When we arrived at the police office, Petra was busy talking to some cops so we greeted her and went to the morgue. Victor still disliked it there. Andreaa was in the back playing solitaire with a deck of cards. She looked up as we entered. “No dead people to cut into?” Victor asked as he peered around the room.
Andreaa gave him a sweet smile and shook her head. “Believe it or not, there aren’t people found murdered every day; and I do more than just cut,” she replied.
I laughed and glanced at the card game in progress. “Yes, that looks like some real serious police work,” I teased.
“I’m on a break. Besides, it’s a slow day,” she replied with a smile.
Victor looked at me. “Why are we down here, exactly?” he asked.
Andreaa leaned her elbows on the table. “Yes, I was wondering that too.”
“Why we are here is simple,” I said, taking a seat. “I want to go over the forensic files one more time, to see if we missed something, anything that could help us find this girl and the person who has or will kidnap her. Our media trap is set; if this person doesn’t have the girl yet then he will move fast, and kidnap her. The press, I hope, will see to that.”
Andreaa nodded. “Sure we can go over the files again but I don’t see the point. I am sure we missed nothing. I have done my work,” she replied, clearly a little insulted.
“That’s not what I meant, Andreaa. I know you did a great job, but scaredy-cat here hasn’t seen them yet and he might offer a fresh perspective on all this.”
Andreaa gave us a resigned look. “Fine, fine, if you say so.” Victor chuckled and looked at me. “You really aren’t great at people skills, are you Tara?”
I shook my head. “Let’s just get to the files,” I said. Andreaa loaded the slides back into the projector, turned out the light and went through the autopsy files as she had with me and Petra several days ago. When she reached the fifth girl Victor sat up.
“If all the nails are identical, did they have the same manufacturer’s serial number on them? That way we can see what kind of nails they are,” he said.
“They were Remington 12-inch concrete nails,” Andreaa replied.
Victor nodded. “Still, I would like to hear the serial numbers of the nails,” he said.
Andreaa sighed. She wasn’t happy that her work was being questioned; she didn’t like that one bit. She put the nail we had drawn from the wood at the river head on the table between us and examined it again.
“The number on the nail is 2111901,” she said.
Victor shook his head. “Concrete nails don’t begin with that number; these are coffin nails. Yeti coffin nails to be exact ” Both Andreaa and I looked at him. “How do you know that isn’t a concrete nail?” I asked him.
“Well it is quite simple: these nails are of human manufacture, and the makers use serial numbers on their nails, unlike those of the other races here, and all coffin nails start with ‘21.’ Humans use twenty-one nails to build a coffin; it is a tradition to honor the dead.”
Andreaa didn’t look pleased. “And why are you so sure it is not, as I said, a Remington 12-inch concrete nail?” she asked. Victor met her indignant look. “As I said, it’s the serial number. Concrete nails start with the number 29,” he replied, his tone apologetic but adamant.
“Goddamn motherfucker,” I blurted out as I stared at the nail. Andreaa and Victor looked at me, shocked. “What did I do?” Victor asked.
I shook my head. “It’s not you, it’s that jerk. The nail, take a good look at the serial number of the nail,” I said.
Victor bent over to look at the nail and shook his head. “It’s just a serial number.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s a taunt of some sort; another clue. Just like the murderer drove the nails through the girls’ skulls, and we just happened to find that one at the river head. This nail’s serial number is that the same thing. Look at it. 2111901. Or rather, 211 1901. The room number, and the time and date we saw in that jerk’s apartment.”
Victor wrote the number down. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. The murderer had laid such a well-crafted path for us; was there anything this guy hadn’t thought of? How much planning had he done: time, dates, names? This was not just a mad genius, he was so much more. You would almost admire him for what he had done; I hated to admit it, but this was truly his masterpiece.
“But what does it mean?” Victor asked.
“He had been planning this,” I said. “It’s not a coincidence that those numbers are the same. Everything we have done, every step, he had calculated.”
Victor nodded. “In a way I can see that, but maybe you are just getting paranoid about all this,” he replied.
“No. I wish that was the case but I am afraid not. Just look at all the evidence. Everything points to a carefully laid plan, like a game that has been fixed. He knows who will win and who will lose, and we as the audience can only guess who it is.” Andreaa looked at me. “But he already told you who was winning: he is. You are the opponent that still thinks they have a chance despite their knowledge of the outcome.” “You mean to say you are certain we will not be able to find this apparent seventh victim alive?” I asked.
“No. If this is indeed a fixed match then she already is dead. That would be the only way to ensure that you won’t save her.”
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but she was right. If this was a fixed race then the girl was already dead, but we had checked if there had been any girls reported missing, and there hadn’t. Of course, that didn’t mean nobody had been taken, there were also people who were homeless, types nobody missed until they were found. I wanted to scream, to go outside and scream for whoever was helping the killer to come out and show themselves.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to think that way. Until we have found a dead body with a nail in her head, I will consider them still alive.” I sighed, then got up to leave the morgue. As I reached the door I turned back. “You two go ahead and continue what you were doing. I am going to see if Petra is done talking.”  

Next Chapter: The case continues