Shadow Man

by Cody McFadyen

  Then she reaches over and takes my hand. I wait, but that’s all she does. And then I understand.

  “You want to come with me?”

  She nods again.

  A million thoughts shoot through my head at this. About how I’m unfit to care for myself, much less her. How I’m on a case, and so who’s going to watch her? I think these things, but none of it really matters. All I do is smile down at her and squeeze her hand. “I have some things to do, but when I’m ready to leave San Francisco, I’ll come get you.”

  She continues to gaze into my eyes. Seems to find that thing she’d been looking for. She gives my hand a squeeze, and then she lets go, turns her head into her pillow, and closes her eyes. I stand there for a moment, looking down at her.

  I walk out of that room knowing something’s changed in my life. I wonder whether it’s good or bad, and realize that just now, that doesn’t really matter. This isn’t about good or bad or indifferent. It’s about survival. That’s the level we’re operating at right now, Bonnie and me.

  We’re headed back to SFPD. The car is filled with silence.

  “So, you’re going to take her?” Jenny asks, breaking it.

  “I’m all she’s got. Maybe she’s all I have too.”

  Jenny chews on this. A small smile appears on her face. “That’s good, Smoky. Real good. You don’t want a kid her age in the system. She’s too old. No one would adopt her.”

  I turn to her. I sense something hidden here. Some undercurrent accompanying her words. I frown. She shoots me a tense look. Then relaxes with a sigh.

  “I was an orphan. My parents died when I was four, and I grew up in the system. No one seemed interested in adopting a Chinese kid at the time.”

  I’m shocked and surprised. “I had no idea.”

  She shrugs. “It’s not something you share a lot. You know, ‘Hi, I’m Jenny Chang, and I was an orphan.’ I don’t like to talk about it much.” She looks at me, emphasizing that this moment is no exception. “But I will say this: You did a good thing there. Something pure.”

  I think about this and know what she says is true. “It does feel right. Annie left her to me—or so I hear. I haven’t seen her will yet. Is it true he left it next to Annie’s body?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the file.”

  “Did you look at it?”

  “Yep.” She pauses again. Another one of those thoughtful, weighty pauses. “She left everything in your hands, Smoky. The daughter is the true beneficiary, but she named you as executor and trustee. She must have been some friend.”

  I ache at this sentiment. “She was my best friend. Since high school.”

  Jenny is quiet for a few moments after this. When she speaks, it’s a single word, but it’s filled with everything she wants me to know. “Fuck.”

  Fuck that, and fuck the world, and injustice, and what happened to you, and your daughter dying, and kids getting killed in general, and fuck it all till it’s dead and buried and turned to dust and the dust is gone forever. That’s what she’s saying.

  I reply in kind.

  “Thanks.”

  17

  DO YOU WANT the full version, or the condensed version?”

  Alan opens the folder containing the autopsy report as he says this.

  “The condensed version. Please.”

  “Here are the basics. The killer or killers raped her, both pre- and postmortem. He or they cut her with a sharp blade before she died, with most of the damage inflicted being nonlethal.”

  Torture. I nod for him to go on.

  “Cause of death is exsanguination. She bled out, due to the severing of the jugular.” He glances at a page in the folder. “Once she was dead, and they were done having their fun with her body, they cut her open. They removed the internal organs and placed them in Baggies, which were left by the body.” He looks up at me. “All the organs are accounted for except the liver.”

  “They probably took it with them,” James says into the silence that follows. “Or ate it.” I hide a shiver at these words. I’m sure he’s right.

  “Examination of the wounds shows that they’re consistent with those caused by a scalpel, which fits. Because the ME says that the removal of the organs was skillful. Not just the surgery, but knowing where the organs were and how to remove them intact. They not only separated the large and small intestines, they divided them into their component parts. Three for the small intestine, four for the large.”

  I think about this for a moment. “Did he—sorry, they—dissect any other organ in the same way?”

  He consults the file, then shakes his head. “No.” He looks up at me. “They were showing off.”

  “That’s good,” I say, grim.

  Leo’s look at me is incredulous. “How is that good?”

  Alan turns to him, answering the question for me. “It’s good because the way we catch these guys is that they make mistakes. If they’re showing off, that means the act itself isn’t enough for them. They also want our attention. That means they’re not going to be as careful as they could be. Or should be. So they’re more likely to make mistakes.”

