The next morning started cool and sunny, perfect weather for riding his softtail to the station. If there was any canvassing to do, he would be borrowing one of the Crown Vics anyway. He blinked in surprise when he spotted Bruenner's Eclipse parked in his customary spot, third from the door against the wall of the building. His relatively good mood shot to hell, Lance parked his Harley in the next spot down and wandered inside just as roll-call was starting. That meant he was about an hour earlier than usual. After getting a cup of coffee from the breakroom, he headed to his desk.
Preliminary reports from trace, ballistics and the ME were waiting on his desk. Both sets of DNA had been processed. The perp was a complete mystery. No record, and his fingerprints weren't on file. Johnson's DNA and prints had already been run through the system, and had turned up hits on several other either open or unsolved cases involving missing girls between the ages of seven and twelve. He'd tell Bruenner about that later, after he'd gone through the other reports.
Trace had also done an analysis on a hair found at the scene, probably the perp's. From their tests, it looked like the guy had been a meth addict for at least the past six months or so. That explained the break-in. He was probably looking for something to fence for cash to buy either cooking supplies or finished product. Johnson surprised him with the knife, and the guy shot him.
The third report was from ballistics. Three casings had been found at the scene which happened to match the three bullets dug out of Johnson's torso. All three .45 slugs had the distinctive left-hand twist of a Colt, and the number of grooves was consistent with a M1911A1. Lance rubbed his face. Hell, his gun could've been used, if it hadn't been firmly tucked in his shoulder holster, and if he hadn't been sitting with Ethan at the time. With a sigh, he began digging through DMV records for any early-model Rangers that matched the description given by neighbors.
Next to hot and cold running water and electricity, computers and electronic databases were the best things mankind had ever invented. What would've taken days, or even weeks, a few decades ago, now only took a few hours. The printer next to his desk hummed as it printed a sheet and a half of search results. Lance grabbed a pen out of his desk and quickly struck through any that were white, silver or red. That left about seven to actually interview. Noting the addresses, it would probably take the rest of the afternoon. Realizing he'd put off talking to Bruenner long enough, he went to go find her.
Lance found her in the smallest of the conference rooms, surrounded by stacks of CDs, laptop, LAN-line phone, Styrofoam cups, and wrappers from various vending machine snacks. Lance grabbed a trashcan from a nearby unoccupied desk and set it inside the door.
"Thanks," she replied, without looking up from the computer.
"Find anything?"
"Other than Johnson was a sick, sad, sadistic son of a bitch?" she asked, sarcastically. "This guy was wanted in four other states in cases just like Sarah's, only in those, they never found the little girls until it was too late. Johnson's DNA matches at least six other unsolved cases. Each one involves a young girl, no much older than ten, kidnapped, raped, held for months on end until he was tired of them, then for his finale, he'd strangle them while giving them one last ride."
"Bloody hell," Lance whispered softly. "All those CDs?"
"They're all crammed with photographs and videos of him and at least twelve other girls. We've already identified Sarah on the more recent ones, and a few of the girls from the open cases..."
"But not all of them," he finished bluntly. "So this guy was a pedophile, serial kidnapper, rapist and murderer. This just keeps getting better."
"And we're still no closer to finding Sarah," Bruenner added, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "And I have no idea where to start looking. The only one who might know that is your killer."
![[info]](https://www.scribbld.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
jurisimmortalis's journal
Preliminary reports from trace, ballistics and the ME were waiting on his desk. Both sets of DNA had been processed. The perp was a complete mystery. No record, and his fingerprints weren't on file. Johnson's DNA and prints had already been run through the system, and had turned up hits on several other either open or unsolved cases involving missing girls between the ages of seven and twelve. He'd tell Bruenner about that later, after he'd gone through the other reports.
Trace had also done an analysis on a hair found at the scene, probably the perp's. From their tests, it looked like the guy had been a meth addict for at least the past six months or so. That explained the break-in. He was probably looking for something to fence for cash to buy either cooking supplies or finished product. Johnson surprised him with the knife, and the guy shot him.
The third report was from ballistics. Three casings had been found at the scene which happened to match the three bullets dug out of Johnson's torso. All three .45 slugs had the distinctive left-hand twist of a Colt, and the number of grooves was consistent with a M1911A1. Lance rubbed his face. Hell, his gun could've been used, if it hadn't been firmly tucked in his shoulder holster, and if he hadn't been sitting with Ethan at the time. With a sigh, he began digging through DMV records for any early-model Rangers that matched the description given by neighbors.
Next to hot and cold running water and electricity, computers and electronic databases were the best things mankind had ever invented. What would've taken days, or even weeks, a few decades ago, now only took a few hours. The printer next to his desk hummed as it printed a sheet and a half of search results. Lance grabbed a pen out of his desk and quickly struck through any that were white, silver or red. That left about seven to actually interview. Noting the addresses, it would probably take the rest of the afternoon. Realizing he'd put off talking to Bruenner long enough, he went to go find her.
Lance found her in the smallest of the conference rooms, surrounded by stacks of CDs, laptop, LAN-line phone, Styrofoam cups, and wrappers from various vending machine snacks. Lance grabbed a trashcan from a nearby unoccupied desk and set it inside the door.
"Thanks," she replied, without looking up from the computer.
"Find anything?"
"Other than Johnson was a sick, sad, sadistic son of a bitch?" she asked, sarcastically. "This guy was wanted in four other states in cases just like Sarah's, only in those, they never found the little girls until it was too late. Johnson's DNA matches at least six other unsolved cases. Each one involves a young girl, no much older than ten, kidnapped, raped, held for months on end until he was tired of them, then for his finale, he'd strangle them while giving them one last ride."
"Bloody hell," Lance whispered softly. "All those CDs?"
"They're all crammed with photographs and videos of him and at least twelve other girls. We've already identified Sarah on the more recent ones, and a few of the girls from the open cases..."
"But not all of them," he finished bluntly. "So this guy was a pedophile, serial kidnapper, rapist and murderer. This just keeps getting better."
"And we're still no closer to finding Sarah," Bruenner added, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "And I have no idea where to start looking. The only one who might know that is your killer."