by R. G. Oram
Lewelyn didn’t look up, he tried to smile, all he could do was pull one side of his mouth up.
The creative writing teacher seemed to sense his struggle, ‘She was a good friend of yours. You might have been employer and employee on paper but you would have helped each other out if either one of you were having problems.’
Lewelyn just noticed that the cup full of coffee was still in his hand. He returned it to the saucer. The next question he was about to ask could result in her throwing hot coffee into his face.
‘I hate to ask this but were there any people Hannah didn’t get along with in the group. Did anyone feel threatened by her or someone refused to talk to her?’ He waited, with nothing in his hands, prepared for what could come next.
‘Don’t feel wrong in asking that, I was waiting for it. The answer is no. Everybody liked her. She had that way about her. Not a single mean bone in her body. She never stopped smiling. ’ Charlotte added more coffee to her cup, Lewelyn’s was still full.
‘I suppose you’ve answered all the questions I was going to ask. You saved me a lot of breath.’
‘Could you answer a question of mine?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Ask away. Just so you know, I might not be able to answer.’
‘That’s all right, I can at least try. Before Hannah died she hadn’t been here for a month. She’d missed two, no… three classes. Do you know why that is?’
‘Her car was wrecked. Her idiot ex-boyfriend did it and she was too scared to take a cab, bus or train after work. In case he was waiting for her outside.’
Lewelyn noticed Charlotte expressed no surprise – her thin, dark eyebrows stayed level.
‘I had a feeling it was something like that. In class once I saw her phone ring. She had it in her hand but she didn’t answer it. It was obvious somebody was calling her. I noticed her phone go off a few more times that night and it looked like she was about to answer it when she turned it off and put it in her handbag. I found that behaviour a little strange.’
‘The guy who called her has the mentality of a five-year-old and the brain of a jellyfish,’ Lewelyn said, applying lavish creativity to his response.
‘Aptly put. Do you write?’ Charlotte asked, altering the flow of the conversation.
‘I write in a journal – when I need to.’
‘That’s good. I always tell my students to write everyday no matter how boring the theme. Helps stretch these cells here,’ she taps the back of head. ‘Tell me why do you do it?’
‘Honestly I don’t know what it does for me. I just sort of feel the need to put something down. Don’t want to waste it, you know?’
‘You feel it’s the only way to make sense of things,’ she said in an understanding tone.
‘Sort of. I’m not the type who likes to open up or let people know how I feel. I find if you do that then they’ll just tell the next person they talk to. Not something I agree with but not something I can change either. And from that you can tell I don’t trust a lot of people. Most people would say I have trust issues.’
‘Only a select few people you trust,’ Charlotte clarified for him.
‘Yeah. I’ve found some friends I’ve had weren’t friends at all. They’d be polite and friendly in front of me and say whatever they wanted behind my back. Hearing about it is bad enough but what I don’t understand is why don’t they just say it to your face?’
‘Makes you wonder who you can trust in this world?’
‘Who can you trust?’
Chapter 27
Different day, same mindset as yesterday.
Lewelyn got in early, not bothering to get some caffeine in him – he was still running on yesterday’s juice. He hadn’t expected himself to be so open-armed with Charlotte. She knew Hannah, maybe that had something to do with it. You had more openness with mutual strangers than complete strangers.
He had stopped by Parkers on his way home from Charlotte’s. The lime-green neon sign on its shingle roof had turned Lewelyn into an alien, all he had been missing was an antenna on his head and the light on his skin would have had a complete projection of an extra-terrestrial life form.
Took the same seat as on his previous visit; choosing the end corner of the diner to ward off any unnecessary disturbances. A few more patrons seated than before. While waiting to be served, Lewelyn caught a glance at a mother and daughter, both had mountains of whipped cream and boulders of marshmallows snowed over their hot chocolates.
