by PJ Tracy
‘For one reason: because the victim is still alive. You’ll see the other reasons when you watch the film.’ She pushed a key combination and angled the laptop so Gino and Magozzi had a clear view of the screen and she had a clear view of their faces.
Reading people and the acts of people was as much of part of Chelsea’s job as it was any cop’s. She’d always thought it was pretty funny that her superiors thought she was a genius at it. All you had to do was pay attention. In profiling you looked at what they left behind; with suspects and witnesses you listened to what they said, and watched their faces when they weren’t talking. That’s all there was to it.
She’d counseled enough agents when things went south for them to recognize the patterns you saw only in law enforcement types and military men. Those were the ones
They both had their stone faces on, which was pretty common for homicide cops looking at a scene. Most of the time they looked as dead as the victims, with no giveaway facial-muscle movement, no nervous tics or lip-pursing, none of the blinking-neon-sign clues. But their pupils still dilated or contracted, and their breathing patterns changed, and those things told you a lot.
To the casual observer, Magozzi and Gino looked utterly emotionless, but Chelsea saw the signs of extreme tension when they watched Marian cross the parking lot; the stunned surprise when the attacker grabbed her; the frustration and the rage when they saw her tied to the bumper; and then the transparent jubilation when Marian kicked her attacker between the legs.
‘Oh, goddamnit to hell,’ Gino groaned at the end, when the blood started to flow. ‘Goddamnit, goddamnit. For a minute there I thought she was going to walk away.’
Magozzi was shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe she survived that.’
‘Barely,’ Chelsea said. ‘She survived the attack, but the doctors aren’t optimistic about her surviving the next forty-eight hours. Right now she’s comatose.’
‘Are they copying you on reports?’
‘Yes. The Chief of Police out there’ – she consulted a handwritten note – ‘Chief Frost, is in contact with Agent Smith, and bending over backwards to cooperate. This was a pretty shocking crime for that area, so he was more than
Gino blew out a sigh. ‘She’s the first woman victim that we know of.’
‘And the guy talked,’ Magozzi added. ‘None of the others did that. Not to mention that he didn’t hang around long enough to make sure she was dead. This one was a newbie.’
‘Totally different from the others,’ Gino growled. ‘This bastard was into the fear angle. That’s what gets him off. None of the others did that.’
Chelsea said, ‘They all kill very differently. Take Cleveland, which was fast and obviously fueled by rage; then the Austin stabbing, where the wet work was excessive and slow, suggesting prolonged pleasure; then the Seattle shooting, completely hands-off …’
‘The Bureau’s had these films for a while,’ Gino interrupted. ‘Didn’t they already figure that out? I mean, I’m just a ham-and-eggs homicide cop, but it was pretty damn obvious to me.’
‘Look at it from where they started. All they had was a couple of films, then a couple more. There are hundreds of homicides in this country every day. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that certain killers would start showing their home movies on the Web just like everybody else. We didn’t
Magozzi stood and started pacing. ‘Okay, so now we’re pretty sure we’ve got multiple killers. And they’re all religiously pre-posting details of their up-and-coming murders – location, method, and victim descriptions. Same pattern. So what does that mean? Are they communicating?’
Chelsea nodded. ‘Maybe … in a way. The formatting of the pre-posts is like their secret code. If you’re on these sites they’re using and see the pattern, you know you’re getting the real thing.’
‘So are they an organized group, or are these just a bunch of sickos copycatting each other?’ Gino asked.
‘Could be either, or a combination.’
Magozzi stopped pacing and scolded his shoes with a head shake. ‘All these victims were preselected. The killer knew where they were going to be, what they were wearing in some cases, and how they would die. The pre-posts prove that.’
Gino shrugged. ‘So they picked out easy kills, chased them around for a few days, advertised their intentions, and did the deed. Doesn’t mean they knew them, or wanted them dead for some particular reason.’
