Several hands were up but Dunst chose to ignore them. “I suggest the suspect lives in either the north-east of the state or the far west. He did not know his victims and did not plan the abductions in advance in any detail, but may be a former resident of one or both areas. The victims were assaulted close to the sites of abduction, in the rear of the van he drives. He only removes them from the van to dispose of their bodies. I can say categorically that this man will go on killing until he is caught.”
The hands had come down by now, the audience stunned by the audacity of the barrage of detail thrown at them. As he stopped a few hands hesitantly rose again, but came down abruptly as Weisman stood up, beaming, delighted with the showmanship. His bringing Dunst in on the investigation had been clearly vindicated. He shot a smug glance at Pitman, surprised to the detective looking skeptical.
“Colin, that's quite a stunning statement you've just made. You've obviously devoted a lot of time and energy considering the evidence, to produce such a concise profile scenario. I make no secret of the fact that I'm impressed. Very impressed. But I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that the reasoning behind much of your analysis totally escapes me. Perhaps you'd care to explain the reasoning behind it, for the benefit of us mere mortals?”
“My pleasure.”
Weisman sat down and Dunst took centre stage again, this time with their undivided attention. He circled the core points on the whiteboard as he explained each one.
“Male, slight in stature, I've already explained. White? Because the victims were. In my experience blacks are not inclined to sexual assaults across racial divides. As a rule of thumb white men will attack black or white women, but not vice versa. The main exception, strangely, appears to be assaults on older women. Sex attacks on elderly white females are very often committed by young black men. Carlton Gary, the Stocking Strangler in Georgia in the seventies is probably the best known.”
“No accounting for coons!”
Weisman glared across the room, making a mental note of the offending officer.
Dunst beamed around the room, enjoying the attention. “The killer's attention to detail in cleaning the body may be a hygiene fixation of some sort. Maybe OCD. Certainly he's likely to be very clean himself. He uses an up-market brand. Someone unconcerned with personal hygiene will make do with the first cheap bar of soap they come to on the supermarket shelf. But the hygiene concern here, especially the cleansing of the bodies, is almost certainly indicative of familiarity with forensic methods. That suggests someone who has previously been convicted of an offence in which forensics played a part. Something like indecent assault, which we can reasonably suppose attracted a short custodial sentence. So if he was a teenager when first arrested he'd likely be at least in his twenties by now.”
He scanned his audience. “From experience we know the propensity to sexual assault declines with middle-age; so, in his mid-twenties to late thirties, maximum. This being a ritual killing again suggests an older man. Teen crimes, especially sex murders, are very uncontrolled affairs - impulsive. Sex crimes tend to manifest themselves in the teen years and then develop thereafter. The murders here show a man in control of himself. Experienced. At ease with the gruesome nature of the task. So I opt for late thirties. Which brings us to the van.”
“The white van? Road legal and insured? There’s no way on Earth you can know that.”
Dunst beamed a patronizing smile. “On the contrary, it’s quite simple.”
84
“Now, you must appreciate these rituals take time. They must be carried out somewhere he feels secure. Normally we might presume he takes his victims to his home, but clearly the distance involved between the two rules that out.”
Dunst paused to clean his glasses. Then, “I believe he assaults his victims in the same vehicle used to abduct them. The forensics’ estimate of the height the girls were tied indicates a compact space. A cellar was suggested, but I would suggest a transit van might explain the evidence better. By transit I mean any van of that size, not necessarily a Ford. Obviously the suspect is mobile, to get round the state as he does, and I favor a windowless vehicle for obvious reasons. It would enable him to grab his target and drive away quickly without fear of the child drawing attention to herself until she could be tied more securely.”
“Not an ice-cream van then?”
“Categorically not. He's not stupid.”
“But a white van? With insurance?”
“Nothing mysterious about that. The last thing he wants to do is attract attention to himself, especially if he's driving around the state with an abducted child in the back. White vans are so common no-one would give it a second glance. It’s that simple. Insured obviously because the last thing he needs is to be stopped on the road for something like that. As for the vehicle's age, that's a rough estimate. Five to ten years old. Given his likely income - serial killers tend to come from lower income groups, though there have been notable exceptions - it's reasonable to suppose he can't afford a new vehicle. But too old a van and he runs the risk of breakdown, with all the attendant problems. Not very helpful when he's driving around the country, presumably using the interstate highways. So a vehicle in that age group, in reasonable repair, is likely.”
He printed the salient points on the board as he spoke. “A marine background is indicated by several counts, not least the knots used to secure the girls, consistent with someone experienced with ropes. Naval? A strong possibility. Inexperience with women I've previously mentioned. Obviously someone spending time at sea might reasonably have such problems. Also there's the disposal of the bodies in water. Collectively they suggest a link of sorts. Right handed, you know from forensic. Again the knots confirmed.”
“How about his job then?”
