He looked at Mark Wolfe. “Thanks for meeting on short notice.”
“Aguilar said it was urgent.” He leaned back in his chair. “He sounded pretty rattled, actually.”
Rattled wasn’t a word Reed had ever heard used to describe the chief of police. But the media was all over him, and, as Erika had pointed out, classes were resuming soon at the state’s largest university. Both Austin victims had lived near campus, and one had been a student. The last thing the chief wanted was a public panic.
“I went through the reports.” Mark flipped open a file. “I’ve got some preliminary feedback, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I have a basic profile, which you’ve probably already come up with on your own. The UNSUB is a white male, twenty-five to fifty, living in or near the Austin area, and probably working in a technical or computer-related field.”
His rundown came as no surprise. Sexual predators tended to operate within their ethnic group, and the tech connection was obvious.
“That’s a pretty big age range,” Reed said. “I’d expected younger.”
“I did, too, at first, especially with the online-targeting angle. But when you look at the murders themselves . . .” He shook his head. “His MO is revealing. He exercises tremendous patience and impulse control, which indicates we might be dealing with an older perpetrator. These crimes demonstrate a good deal of premeditation. To approach a door with a specialized tool and pick a lock without being seen—it’s probable he scoped the place out ahead of time.” Mark tapped his pencil on the table. “Another important factor is the webcams. In the April Abrams case, the report suggests he might have hijacked the webcam as early as last October.”
“He did,” Laney confirmed.
“That’s a long time to watch and wait to select your moment. A long time to construct the fantasy.”
“But that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it? I’m no psychologist,” Reed said, “but seems to me he likes the buildup.”
“That’s correct,” Mark said. “He’s driven by deep-rooted fantasies about controlling women and causing pain. It’s likely he was abused by a parent—no surprise there—and I also think he’s probably been treated for depression at some point.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Look, I realize it’s not a lot of specifics,” Mark said, picking up on the sarcasm. “Most online predators I see have some of that in their background. Many of them also have difficulty fitting into normal social situations, so the Internet is something of a haven. But let’s talk about what sets this guy apart.” He leaned forward on his elbows and looked Reed in the eye. “Studies indicate that at any given time, there are as many as eight hundred thousand child sexual predators online. And that’s only child predators. Add adults, and we’re dealing with an enormous number. It’s bad enough that these people are out there spying, surfing kid-porn sites, and harassing people. I’m not saying those aren’t real crimes, because they absolutely are, and they cause harm and pain. But this UNSUB took it all a step further.”
“He went after them in real life.”
“Exactly.” Mark nodded. “So you have to ask yourself, what kind of person would do that?”
“Someone who thinks he can get away with it,” Laney said.
“That’s right. He believes he’s beyond the reach of law enforcement, immune to punishment. This is someone who has spent years online shrouded in a cloak of anonymity, frequenting the Internet’s dark side, sometimes called the darknet.”
“He likes the anonymity,” Reed stated.
“Thrives on it,” Mark said. “Many people online construct these alter egos. They feel free to say and do things they would never say and do in a face-to-face encounter, and they feel immune to consequences.”
Reed watched him, digesting it all. He glanced at Laney, who was being unusually quiet.
“This UNSUB made a leap that many online predators do not,” Mark continued. “He went from spying and stalking online to actually tracking down his victim in the real world, entering her private home, and carrying out a remarkably violent attack. All without leaving much of anything in the way of physical evidence. All this tells us he’s adept at operating and concealing himself in two entirely different environments, not just one. And that definitely sets him apart.”
“Did you see the note in the report about the shoe print?” Reed asked. “Our lab tested the fiber found with that print, and it looks like he wore shoe coverings.”
“He’s very meticulous. And he knows about police procedures, or else he’s watched a lot of CSI shows. You shouldn’t discount that possibility.” Mark glanced at the file in front of him. “Another thing I notice, he’s got a keen sense of his targets. He finds a victim he wants and hones in on her digital vulnerabilities.”
“You mean portals into her life.” Reed glanced at Laney.
“Right,” Mark said. “Where has she left herself open to attack? Internet-enabled devices are so ubiquitous now, there are more and more places for predators to get in. Everything from your fitness tracker to your smart refrigerator can provide a doorway into your life. We let ourselves be tracked and monitored, then we have no control over how that info is later used. Laney here can tell you better than anyone. She’s our top cyber-intrusion expert.”
“Take the webcams,” she said, finally chiming in. “Many devices come with built-in cameras. And a lot of people don’t bother setting up passwords. They leave the default passwords that were set at the factory, which means if someone knows what they’re doing, it’s not that hard to remotely take over a device.”
