Norman Wendice was the head of Wendice's Wearhouse, a dress apparel retailer buisiness in Houston, which catered for both males and females. He had straight, close cut, dark brown hair with deep brown eyes. Norman was a tall, broad shouldered and well built man with a narrow face. He was by profession a buisinessman, who was almost always seen in a buisiness suit. The buisiness he ran was hugely successful.
It had now been a fortnight since Lynette McFarland's murder. No new information had turned up and the entire police force were becoming frustrated. Sherrif Wright had run an advertisement in the paper asking if anyone had seen the intruder who had killed Lynette but since Lynette lived in an out of the way place and the murder had taken place late at night, he was unsurprised that nothing had come of this. He didn't like to call the FBI in just yet. Normally he would only contact them if a second murder took place and there hadn't been one. A part of him hoped that this was a one off and the killer would never strike again.
Frank read the newspaper and sighed. True to his promise to May, he hadn't told anyone that May had consulted him impersonally, nor had he discussed the murder with anyone, not even Charlene, and definitely not Peter. He wanted to give the police force a chance to solve the case on their own but he reckoned it was only a matter of time before the FBI were called in anyway, whether another murder happened or not. He frowned. Why should another murder happen? This wasn't some detective story or a thriller. This was real life. Even if he had been a profiler which he wasn't, it was very difficult to draw any conclusions from just one murder. There seemed to be no pattern, no motive, in fact nothing to go on apart from the fact that a woman had been strangled in her own house late at night by a stranger for some unknown reason. He folded the newspaper and placed it on the lower part of the coffee table.