Magozzi looked at his partner. ‘Or maybe they were targeted for a reason. We gotta look at that; we gotta pray for a connection between the victims; because if this is just a series of unrelated homicides, we’re screwed, and we’re never going to catch these people.’
Gino said, ‘We could have Tommy plug the vic names into the Monkeewrench software. That program is tailor-made for this kind of thing.’
‘It sorts through mountains of information and finds patterns. And it works a hell of a lot faster than any cops ever could.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s worth a shot.’
After Chelsea left, Gino and Magozzi went back to their desks to pull together victim names for Tommy.
‘Well, that totally sucked,’ Gino grumbled, rummaging in his desk for a pen that didn’t leave big blobs of ink on the paper. ‘But on the bright side, that Chelsea Thomas is a looker.’
Magozzi ignored him.
‘You do know she’s smitten with you, don’t you?’
‘Stop it, Gino.’
‘I’m serious. And you know how I could tell? Because she was flipping her hair. Women always do that when they’re hunting. It’s classic body language. I saw it on TV. You got the name of the Cleveland kill? He’s the only one I’m missing.’
Magozzi paged through the file Chelsea had given them on her way out, pulled out a piece of paper and frowned. ‘You remember that guy up in Ely, ten, fifteen years ago … ?’
‘I was a mere child fifteen years ago.’
Magozzi snorted. ‘He was the prime suspect in that kiddy kidnap and abuse case that turned the state on its ear for months …’
Gino slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Jesus, yes I remember. That slimebag perv was guilty as sin, and one stinkin’ juror voted to let him walk. After O.J., worst miscarriage of justice on the planet.’
‘What was his name?’
Magozzi nodded. ‘Elmore Sweet was the Cleveland vic’s name. Wonder if it’s the same guy.’
Gino’s eyebrows lifted to happy-face position. ‘Oh, man, if it’s true, I’m sending a copy of the Cleveland film to that kid’s parents. Tommy’ll find out for us.’
Magozzi noticed a neonorange Post-it note on Gino’s desk with ‘Judge Jim’ scrawled in huge letters. ‘What’s with Judge Jim?’
‘Oh, shit! I forgot about that.’
‘What?’
‘We need to pay him a visit sometime today.’
‘After I hung up with Ole, an Officer Rondestvedt gave me a call. Turns out our friend was drunk down by the river again last night with a gun and a scope.’
‘Was it loaded?’
Gino shook his head. ‘Nah. But he told Rondestvedt that he was working with us on the river killing, and we sent him down there. We need to tell him to can the name-dropping, and I have a feeling a phone call just ain’t gonna cut it with that guy. Hey, you free for dinner?’
Magozzi was hopeful – usually any mention of dinner from Gino meant an invitation to join his family and eat some wickedly delicious concoction from Angela’s family recipe stash. ‘Absolutely I’m free for dinner. I’d stand up my own mother for Angela’s home cooking.’
‘Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a big, fat hunk of cow at that place on Washington.’
Magozzi frowned. ‘You’re not going home for dinner?’
Gino scowled. ‘Hell, no. I’m not going anywhere near my house until ten-oh-five tonight.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Angela’s throwing a bridal shower for her niece, and it ends at ten. And you know what she’s serving
? Cucumbers. Cucumbers on little pieces of bread with the crusts cut off. And, worse yet, she got a case of wine and a big bag of “novelty” gifts, and you and I both know what that means.’
‘We do?’
‘Yeah. It’s gonna be ugly. So I figure we go over some of this paper on these cases, punch out for an early steak, then hit the judge on our way home.’
‘Okay. But it ain’t Angela’s lasagna.’
‘No, indeed. But a cowboy ribeye and a martini runs a close second in my book.’
Magozzi and Gino stepped into the impressive lobby of Wild Jim’s condo complex and checked in with the receptionist. She maintained her white, Chiclet-toothed smile up until the moment they showed her their shields and stated their business, at which point her lacquered lips closed like a stage curtain over the blinding veneers.
‘The judge is up in the penthouse. I’ll call and let him know you’re on the way up.’ She hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, ‘He isn’t in trouble again, is he?’