“The key word here is remote,” Mark said. “So much of the planning, the fantasizing, the stalking can be done from a distance, and it adds to the UNSUB’s sense that he’s anonymous and out of the reach of law enforcement.”
“It’s part of his game,” Laney said. “He’s screwing with you.”
“Me?”
“Investigators. Take the phone, for example.” She looked at Mark. “The most recent victim’s cell phone was found in her refrigerator.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t read that.”
“It wasn’t in the preliminary report. You’ll have to go through the crime-scene photos.”
“Wait.” Reed looked at Mark. “Explain the phone.”
“It could be a reference to certain low-tech tactics used to hamper surveillance by spy agencies,” he said. “If you put your cell phone in the refrigerator, it’s harder for the NSA or whoever to use it as a listening device.”
Reed stared at him. “So you’re saying—”
“He killed her and stashed her phone in the fridge for investigators to find,” Laney said. “He’s being sarcastic. It’s a taunt.”
“In other words, he knows that we know he’s monitoring his victims,” Mark added. “He’s escalating the game.”
The room went quiet as Reed digested that. “I take it you think he’s not done,” he said.
Mark shook his head. “All evidence points to the contrary. He’s been doing this a while, and he’s very patient. He has long-term commitments to these women, and he targets multiple people at once. What we’re seeing now is a shrinking interval between murders. It’s getting harder for him to control the urge, to make himself wait. Which might be good for us because he might slip up.”
“Can you predict when the next one will happen?” Reed asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
“It’s not an exact science,” Mark said, refusing to be baited.
“I’m pulling together a list.” Laney opened her file. “We’ve done research here at the lab, basically linking certain online behaviors to future violent attacks.”
“We want to pinpoint which online behaviors pose a nuisance or are simply bizarre,” Mark said, “and which can be correlated wi
th future criminal acts in real life.”
Laney’s phone chimed, and she pulled it from her pocket to check the number. “Sorry.” She looked at her boss. “I need to take this.”
She stepped out, and Reed looked at Mark. He’d gotten more than he’d expected, but it still felt too theoretical. He still didn’t have anything that actually put him on to a particular suspect.
“You look pensive, detective.”
“It’s pretty depressing,” Reed said.
“What is?”
“This whole topic. Makes me glad I don’t have kids.”
“I know what you mean. Some people blame technology, like it somehow creates aberrant behavior. I happen to believe it’s there naturally—a dark side to human nature—and the Internet provides an ideal environment for it to flourish. Degradation, abuse, violence—these things have been around forever. But now we have a whole new setting in which predators can find and victimize people.”
Reed looked at the man, and he knew he must see a lot of ugliness on a day-to-day basis. Laney had to see it, too.
“Well, that about covers it,” Mark said. “I should be able to flesh out the profile when I get more info, such as the autopsy report in the Bella Marshall case.”
“I’ll have that by tomorrow.” Reed checked his watch and stood up.
“One more thing.” The profiler stood, too. “You seem reluctant to involve Laney.”
He’d picked up on that. Maybe there was something to this profiling thing after all.
“She’s obviously young,” Mark said, “but she’s very talented, one of the best we have.”
“I like to keep my team lean. For a lot of reasons.”
“I understand. But if you’re worried about leaks, don’t be. Laney’s very professional. She won’t talk to the media.”
“Good to know.”
Reed stepped into the hallway as Laney slipped her phone into the pocket of her ripped jeans.
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
“I have to drop something off at the DNA lab first. I hear it’s on this floor.”
“I’ll show you.” Laney led him down the corridor. “What’d you think of the profile?”
“It’s interesting.”
“Wow. Damned by faint praise.”
“It could be useful. Or it could be a dead end. I’m always partial to physical evidence.” He cut a glance at her.
“What?”
“This work you do, it can get bleak, especially the child stuff. And the Internet’s full of these dirtbags.” He paused. “I’d think you’d burn out. Why do you keep doing it?”
“Same reason you keep taking rapists and murderers off the street. It’s my job. For better or for worse, it’s what I chose.”
“You could shift into something else. White-collar crime. There’s plenty of identity theft to go around.”
“I’m good at this.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I know the ecosystem. I can navigate it easily, and not many people can, so I guess I feel obligated.”
Would she always feel that way, that she had to devote the best years of her life to tracking down scum?
Reed looked at her. So young and idealistic. And so damn smart. Why couldn’t she have chosen something easier, like designing apps or video games?
She stopped in front of a door labeled DNA AND SEROLOGY. Through a large glass window, Reed saw people in white lab coats hunched over microscopes.
“What do you have there?” She nodded at his evidence envelope.
“Duct tape.”
Her eyebrows tipped up.
