Mrs. Taylor confirms my suspicions, telling me her daughter nearly always wore polish on both hands and feet.
“Do you happen to recall if she was wearing any last night?”
“Um…” Mrs. Taylor stares at her lap. “I’m not sure…I can’t remember.”
“That’s okay.” I put my hand out to her, even though I’m not within reach. “There is one other thing, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.”
They both look at me.
“I’d like to see Sherry’s room. It’ll help me get a better understanding of your daughter.”
Mr. Taylor stands up. “Of course.” He looks at his wife. “You wait here, honey.”
Good call—I’m not sure Mrs. Taylor could cope with being in the girl’s room at the moment.
We follow Mr. Taylor back toward the front door and then up the stairs. The second story of the house is decorated in a similar fashion to downstairs, although carpets and a few paintings give it a homier feel. Taylor leads us into a bedroom toward the back of the house.
“This is Sherry’s room.” He looks into the room but then looks away. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait with my wife.”
Sloan gives him a small smile. “Sure. And don’t worry…we’ll be very careful in here.”
“Thank you.”
Once Taylor’s gone, Sloan and I start snooping.
Sherry’s bedroom is covered in posters, with one wall dedicated to photos of Sherry and her friends and family. The room looks busy and lived-in, but still tidy.
Sloan studies the posters and photos. “Nothing Goth-looking.”
“No.” I move over to Sherry’s desk. “We should get some computer techs onto this.” I glance at Sherry’s laptop, which is plugged in but switched off.
“I’ll log a request this afternoon.”
A glance at the bookshelf reveals that Sherry is into mostly fantasy and sci-fi, but there are also a couple of paranormal titles on the shelves. A closer look reveals two books set in the vampire world.
“Check this out.” I hand Sloan a copy of Kerri Arthur’s Full Moon Rising. “Maybe Sherry was secretly part of the Goth world.”
Sloan reads the back of the book. “Doesn’t mean a thing, Anderson. Vampire fiction is in. And Sesame Street, remember? You said it yourself.”
Sloan’s right, but it’s still interesting that we found something from the vampire world in Sherry’s room. I make a move for her wardrobe. If Sherry was involved in the scene, she’d have to keep her clothes somewhere. I flick through the hangers, but find nothing except top-line designer clothes of the commercial variety. “Nothing in here.”
Sloan pulls out the second-last drawer of Sherry’s chest of drawers. “I haven’t found anything yet, either.”
I look around the room, soaking it in, while Sloan finishes going through the drawers.
“Nope.” She closes the bottom drawer. “Nothing unusual, and no Goth, either.”
I sigh. “And nothing else that gives us an idea of how Sherry might have wound up at Temescal Gateway Park last night.”
“No.” Sloan leans on the chest of drawers for a moment, also looking around. After a few seconds she says, “Guess we’re done here, at least for the moment.”
“Yeah. Do you mind if I soak up the atmosphere for another couple of minutes? I’ll join you in a sec.”
“You gonna get into her head?” Sloan gives me a slightly teasing smile.
“Something like that.”
“Good luck.” She moves toward the door. “I’ll let the Taylors know not to touch Sherry’s laptop and that someone will come by in the next day or two to pick it up.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Profilers always try to walk in the victim’s and killer’s shoes, but obviously for me I want time alone to try to induce a vision. I had my first experience of seeing something that was about to happen when I was eight, but then this ability of mine went underground…until I was working the D.C. Slasher case nearly two years ago. Since then it’s been a bumpy road, fueled first by my own denial and then my acceptance. I can nearly always induce something, but the usefulness of what I see is often questionable. Like Sherry sneaking home one night—every young woman’s done that. Still, I always use my gift on a case and sometimes it does help.
Sitting on Sherry’s bed and staring at the collage of photos on her wall, I’m conscious that I don’t want to be long, but I try to push that sense of hurriedness away. Instead I take long and deep breaths, close my eyes and concentrate on relaxing.
I’m tired and my vision is blurred. People gather around me, but I can’t make out any faces…everything is so hazy. There’s a voice, a deep voice, but I can no longer focus on the words.
The vision is brief, but the sense of wooziness makes me wonder if Sherry was drugged. The routine tox screen will answer that question. However, there was nothing in the vision that indicates time. While it may be related to her murder or the unaccounted hours prior, it could also be something entirely different. Maybe she took some recreational drugs at a party weeks, months or years ago and for some reason I tuned into that. Plus, there’s nothing that can definitively tell me this vision was necessarily about Sherry. Logic suggests that it was—I am in her room, after all—but I’ve learned over the past couple of years not to take anything for granted when it comes to my visions.
I head back downstairs, not entirely sure how long they may have been waiting for me. Usually the length of my vision is in line with how long I’m “out” for, but sometimes it can take me several minutes to experience a ten-second flash.
As I’m coming down the stairs I hear Mr. Taylor saying, “I’d like to go now.”
When he comes into view, I can tell by his slight rocking motion that he’s agitated; he shifts his weight from side to side. Sloan’s card is in his hand.
“Of course, Mr. Taylor. Whatever you’d like.”
He takes a deep breath. “But I need to ring Mish first.”
“The coroner’s office is on Mission Street and me or my partner will meet you there, but it may be best if you don’t drive.”
“I haven’t…I haven’t taken anything, Detective.”
“I know, sir.” Sloan puts a hand on his shoulder. “But you’re not yourself…no one can be under these circumstances. Most people get someone to drive them.” Again, Sloan pulls together just the right tone of voice—sympathetic yet somehow commanding. “How’s 3:00 p.m.? That’ll give you time to call Misha.”
He nods and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”
On the way back to the car, Sloan says to me, “Mom’s real confident she knows her girl’s social life.”
“Yes. But it’ll be interesting to speak to Sherry’s friends, especially the best friend.”
Sloan nods. “And you think the makeup and nail polish thing is significant?”
“Maybe. It could tie in with the human sacrifice theory—perhaps our perps felt the need to cleanse her as part of the ritual.”
“And if it’s not a sacrificial death?”
I shrug. “If the killer removed the polish and make up, could be he wanted his victim to look more natural for some reason, or it could even be a sign of remorse.”
“Remorse?”
“It’s possible