‘No trouble,’ Magozzi reassured her, even though he wasn’t in the mood to assuage the anxiety of some drunk’s groupie. There was just something so earnest about her concern. In fact, Wild Jim seemed to have groupies everywhere, and a lot of them were apparently on the force, continually cutting him slack that just wasn’t acceptable in his opinion. Drunk or not, the guy obviously had charisma.
Once they were inside the posh, mahogany-paneled elevator, Gino crossed his arms over his chest and took in the limited scenery. ‘Huh. The penthouse. So, the judge is still doing okay, considering he’s been unemployed for a while. From what I hear, an average, one-bedroom schlep unit in this joint goes for almost a mil, and he’s living large in the clouds.’
‘Yeah. Or maybe he was on the take, and that’s really what got him kicked off the bench.’
Magozzi shrugged. ‘His rep was always pristine, even drunk as a skunk for all those years. He was a good judge when he had his house in order … and even when he didn’t.’
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. So maybe he is a financial genius.’
The elevator drifted to a gentle, silent halt, and the doors slid open onto a beaming Wild Jim. He had a lowball in one hand and a half-smoked cigar in the other. ‘Detectives! Let me welcome you as the first guests ever to my modest riverside aerie. Please, come in.’
They took a few, tentative steps inside and let their eyes wander around the big, mostly empty space. There was no art on the walls, the furniture was sparse and nondescript, and the open gourmet kitchen sparkled as if it had never been used. It was utterly lacking in the owner’s personality, with the single exception of a sofa table that served as an easel for a long row of framed pictures. Every one of them featured the judge and a smiling, handsome young man.
‘Nice place you got here, Judge, and not so modest,’ Gino said politely.
‘It’s a considerable step down from my former domiciles, and most of the furniture is from IKEA and Target, but it serves me for the moment. Can I interest either of you in a libation? I’m drinking what they call a handcrafted bourbon, which would imply something a toothless hill denizen would concoct in a bathtub in the Ozarks, but it’s actually quite smooth.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ The judge noticed the direction of Magozzi’s gaze and gestured to the display with his glass. ‘My son. I suppose it’s a bit trite, having such a blatant memorial, but when you lose a child, your only child, all your sensibilities, both design-wise and otherwise, cease to matter.’
Magozzi and Gino both cringed inwardly, remembering the relentless media coverage of his son’s suicide, and all the speculations surrounding it. He hadn’t left much to chance by overdosing or wrist-slashing – he’d gone for the sure thing, which in this case had been a .44 slug with a Magnum load.
‘We’re really sorry about that, sir,’ Gino finally said with the genuine empathy of a fellow father. ‘Really sorry.’
‘Yes, so am I. There’s no getting over such a thing. Obviously.’ He gave them a thin, sad smile, then raised his glass with forced bravado and drained it. ‘After it happened, people always wanted a reason for why such a kind, intelligent young man with a promising future ahead of him would do such a thing. Hell, I wanted a reason myself, although I don’t know why. There just isn’t ever a justifiable explanation for such an act, and even if there were, it wouldn’t change the impact of the aftermath.’
Magozzi shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure it wouldn’t.’
The judge refilled his glass. ‘You know, I have recently come to realize that people who carry a great burden of guilt ravenously seek saviors anywhere they can, in all shapes, colors, and forms. Intellectually, I find the need for
‘You ever think about going to spin-dry, Judge?’ Gino asked him.
He looked amused. ‘Not once, Detective Rolseth. You can’t drink in rehab.’
‘That’s kind of the point. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know. You already lived through that.’
‘You’re correct about that. However, I don’t believe alcoholism is a disease; I believe it is a choice, and I am thrilled with my choice. Not very progressive of me, but it’s the truth. At least it’s my truth.’
He wandered over to a seating area that faced a stunning vista of the Mississippi. ‘I’m going to sit now, and I invite you to do the same.’