“Several pointers. The three abductions occurred in day-time, on a Friday, a Sunday and a Monday. Dumping the bodies obviously took place by dark, so I favor shift work or casual labor. That kind of mobility suggests either self-employment or more likely shift employment, giving a few clear days to go out, commit the offence, dispose of the evidence, and get back to his job.”
“But he's not an ice-cream man?”
“Not now, but there may be a past link somewhere. Obviously he's employed, because he can afford to travel over quite a distance. As said, the victims are spontaneously selected. Ritual killings of this nature are invariably by strangers, while impulse killings conversely are more likely to be committed by someone known to the assailant. The bizarre ritual he carries out suggests a total depersonalization of the victim, post-mortem, though he may attempt to relate to them in some way before the final, fatal assault. Again, ritual killings tend to occur on the suspect's home ground. Familiar territory. It's possible therefore that, in the past, the suspect has been a local resident. But he doesn't assault where he lives now. Given the care he's taken to avoid leaving forensic anything useful, it's reasonable to suppose he's known to the police in his home county, so probably lives away from the area where he commits the crime.”
“Why should he know the area?”
“Confidence of the abduction, in broad daylight, suggests familiarity; that he's identified quiet roads and easy routes out. Drinking and driving? Anyone with an inferiority complex is likely to take solace in being one of the lads down the local, drinking heavily. Given that he knows the country quite well, or at least the belt we've identified, he may have had a driving job in the past. Possibly lost through a drink-driving conviction. I don't believe he works as a driver now. Any firm employing someone to drive around the country would want to use the opportunity to advertise. Any trade-marked vehicle is likely to have registered on the mind of someone near the scene. We have nothing. Therefore it seems certain the vehicle is privately owned, by the suspect. An anonymous white van. False plates are of course a possibility, although we shouldn't over estimate his intelligence and abilities, but it's a precaution he may have thought of. A defunct set could be easily obtained.”
&nb
sp; “Unmarried, without children?”
“Again, in keeping with the broad sex offender profile. If he's not had many relationships with a woman then he's less likely to have fathered a child.”
“He's a virgin?”
“Not necessarily. But he's probably obliged to resort to teen prostitutes and, given the age of his victims, to heavy masturbation fantasies about younger girls. Return to the scene of the crime for that purpose is well documented. Given that the third girl was abducted so soon after the second, it may be that he relived the second assault in fantasy, and was then excited to the point where he felt compelled to strike again.”
“But there was only the one girl killed here.” It was a reference to Rebecca's abduction, just a few miles from where they were now sat.
“I would guess he returned here, after killing the first girl, and to Red Hook after the third, but on those occasions was able to satisfy himself with the memory. Or maybe the opportunity just never arose. Obviously finding a young child in a secluded place with no one else about is very much a game of chance for him. Again, the fact that he hasn't attacked too close to schools suggests he's especially wary of being caught, and so almost certainly he has form.”
“Why leave a calling card?”
“That's a difficult one. It might be some form of a challenge to the authorities. Or there may be some reasoning we cannot yet fathom. The ice-cream logo is probably symbolic. An ejaculating penis? As he kills again and the evidence accumulates it may become clearer.”
There was a sobered silence to this observation.
Dunst put on a reassuring smile. “Any more questions?”
“What color shorts does he wear?”
Over the laughter Dunst replied, “He doesn't. He wears white Y-fronts. Think about it.”
He looked to his host for support and Weisman stood on cue.
“Alright, men. You know what you're looking for. Let’s haul this sick bastard in.”
85
“He’s out! Home! What more do you want, for Christ's sake?”
“It just happened, alright? I blurted it out because I felt sorry for him. I could hardly change my mind afterwards?”
“You've done more than enough for the sick bastard already. It's senseless you feeling guilty, Claire. If he wasn't a dirty, poxy, short-eyed ChoMo he wouldn't have been dragged into this in the first place.”
“That's not fair, Matt.”
“Fair? So he had nothing to do with Rebecca. He's still a fucking ChoMo. He still touched up those boys, and God only knows how many other kids we never got to hear about. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
“You don't know him, Matt.”
“And you do? You've met him twice, in a visiting room in jail, for Christ's sake. What the hell did you want to phone him for in the first place?”
“To see if he needed anything.”
Matt stared at her in disbelief.
“He's not some kind of monster, Matt. He has feelings, just like you and me. He didn't go out and attack some stranger in a dark alley. He felt for those children.”
“The only thing he felt was their balls.”
Claire walked away in frustration, staring through the window. “Matt, just this once, try thinking instead of reacting. I'm not saying what he did was right. Just that he did it out of affection, not... not lust. Whoever killed Rebecca was not the same person as Thomas Bristow.”
“We know that now. It doesn’t change what he did.”
“I mean not the same type of person. He never set out to hurt those kids. It was an expression of love that went too far.”
“That's his version.”
“He's not a liar, Matt.”
“Just a fucking good actor. He’s taken you in completely.”
“He's not an actor. He blinks too much.”
