?” Racine wanted to know. “Would that show up?”

“Oh, sure. Hair analysis can identify the heavy-duty stuff like cocaine and heroin, but we can also identify any tranquilizers or GHB. Should even be able to tell you whether she was a smoker or on Prozac. People think we can’t figure out much when we have only the head,” Stan continued. “There wasn’t much with the other two.”

“That reminds me,” Racine interrupted. “I’ve made arrangements to take the other two up to a forensic anthropologist in Connecticut.”

“Fine, fine. I can’t do much more on those because of the level of decomposition. But this one has a lot to tell.” And thankfully he was still anxious to share.

He tilted the head back, readjusting his vise-grip contraption so that she stared at the ceiling. More maggots slid off, hitting the stainless-steel table with tiny plops like raindrops on a tin roof.

“Despite the head wound, I doubt that was what killed her. Take a look,” he said, flinging maggots off her cheeks, “at the area around her eyes.”

He took a pair of forceps and, although Maggie thought Stan was a bit clumsy and slow at times, surprised her by expertly pinching and flipping up the right eyelid.

“See what I mean?”

“Petechial hemorrhages,” Maggie said.

“Petechial what?” Racine asked.

“Petechial hemorrhages are capillaries that ruptured,” Stan told her and his fingers moved on down the victim’s face.

Racine still looked confused.

“She was strangled,” Maggie said.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes,” Stan said without looking up. “Petechial hemorrhages occur when air is cut off. You see, we don’t need her neck to conclude that she was, in fact, strangled.”

“Wait a minute,” Racine said, hands on her hips. She wasn’t happy with Stan’s conclusions. “You’re saying he drugged her—”

“No, I don’t know that for certain, but we should be able to tell from her hair samples.”

“Okay, so he may have drugged her,” Racine qualified her remarks and continued. “He then hit her over the head with a ball-peen hammer. All this before he strangles her. Oh, and then just for fun he cuts off her head.”

“Actually I’d say it was more like ripped,” Maggie said, joining the speculations.

“Excuse me?” Racine came around the table for a better angle.

Stan turned his contraption so that Racine had a better view of the decapitation area.

“Agent O’Dell’s correct,” Stan confirmed.

“Jesus,” Racine said. “What kind of fucking monster are we dealing with?”