Magozzi and Gino followed suit and settled into hard-seated, modern chairs that were so uncomfortable, it almost seemed as if they had been deliberately designed to be that way.
‘Can I at least cut some cigars for you gentlemen, since you’re not drinking? They’re the best Cuba has to offer – utter contraband a diplomat friend smuggles in for me on a biannual basis, but being that such legal transgressions don’t fall under your purview, I think you could indulge without ethical conflict.’
Magozzi shook his head. ‘We’ve just got a quick request for you, and then we’ll leave you to it.’ He noticed a flash of disappointment in the judge’s eyes, and perhaps a little
‘Suit yourselves. You are without a doubt consummate professionals, and I appreciate that, especially given my current disposition as a shamed, previously elected official who will never again have the honor of paying Bar Association dues. So, what’s this request?’
‘We got a call this morning from a beat cop who covers this area. An Officer Rondestvedt.’
‘Ah, yes. The nice young man with that rather unwieldy but regionally appropriate ethnic name. He was kind enough to escort me back to my condo last night.’
‘Did you tell him you were working with us on the drowning?’
‘Absolutely not. I imagine he merely inferred that from our conversation, but I never actually used the word work.’
Gino, who had little patience for subterfuge, just sighed. ‘Listen, Judge, you can’t be doing that, okay? No more name-dropping or inferences or golden lines of bull to the guys down there, you got it? If you do something illegal, weasel out of it some other way. You use our names out of school, it makes extra work for us, and we’ve got a full plate already.’
The judge nodded sternly. ‘I understand. And I will honor your request because I like and respect you both very much. I’m also sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you. But in all honesty, justice has defined my entire life,
Gino tore his gaze away from the river view that was making him rethink his career choice. ‘You could help us out a lot if you could remember anything else from that night.’
‘I don’t even remember that night anymore.’ He narrowed his eyes and looked at both of them. ‘I’ve tried to follow the case in the news, of course. And obviously you know that the story barely made it above the fold in either the St. Paul or Minneapolis papers.’ He paused to give them a knowing smile. ‘Have we offered the press an edited police report, perhaps?’
Magozzi pretended nonchalance. ‘What makes you ask that?’
The judge chuckled, raspy and deep. ‘There were no details of any import i
n either paper or on any local news channel. No photos, except for the body bag going into the bus. Not even a mention of the victim’s gender. You did an excellent job blocking the media from the scene, and that’s the truly intriguing part. Coupled, of course, with the fact that Homicide is working what appears on the surface to be an accidental drowning.’
Magozzi looked down at his lap and almost wished he’d accepted the offer of a drink. So far the river drowning had been sidebar news. People were always drowning in Minnesota, and the Mississippi had taken more than her share over the past few years. Locals usually assumed it was an immigrant from some place or other who saw any body of water as a free fish shop, and never bothered to
‘Indeed I do. But I also suspect that the cause of death has already been established by the very efficient Dr. Rambachan, and that your continued interest in my memory of that night indicates that the death was homicide, not accident.’
Gino actually smiled. ‘You know what, Judge? You need a hobby. Bowling, maybe. Or bingo.’
The judge smiled. ‘Was your victim murdered before he ended up in the water?’
Magozzi and Gino exchanged a long glance that only the two of them could read. ‘No,’ Magozzi finally said. ‘He drowned all right. Somebody held him under the water and watched him die.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We saw it.’
‘What do you mean, you saw it?’
‘Whoever did it took video footage of the murder and posted it on the Web.’
The judge looked skeptical. ‘Detectives, I spend a lot of time on the computer for lack of anything better to do, and I’ve seen some pretty disturbing things. But I doubt that any of them are real.’
‘Trust us, it’s real,’ Gino said.
‘How can you be sure?’
Magozzi and Gino shared a look, and the judge chuckled. ‘Ah, yes, never share details of an ongoing case with civilians,
Gino shrugged at Magozzi. ‘This stuff is basically all public knowledge anyhow. Hell, it’s all over the Web. Doesn’t get much more public than that.’
