Jenner dropped the paperwork in the office, then sat at his desk and logged the four men into his casebook.
He was totally wired now—he loved cases like this. Not the sensational side—all deaths are sensational at some level or another—but a group of four hanged men? He’d never seen a hanging homicide before. And this wasn’t just one homicide but four. And it wasn’t just four hanged men but four men hung in two separate pairs weeks or months apart—an absolute first.
This was murder planned calmly and executed rigorously and repeatedly. There had to have been more than two killers—two grown men wouldn’t have stayed still for a single assailant when it became clear what was happening, even if they were held at gunpoint. The noose would’ve had to be on one neck first, then up over the branch to be tied to the other man’s neck. And then they would have had to get them up on the chairs. So several men, then.
And Christ—killing two men, hanging each by the other’s weight? Jenner was already imagining the presentation he’d give at the National Association of Medical Examiners annual conference. Where was it next year, somewhere good, he thought—Chicago?
Through his open office door, Jenner heard a quiet, wet, shivering sound.
Someone was crying in the lobby.
Jenner stepped out into the hall. The lights were off—the facility had been closed for hours. How had they got in? He walked down the corridor toward the sound of sobbing. He stepped through the door into reception, emerging behind the counter to see her there, sitting in the dark.
She was a small, undistinguished-looking young woman, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. She wore jeans and an ill-fitting black top, her glasses dangling from a strap around her neck; she dabbed at her nose with a balled-up Kleenex. There was something familiar about her face.
She jumped when he turned on the light.
Jenner leaned toward her. “Excuse me. Can I help you?”
She stood slowly and walked over to him.
“Dr. Jenner? You won’t remember, but we’ve met. I’m Sheree Roburn.”