“From the autopsy this morning.”
“He uses—”
“Twice before,” Reed said. “I spoke with one of your DNA tracers on the phone, Mia Voss. She agreed to take a look at it, see if she could recover something.”
Laney’s mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. She looked pale suddenly.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Fine.”
But he could tell she was lying.
CHAPTER 13
Reed lived in a ’60s-style ranch house in north Austin, and his gray pickup was in the driveway when Laney pulled up. The flicker of the television in the window told her Reed was still awake. Whether he was alone or not, she had no idea.
Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she walked up to his door. The lawn was green but needed mowing. She wondered if he hired someone or if he did the work himself. She glanced at the garden hose coiled at the corner of the house.
Himself, she decided. He seemed like the type.
He answered the door, and Laney’s breath caught. He’d shed his crisp white button-down and now wore a plain white T-shirt that clung to a very impressive chest. Same business slacks and shoes as before.
She cleared her throat. “Hi.”
He looked her over with those flinty blue eyes. “Cops are unlisted. You know that, right?”
“Can I come in?”
He pulled the door back, and she stepped inside. Without a word, he led her into a kitchen that was dark except for a light glowing over the sink.
She glanced around, absorbing details about his house. It had the sparse look of a bachelor pad, right down to the black leather sofa and glass coffee table. His kitchen wasn’t fancy—Formica and linoleum with black appliances. His breakfast table was stacked with unopened mail, just like hers.
“I finished the online indicators,” she said.
“Indicators?”
“A component of the profile Mark was telling you about. The online behaviors.”
He leaned back against the counter, watching her. His eyes were cool, and he seemed guarded.
“This is based on studies we’ve done. Correlating various types of criminal behavior with other online activities.” She cleared her throat. “I believe we’re going to find that he has a number of online identities that he changes frequently. He uses code names and pseudonyms, and they likely have meaning to him.”
“Do you know any of these pseudonyms?”
“No, but I will. I also believe he trolls people, particularly women, and has probably been banned from sites for harassment.”
Reed seemed to be listening now, probably because she was getting out of the realm of conjecture and into the realm of actual criminal activities that investigators could track.
“It’s also likely he has a history of impersonating others, stealing their identities, and communicating publicly. It would be something he does for the thrill of it. I think he’s into gamesmanship.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You think he’s a gamer?”
“Not necessarily. Although he could be,” she said. “What I’m saying is he considers this a game. Outsmarting people. The voyeurism is part of that. He gets an intense thrill from entering a woman’s living room or bedroom without her permission and watching her private moments. It helps him build the fantasy. A lot of online predators are into voyeurism. What makes this guy unique, like Mark said, is that he takes it into the physical world. His fantasy isn’t complete until he’s made that physical contact. Everything culminates with extreme violence.”
He was watching her closely, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“So those are the indicators I’ve come up with. They’re based on studies of hundreds of predators. And they’re useful, because they help us pick up his trail. I’m already following up on various pseudonyms. I hope to have a lead for you soon.”
Reed didn’t say anything.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“Happy?” He shook his head.
“Okay, encouraged. We’re getting a picture of who we’re looking for.” She stepped closer, watching his reaction. “It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, and we’re filling in the pieces.” She pause
d. “What’s the problem?”
He folded his arms over his chest, creating a barrier between them. “I’ve been doing some research of my own, Laney.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So you want to tell me about your record with Austin PD?”
CHAPTER 14
“I don’t have a record.”
“Okay, your history with us,” he said. “The incident at your home several years ago.”
Everything changed in her face. One second she was open and talkative, and the next her expression was shuttered. Her gaze darted to the door. She wanted to leave, but she wasn’t going anywhere until he got some answers.
He eased closer. “Why didn’t you tell me up front that you’d been the victim of a similar attack?”
The word victim made her flinch, but he didn’t let up.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“No, I thought . . .” She looked flustered. “I thought it’s none of your business.”
He stared at her, gritting his teeth with frustration.
“It isn’t something I talk about with people.” She sounded defensive now. “And I didn’t think it was relevant, not until recently.”
He didn’t respond.
“You don’t believe me?”
“When you first texted me that link, did you or did you not know that April’s case bears a striking resemblance to what happened to you three years ago?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, Laney. I’ll find out.”
“I’m not lying! And where do you get off interrogating me like I’m some kind of criminal? Keeping something private is not the same as lying. Why the hell am I explaining myself to you?” She pushed off the counter and turned away, but he caught her arm.
“Wait—”
“Screw you. I don’t need this.” She yanked her arm, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Would you wait a minute?”
She glared up at him, then glanced down at his hand clenched around her arm.
Deep Dark Page 12