“He what?”
She returned to her seat, determined to argue her case. “He blinks, Matt. An actor's eyes only blink when they tell them to. Haven't you ever noticed that? Thomas couldn't act to save his life.”
“Oh, it's Thomas, now, is it? Claire, what he did was not just illegal. It was wrong. Sick. Indecent. Obscene. Forget whether it was bloody affectionate or not. He's a self-confessed pedophile. A pervert. A pederast. He preyed on little boys, for Christ's sake.”
Claire looked into his eyes, trying to see through the anger. “I thought I knew you better.”
“Likewise. I never thought I'd hear you defend his kind.”
“I'm not defending him, Matt. Just trying to understand.”
“There's nothing to understand. The guy was wrongly arrested. It happens. He'll get compensated. What about those kids he did touch up? Their lives were ruined because he wanted to be... What did you say just now, affectionate? Christ, Claire, they'll bear those scars the rest of their lives. I don't suppose they'll ever be capable of normal sex lives themselves. Did you ever stop to consider that?”
Claire stared at him, uncomprehending. “What makes you the expert?”
“It’s common knowledge. The abused kids are traumatized. They never fully recover. They'll probably become pervs themselves. It's always the same.”
“Always?”
“Always. What worse thing could happen to you? It's sick. Fucking sick. And now you're planning to act as chauffeur for the sick bastard? He's out. Free. Just forget him, Claire. He's not worth a light.”
“God, Matt, you're so... So prejudiced.”
He caught his words. He didn't want an argument.
Least of all this one.
Least of all now.
Maybe they were spending too much time at one another's homes.
He said quietly, “I'm as liberal as the next guy when it comes to sex, Claire, you know that. What happens between consenting adults is entirely their own affair. But I draw the line at children. Any normal person does. It's got nothing to do with prejudice.”
“Have you ever heard of the Pedophile Information Exchange?”
“PIE? Britain’s answer to Rene Guyon? Sure. Bunch of perverts back in the seventies, wanted to legalize sex with kids. Most of them were locked up. They should’ve thrown away the key.”
“You know about it? You've never mentioned it.”
Matt shrugged. “So? It was in England.”
“Thomas was a member.”
“Surprise me.” Matt thought a second, then, “So there’s probably a bunch of abused kids over there too.”
“Matt!”
“Well it’s true. Or maybe you only think he touches up all-American boys?”
“It’s not like that. The way he explained it, it sort of made sense.”
“What the hell's gotten into you, Claire? How can child molesting make sense.”
“That's not what I said, Matt. But if I've learned one thing from meeting Thomas Bristow it's that they're not all raving lunatics. They're intelligent, thinking individuals trying to come to terms with the way they are. The way nature has made them.”
“Oh, it's natural now, is that it? It's natural to fancy little kids instead of being attracted to other adults, like normal people?”
“I'm not saying it's right, Matt. And of course it’s unacceptable. Children have to be protected. But knee-jerk reactions like yours aren't achieving anything. It's precisely this failure to make a distinction between people like Thomas and lunatics like Uncle Tom that meant an innocent man was locked up and two more children lost their lives.”
Tears flowed freely. He passed her a box of tissues. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I'll make a coffee.”
From the kitchen he said, “If you're going through with this then I'm coming too.”
Claire managed a smile. “Matt, I’ve met him before.”
“With armed prison guards nearby. Not alone.”
“Thomas is completely harmless.”
“Tell that to the kids he fondled.”
“Matt, I’m not a child. I can handle Thomas Bristow.”
86
> Claire rose early, a light breakfast, and watched the newsboy as he came up the drive, wondering if Thomas would have found him attractive. She shut the thought from her mind. Matt was right: she was getting too involved. She would make clear to Bristow this was a one-off.
It was instantly recognizable, the wilting yard leading to boarded windows and a paint-daubed front door. The graffiti sickened her, but she knew it had been done before the mistake had been realized. She couldn't bring herself to condemn it, but her heart went out to Bristow for having to live there with it. Amidst the blind hatred.
As she made her way up the path curtains twitched at neighboring windows, curious eyes watching her every move. There was no attempt to be discreet. She felt like a zoo exhibit. Instinctively she pulled the hem of her skirt down. She realized she was doing it and smiled to herself. She could probably walk in the house stark naked and Thomas wouldn't blink an eye.
She knocked a fourth time. No response. The neighbors were looking on.
She knocked again, louder still. Nothing.
She checked her watch. She was early, but only by a few minutes. She pushed against the door but it held firm. The boarded downstairs windows afforded no view into the house. She stood back and looked to the upstairs windows, one of which had miraculously survived the attack unscathed. There was no sign of life.
Hesitantly she made her way round the side of the house, where the back yard told a similar tale of wanton vandalism. She knocked hard and the rear door gave, the lock broken.
The door swung wide and she stepped over the threshold.
Sugar & Spice (US edition) Page 17