Shortly after the waiter had taken Lewelyn’s order and brought it to him, he heard a verbal expression of delight and humour, he looked to the chocolate drinkers. The mother had grown a moustache, the child had two hands over her mouth to try and stop giggling from the result of her mother’s love for the hot drink.
Lewelyn clutched at the straw of his drink, the cherry on top sinking, and the pink strawberry shake slowly disappearing. He finished and paid, the two were still in their circular booth, humouring and teasing each other. When he opened the door to leave, Lewelyn saw the waiter bring another round of cream avalanched hot chocolate to their table.
Now, away from the soulless music, back to another morning in RHD. Interestingly when he arrived at the division, Lewelyn saw Forsythe talking with someone unfamiliar. This ‘someone’ had an official look; a dark grey suit, opaque tie and Lewelyn thought he could see a bulge under the man’s right arm pit. They looked like they were enjoying their talk. Lewelyn debated whether he should give them a couple minutes.
‘Speak of the devil.’
Forsythe beckoned Lewelyn, ‘Want you to meet somebody. This is Special Agent Damian Peal from the FBI.’
The special agent with a no teeth, no effort, government scripted closed smile, shook Lewelyn’s hand.
‘Nice to meet you, David. I hear you’re looking after old Tom here.’
‘That’s an interesting interpretation of things,’ Lewelyn made Peal chuckle. When it became louder it was clear to Lewelyn that Damian knew about the oil spill incident.
‘Amazing what some people will do when they’re cornered.’
‘Unthinkable, is maybe a better word.’
‘I won’t argue with that,’ Peal then looked at his watch, ‘Well I think we’d better get started. I haven’t got a lot of time so let’s not make me miss my flight.’
Forsythe straightened his hand at the desk to invite Peal to sit. All men were seated, the two law enforcement officers took the chairs and Lewelyn sat on an empty work space on the desk.
‘First of all let me just say you guys have an unusual case here. But before I start with the technical stuff, David, how much do you know about behaviour profiling?’
‘Just the basics. How the characteristics of the crime scene reflect the characteristics of the offender.’
‘Then I think it’s best if I tell you what I like to call Murder Misconceptions.’
This was new to Lewelyn. Damian Peal continued, ‘It’s something I tell everyone when I’m working a case – helps me get rid of any predetermined opinions.’
Peal gulped the air and continued his discourse, ‘You see a lot of people think they have a pretty good idea of what murderers are like. What they look like in appearance, how they act, what their habits are, et cetera, et cetera. Sad thing is most people have the wrong idea about what to look for. So to make my job and everybody else’s a lot easier I made myself a checklist which lists the most common misconceptions about serial killers. And today I’m going to enlighten you with my knowledge – free of charge,’ he said, giving a mischievous smirk.
‘First, and you wouldn’t believe how many people still believe this, serial killers are loners. Not true, a lot of them as you know hide in plain view. Friendly to their community, go to church, volunteer at soup kitchens, some of them have a family too. The scary part about it is they all sound like your average neighbour.
&
nbsp; ‘Next, most serial killers are white. This is probably the most obvious. No, killing actually applies to all racial groups.
‘Number three, serial killers favour certain geographical locations. This is not entirely wrong. When most killers start off they hunt in places that are familiar to them, places they know. Over time, when their confidence builds, they will try places outside of their comfort zone. Give me a sec.’
Peal grabbed a plastic cup from the table and put it to his mouth, ‘Now a lot of people think serial killers can’t stop killing. Wrong. In certain circumstances they have no choice but to stop killing – which is a big pain in the ass for us. They take a break from it all. This sort of recess is usually out of their control. The causes of it are normally family, medical conditions, incarceration for another crime, the list goes on.
