N: What is it that motivates such killers, Doctor?
D: Nothing that is obvious in the sense we usually associate with crimes—greed, revenge, heat of passion. The kind of killer we’re talking about is most often living out a private fantasy of some sort. That is why there is the similar signature in each crime.
N: Signature?
D: Most killers leave their own personal stamp at the scene. It is an unconscious pattern that includes the type of victim selected, the method used to control the victim, method of disposal, and so forth. Although certain details may change from crime to crime, the basic signature of the killer remains the same. Each new murder is not so much a new event as a different act in an ongoing drama.
N: Dr. Dunworthy, can you tell us how we would recognize this so-called organized killer were we to run across him? Would he appear crazed? Threatening?
D: Not at all. Such personalities are clever and inventive, and very skillful at presenting themselves to appear beyond suspicion. They are usually of above-average intelligence, reasonably good-looking, socially adept. Such a killer would look and act like any of us. You or me even.
Here, Kali paused in her reading and shivered. She remembered Dr. Dunworthy looking in her direction, fixing his small, dark eyes on her as if she were a bug under a microscope. She thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch before he turned his attention back to Owen.
N: He would be well integrated into society, then?
D: Absolutely. You have only to look at the list of famous serial killers to see that. Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gracy, for example, were perceived as upstanding citizens. Intelligent, energetic and actively involved in the community. In fact, a hallmark of this type of killer is that he often follows the investigation closely and may become actively involved in it, as a volunteer or even a professional. I recall one case where the guy who handed out flyers on a missing child was also the killer, and another where the killer posed as a television cameraman.
Kali stood and stretched, as much to clear her mind as to relieve the kinks in her back and shoulders. Everything that Dunworthy had noted about the Bayside Strangler could be said of their current killer as well.
Did that mean the Bayside Strangler was still on the loose? No it did not, she argued silently. The evidence spoke just as clearly to the existence of a copycat. There was enough detail in Jackson’s book, wasn’t there, to serve as a blueprint?
And neither Anne nor Jane Parkhurst had been raped. That, too, spoke to the existence of a copycat. Kali wondered, though, if that was as significant a difference as it first appeared. The Strangler murders had taken place almost eight years ago, after all.
That brought her full circle. What if they weren’t dealing with a copycat killer? It was the issue Kali had been skirting for days, like the shadow of a bad dream. It made her stomach knot and her skin feel tight.
Maybe it was just the chocolate and coffee, but Kali’s mind was buzzing. Thoughts flew in, circled a bit, and either collided with other thoughts or were pushed aside by new ones. She couldn’t hold onto any of them long enough to sort through the chaos.
Sitting again in her chair, she turned to the back pocket of her case binder from the Bayside Strangler trial. There, along with a few penciled annotations of her own, was a neatly typed list of contacts, telephone numbers and addresses. She slid her finger down the column to Dr. Dunworthy’s name, then over to the entry for his number.
She punched in the seven digits and was connected to a woman with a lovely Irish accent, who’d never heard of Dr. Dunworthy. Kali hung up feeling discouraged. Then she remembered the proliferation of area codes since the Davis trial. Kali was in the East Bay and Dunworthy, as she recalled, had been from somewhere in Marin County. She tried again, this time including the area code. Dr. Dunworthy picked up on the second ring. He sounded harried, and it wasn’t until she’d reminded him about the Davis trial and twice explained how the current murders might relate that he seemed to focus on what she was saying.
“I’m afraid I’m very busy,” he said.
“Please, it’s important. I’ll only take an hour or so of your time.”
“A copycat killer, huh?”
“That’s one of the things we’re trying to determine.”
“But only two murders.” Something about the tone conveyed disappointment, though Kali was sure he didn’t intend it.
“Only two so far. We’d like to prevent a third.”
Dr. Dunworthy sighed loudly into the phone. “I’m leaving town tomorrow to deliver a paper in Montreal. It’s an important conference.”
“I could be to Marin in half an hour.” Kali checked her watch. Half an hour wasn’t really feasible, not with traffic what it was these days. But better to promise the moon than let him slip away.
A fact that wasn’t lost on the psychologist. “My dear, I’m flattered that you’re so eager, but you won’t make it here from Oakland at this time of day in under an hour. Don’t race just to get here. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you, Dr. Dunworthy. I appreciate this.” She got directions, then, after a moment’s reflection, called Keating and was patched through to his cell phone.
She explained briefly. “You interested in coming with me?”
“You bet.” His answer caught her by surprise. In her experience, cops tended to lump psychologists with psychics and palm readers.
“I’m not far,” Keating said. “I’ll pick you up out front in about ten minutes.” He paused. “Oh, and by the way, the lipstick is a match.”
CHAPTER 20
Dr. Dunworthy lived in the hills of Sausalito, up a long, narrow driveway. The house wasn’t large, but it was exquisitely furnished—oriental carpets, sofas of buttery-soft leather, and chests of dark, highly polished mahogany. Where Kali’s tables were cluttered with magazines and paperbacks, Dunworthy’s displayed modernistic sculptures and large-format, full-color art books. It was clear there were no children living there, and Kali sensed there was no woman either.