‘Next – I always laugh at this one. All serial killers are insane or evil geniuses. Most do suffer from a personality disorder. Insane on the other hand is something totally different. In regard to being geniuses, do you believe everything that Hollywood throws at you? Remember it was created to entertain. Sure there are some smart ones with high IQs but not all of them have it. I remember once back in Florida when I was in uniform – before I joined the bureau. We had a murdered black man. Scene was a bloody mess. No DNA other than the victim’s. So we followed procedure. Followed leads, interviewed people, asked the public to call-in if they knew anything – nothing came of it. Then one day we get a call from some guy who said he did it. We listen to him on the phone. We assumed at first that he’s using a traceless phone. Turns out he was using his own self-paid cell phone to call us. We get all the guys details and pick him up after he ends the call. He’s brought in and he’s wearing an orange baseball hat. I and some other guys see a small stain on the beak of the hat. We tell him hats aren’t allowed in the interview room. I expected him to argue, but he just took it off and handed it over. The lab results tell us the stain is the murder victim’s blood. When we book him, he asks us how we found him. We told him his minutes had expired.’
Tears ran down Peal’s face. Lewelyn saw Forsythe laugh but thought it was fabricated. He had either heard it before or only cared for what Peal had to say about the case and was feigning politeness.
‘Anyway, back to the misconceptions. Serial killers are born the way they are. Some do believe this, while others don’t. It is in fact not true. They’re created. Most of them come from violent backgrounds where there’s an abusing parent or other kids constantly harassing them at school and online. It gets to the point that it’s all they can think about. They begin to fantasise about ways they can make it all stop – it’s where the homicidal thoughts kick in.
‘Lastly, serial killers want to be caught. This is true, so not technically a misconception but I still think it’s worth mentioning. As time passes, killers believe they have ‘perfected’ their skills to hunt and remain anonymous. They get cocky of their own abilities. This causes them to think their invincible and will never get caught. So they purposely start to leave clues at the crime scenes. They forget that one DNA sample or one witness is all that it takes for them to get caught. One of the few times that personal vanity can be a good thing. You guys still with me?’
‘Yeah,’ Forsythe said.
Lewelyn nodded.
‘Now we get to the profile. Like I said earlier this case is unusual. What do you make of it Tom?’
Forsythe sat forward in his chair.
‘Way I see it. We’re dealing with a pro. He’s maliciously sick and knows what he’s doing. I know he made a mistake with the saliva but that’s only one. Think of the other forms of DNA he could have left and didn’t. Definitely planned it all, no way was it chance, it was planned. He’s organised and intelligent, which as you know I hate to admit.’
Peal turned his head. ‘David?’
‘I’d have to agree with Tom, it’s clear the guy knew what he was doing. If he was impulsive, assuming it’s a male, then the crime scene wouldn’t have had that almost immaculate environment.’
Peal smiled, Forsythe and Lewelyn knew not what it represented. The smiling Peal grabbed a file from the desk behind him.
‘This here is my profile of the crime scene. I haven’t had much time on this. I only started on it last night – on the plane over here. What interests me about it is not the MO, but the organisation and the end result.’
Special Agent Peal spared some silence to emphasise his theory, ‘I think your killer has a Dissociative Personality Disorder. Know what I mean, David?’
David Lewelyn not wasting the opportunity to use some of his own knowledge explained.
‘Dissociative Identity Disorder or Multiple Personality disorder is a mental condition from which an individual’s personality appears to show two or more distinct identities. The main cause of this disorder is childhood abuse. There was a famous case in 1952 where a woman by the name of Eve White, she had been complaining of headaches and experiencing occasional blackouts. After one of her blackouts, she woke up and realised she had bought some expensive clothes, which she couldn’t afford, and had no memory of the purchase. When she started to describe the event to the doctors her demeanour changed, looking confused and the expression in her face then completely altered.
‘She began to express flirting behaviour, then she started to smoke and Eve didn’t smoke. The doctors observing this psychological phenomenon called this new personality Eve Black and the previous personality, Eve White. Both were diverse personalities – like rain and sunshine. White was anxious, emotionally constricted, compulsive, and had no knowledge of Black’s existence. Eve Black on the other hand, well, irresponsible, hysterical, harsh, also had no knowledge of the other personality.
‘The doctors then decided to put Eve into a trance via hypnosis. What they did not expect to find was a third personality. This new one they called Jayne. Jayne knew about Eve White and Eve Black. And Jayne was a mixture of the two personalities. It’s also worth mentioning that Eve claimed to have at least twenty personalities inside her.’
This brought memories back to Lewelyn. It made him think he was back in the classroom.
‘If I had to say all that and the profile I think I’d have passed out. I appreciate the assist,’ Peal joked.
‘So we’re dealing with somebody who has two or three people in his head?’ Forsythe asked in a sceptical tone.
Peal replied, ‘Yes and no. Another way of saying I don’t know. I think the guy you’re after, Miss Miller’s killer, shows signs of two distinct personalities at the crime scene. I’m calling one organised and the other disorganised. After reading the case file I can tell you this guy was seriously organised. The only evidence of him being there is the body and DNA sample. Getting inside the apartment without being seen by any of the other tenants and being able to more or less prohibit any trace of his DNA is a guy who plans. Then I see the photos, the extensive abuse, showing no sign of control, showing his need to punish rather than torture her.’
‘Why?’ Forsythe asked.
‘The way he leaves the victim, underwear over the face, whip marks and intense strangulation, he’s definitely taking his anger out on someone. I think the end result was what he wanted… showing the world how he sees women, what they are to him. He wants to show what they’re really like. Advertising is what he’s after.
‘Going back to the two personalities. It starts with Organised; he infiltrates the home, gets inside and waits for her. Once she’s bound it brings forth Disorganised, the punisher. Disorganised absolutely hates whoever he sees her as. But the intriguing part is the breaking of the neck – which shows compassion. All that ante-mortem maliciousness is Disorganised. After D is done, O comes back and finishes the job. The neck breaking is instant death, killers with hate like Disorganised aren’t interested in the quick death scenario – it’s too humane for the victim.’
Neither Lewelyn nor
Forsythe bothered to check the days progress on their watches or the brightness of the room; they epitomised school children who had just learned something awe inspiring. Damian carried on.
‘The little evidence at the crime scene and the silent entry suggests you’re dealing with someone who has an action based background. Could be military, law enforcement, espionage, anything that has the hallmarks of frequent experience in high pressure situations. I put their age around twenty to forty, maybe older. Not very helpful but the scant evidence doesn’t give us much on physical features. The organised personality has high intelligence, while the disorganised may have an average if not a very low one. Most likely male but with only one body it’s hard to determine their race. A geographical profile is out of the question.
‘Might be their first time but it won’t be their last. As you guys know it never stops at one. There’ll be another. The confidence has risen from the first kill. He’ll want more. It went well for him or them whichever way you see it. He wants to prove it can be done again; do it even better the next time. Fulfil the “two kills at two separate events rule”.
Peal had his hand in front of his mouth and it squeezed into his fleshy cheeks, ‘The only problem I have with all of it is the little evidence. To me this is being blindfolded, spun around, then told to throw the dart – I can’t pinpoint anything. What bothers me is not knowing. Not knowing why so much was removed from the scene. I know these guys don’t want to leave any tracks. It’s the rule of the jungle. But instinct tells me there’s something else which is being kept from us. There is a refusal here to share even a trivial detail, meaning a recluse, the kind who wouldn’t even have a TV in their own home. As a profiler I shouldn’t be saying this, but knowing Tom here a long time… I wouldn’t depend on what I’ve given you. Profiles aren’t always accurate. This other kid Jerome Harris being there contradicts the whole thing. The multiple personality disorder is just one possibility when there could be others. It’s like there’s no established fixed fact but a vast openness of possibilities. I can’t form a personal or professional opinion on it and I find myself desperate and needful for a basic and conceivable answer.