Dunworthy looked pretty much as she’d remembered him. His goatee was a bit grayer, his waistline a bit larger, but he wore the same sort of soft-drape wool slacks and cashmere turtleneck, and he still smelled of stale cigarette smoke and coffee.
“I must admit,” he said when they were settled in the high-ceilinged main room that functioned as both living and dining space, “that you’ve piqued my curiosity. Tell me more about these recent murders. I’ve seen the news, of course, but I want to know the details.”
Kali let Keating lead off, then she filled in bits and pieces she thought Dunworthy might find significant in light of his work on the Davis trial. Dunworthy took notes as he listened, stopping them now and then to ask for clarification. When they’d finished, he sat silently for a moment, his gaze flat and unfocused.
“Most interesting,” he said at last, tugging on his goatee. “Fascinating, in fact.”
“So what do you think?” Keating asked. He was clearly impatient with the doctor’s grandstanding.
“The two sets of murders—the original Bayside Strangler killings and the current ones—have strong similarities. Similarities beyond even the obvious. There are significant differences, however.”
“Such as?” Keating prompted.
“Most notably, the two recent victims were not sexually assaulted. And they don’t fit the mold of the earlier victims, who were not only younger, but all of a similar type.”
“No dog collar with the recent victims either,” Kali commented.
Dunworthy brushed her comment aside, literally batting the air with his hand. “That’s really just window dressing, in my mind. What’s important is that the Bayside Strangler murders had the earmarks of psychosexual fantasy. The killer enjoyed toying with his victims. As I recall, there was some evidence that he brought them to the brink of unconsciousness and then revived them long enough to again rape them. Even the body poses after death were erotic. And he took great care in dressing them. The two
new murders feel quite different, even in light of the killer dressing his victims.”
“How so?”
“I don’t see anything to indicate the same sort of sexual fantasy. And from what you tell me, the killer’s dressing of the bodies is more haphazard. The Strangler paid a great deal of attention to detail, not only in the choice of clothing itself but in making sure it was properly arranged.”
Keating rubbed his jaw. “Our killer seems to have taken great care in posing his victims, though.”
“Care, yes, but without the Strangler’s focus on degradation.”
Keating looked skeptical. “Both women had their skirts up around their waists. Looked demeaning to me.”
“I’m not saying there wasn’t an element of that, but from what you’ve told me, I think he also cared about them in some way. Hands folded in their laps, legs more together than apart. I don’t pick up on the same sense of anger and contempt.”
“It’s been a long time,” Kali reminded him. “If it was the same killer, wouldn’t he have changed some?”
“Yes, in fact he would. Repeat, ritualistic killers are always evolving, tweaking and fine-tuning their art, if you will excuse the term, with each murder. But the underlying signature doesn’t change.”
Keating leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“At the root of these types of killings are fantasies and hostilities nurtured in childhood.”
“So we’re looking for someone who’s had a bad childhood?” There was just the hint of mockery in Keating’s voice.
“Not necessarily. The instigating childhood trauma doesn’t have to be odd or abusive. It could be something as simple as pressure to succeed in a parent’s eyes.” Dunworthy smiled at them. “Think of it as a pair of glasses through which the killer sees the world. He is acting out a drama that is uniquely his. Some of the peripheral touches may change, but the central plot and theme remain.”
“You’re saying that the two recent murders are part of a different drama than that of the Bayside Strangler?” Kali asked.
“That’s certainly the way it appears to me.”
Kali felt the knot in her stomach relax. Dunworthy might not be right, of course, but she took comfort in his analysis nonetheless. Two sets of murders, two different killers. Davis, and now a copycat.
“We shouldn’t entirely discount the superficial differences, either,” Dunworthy continued. “No dog collar, as Kali noted earlier. And the poems are quite different. The photo is something new. As is this lipstick you mentioned.” He turned to Keating. “You found a lipstick at the crime scene and it matched the color on the second victim’s lips?”
“Right. But what got our attention was the fact that her lips were so freshly colored. Either she applied it right before she was killed, or her killer did it after death. I haven’t had a chance to follow up and see if the same was true of the first murder.”
Kali tried to recall the afternoon she’d identified Anne Bailey’s body. Her eyes had settled on the video screen only long enough to know that it was Anne. Fresh makeup had been the least of her concerns. But looking back, Kali thought she remembered something off about Anne’s appearance. At the time, she’d attributed the change to death.
Dunworthy stroked his goatee for a moment. When he spoke, it was as if he was thinking aloud. “Most likely what we have here is a copycat who has adapted the basic framework to fulfill his own fantasies.”
“Why copy an earlier crime at all?” Keating asked.
“Good question. And that may be something that will help you narrow the field some. There has to have been something about the Bayside Strangler case that struck a chord with your killer.”
“It did get a lot of publicity,” Kali pointed out.
“Yes, it did. But there have been other cases that have received as much publicity.” Again, the thoughtful pause. “I’d say the Strangler case was in some way personal to your killer. Not in a direct way necessarily, but in the sense that there was something about Davis himself your killer related to. Or perhaps the core fantasy of the murders touched a nerve with him. There must have been something that captivated the killer’s interest and appealed to him on a very basic level.”
Keating looked dubious. “Still doesn’t explain why he’d copy someone else.”
“The fact that it was someone else’s program probably added to the enticement at first. It’s like a kid who’s fixated on an actor or rock star. He tries to copy his manner of speaking, dress and so forth. He chooses that particular movie star for a reason that’s uniquely his, and he chooses to emulate someone else rather than develop his own style from scratch. What’s interesting in the case before us is that the killer is already pushing the parameters, making the crime more his own.”
“Adding his own touches, you mean?”
“Exactly. It’s a copycat crime but it’s his, too.”
“What motivates someone like that?” Keating asked.
“Anger, a sense of powerlessness. My guess is that your killer feels alienated from those around him. He feels he’s been mistreated, that life hasn’t been fair to him. He’s quick to blame others and loath to look inward and accept responsibility himself.”
Keating gave a harsh laugh. “Sounds like half the population I deal with on a daily basis. That’s not going to exactly help us find the guy.”
“Where do we go from here?” Kali asked the doctor. “Any ideas?”
“Something about the Bayside Strangler murders made an impression on your killer. That’s one avenue to explore. The other is to look at the victims. How does he find them? Why these particular women? You said they didn’t look anything alike, but there’s some reason he’s targeted them and not others. The photo of the Parkhurst woman makes it clear the crime wasn’t a matter of simple opportunity.”
Dunworthy checked his watch and stood abruptly. “Unless you have a last, pressing question, I’m afraid my time is about up.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Kali said. “We appreciate your help, especially on such short notice.”
He walked them to the door. “I’m sorry I’m not in a position to be more actively involved in the investigation. I do hope you’ll keep me informed, however. It’s quite fascinating how it’s playing out.”
When the door shut behind them, Keating muttered, “As if we’d asked him to be more involved.”
“What did you think of him?” Kali asked.
“Aside from the overblown ego, you mean?”
She smiled. “Aside from that.”
“Well, I don’t know that it was particularly helpful, but it was interesting.”
That was pretty much Kali’s take on it as well, although she’d felt relief at hearing Dunworthy distinguish the recent crimes from those of the Bayside Strangler.
“Victim profiling is nothing new,” Keating added. “As for the rest of it, bottom line is we’re looking for a narcissistic copycat who was attracted to the Bayside Strangler murders. Doesn’t offer much direction.”
“At least it’s a copycat.”
“Maybe,” Keating said. “Maybe not.”
<><><>
Lou knew next to nothing about women’s clothing. Jan had always looked nice, he knew that much, but he’d never paid much attention to the details. In fact, he’d sometimes made the mistake of complimenting an outfit she’d dragged from the back of the closet in order to work in the garden or paint the porch. He was a fashion philistine and proud of it. So when Maureen Oliver had remarked that the dress Jane Parkhurst had been wearing when they found her body was a Carin original, he’d stared at her as if she’d spoken Sanskrit. But he’d gotten the gist of it quickly enough (she’d harped on it until he did), and now he was standing at the door of the exclusive Carin Gallery in Danville, dress in hand.
A buzzer sounded as Lou opened the door and the lone salesclerk looked up. She was a slender woman in her early thirties with straight blond hair and bangs that hung half into her eyes. He appro
ached, grateful to see that, except for the two of them, the place was empty. Didn’t look like they carried much merchandise either. The store was small, half taken up with an overstuffed couch and chair. What few dresses there were hung singly on hangers about the perimeter.
Lou explained why he was there and showed the dress to the clerk.
She pulled back a bit, averting her eyes. “Someone was murdered in one of our dresses?”
“She may not have actually been murdered in it, but she was wearing it when we found her.”
“How awful.”
Lou wasn’t sure if she was referring to the murder itself or the fact that the dress had been a part of it. “We’re pretty sure the dress didn’t belong to her.”
“You think she stole it?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Borrowed it, then?”
Lou shook his head.
The young woman cocked her head and looked at him.
“We’re trying to trace the person who purchased it.” Lou knew he wasn’t making sense, but he didn’t want to get into the role of clothing in the murder. “If that’s possible,” he added, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t.
The woman started to reach for the dress, then, seeming to remember that it had been part of a murder, she shuddered. She pulled her arms back to her side. “Can you hold it up for me?” she asked.
Lou did so.
“That was a style we sold in early summer. What size is it?”
Lou had no idea. The saleswoman had to tell him where to look. “Size eight,” Lou told her.
“Eight.” The woman twisted her hair around her hand while she thought. Then she released her hold and let it fall loose. “Holly Spritzer,” she said. “Or maybe Joan Robinson, but I think she took the six.”
Cold Justice (Kali O'Brien series Book 5) Page 14