  “In simpler terms, child,” Callie says, “it means they’re even more Looney Tunes than usual. That increases the chances of them slipping up.”

  “I get it.” Leo says this but looks a little bit disturbed as he thinks it over. I understand. Looking at the dissection of human organs by two psychopaths as a bright spot is hard to get your mind around. He’s probably wondering if he wants to get his mind around it.

  Alan continues. “Once they’d removed the organs, they left the body cavity open and tied Bonnie to her body.” He closes the folder. “No seminal fluids found, and there was some evidence of latex in the vagina.”

  They’d used rubbers to prevent leaving their DNA.

  “Nothing else. No hairs or fingerprints found on or in the body. That’s it.”

  “So what does that leave?”

  James shrugs. “Look at the rest of the picture. There weren’t any hesitation wounds. They were operating at a high level of certainty in what they were doing when it came to cutting her open. One of them may have had formal medical training. I think it’s probable.”

  “Or they’ve just had a lot of practice,” Callie murmurs.

  “What else do we know?” I look around at each of them. Alan pulls out a legal pad and a pen at my words. This is a part of our routine. He’s ready to jot down any relevant thoughts and musings.

  “We know they’re both white, both males,” Callie says. “One is close to six feet tall, the other is approximately five ten. Both are in shape.”

  Alan speaks next. “They’re careful. They understand the basics of transference and take precautions to avoid it. No hair, no epithelials, and no semen.”

  “But they’re not as smart as they think they are,” I note. “We have the fingerprints on the bed. And we figured out that there are two of them.”

  “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Alan says in a wry voice. “If they really understood transference, they’d understand it always happens, somehow.”

  Alan is referring to “Locard’s Principle.” Locard is considered the father of modern forensics, and we all know the principle by heart: When two objects come into contact, there is always transfer of material from one to the other, and such material may be small or large, may be difficult to detect; nevertheless it occurs, and it is the responsibility of the investigating team to gather all such material however small they may be and prove the transference.

  Our killers were careful. The absence of semen is telling. It shows control. With the advent of crime books, television shows, and HIV, rapists using rubbers is on the rise. But it’s still unusual. Rape is about sexual power and violation. Rapists get high on the intensity of sensation this gives them. Condoms get in the way of both the violation and the sensation. Jack Jr. and friend used them, making Alan’s point for him.

  “We know they’re not perfect,” James sa
ys. “They have an immediate weakness—showing off and wanting to taunt us. That’s higher risk and creates the possibility of them screwing up at some point.”

  “Right. What else?”

  “At least one of them is technically proficient.” This is from Leo. “I mean, it’s not rocket science these days, editing video. But there is a learning curve, the way they did it. Not something your average computer user is going to know right off the bat.”

  “We think they’re based in LA, right?” Callie says.

  I shrug. “We’re going on that premise. But it’s something we suspect, not something we know. We do know their victim type. They told us—they’re planning to go after other women like Annie.” I turn to Leo. “What did they call her in the letter?”

  “A modern-day whore of the information superhighway.”

  “What about that? What kind of numbers are we talking about?”

  Leo grimaces at the question. “Thousands, if you take the U.S. as a whole. Maybe close to a thousand even if you narrow it to just California. But that’s not the only problem. Think of it this way: Every girl with a site is potentially an independent contractor. While some are sponsored under the umbrella of a single company, a lot of them are like your friend. They design, maintain, and operate their own Web sites. It’s a business of one, with a single employee. And there’s no chamber of commerce for this type of business. There are lists of these types of sites in various places, but there isn’t any one single consortium.”

  I think on this bit of bad news. Something occurs to me. “Fair enough, but what if we take it from this view: Instead of looking at everyone in that industry, let’s look for the places where the killers could have found Annie. You say there are lists of these types of sites, right?”

  He nods.

  “It’s unlikely that she’s on every one of those. We look for the ones she does appear on, then we narrow the field to just the other women on those particular lists.”

  Now he is shaking his head again, but not in agreement. “It’s not that simple. What if they found her by using a search engine? And if they did, what word or phrase did they use? Also, most site operators like her put up their own ‘feeder sites.’ Small, free sites with sample photos and a link to their primary site. Kind of a ‘sample the goods and if you like it, come into the store.’ They could also have found one of those sites.”

  “Not to mention the fact that they could have found her through you, Smoky.” Callie sounds reluctant as she says this. I give her a look of agreement. Followed by a sigh of discouragement.

  “So the Web end of it leads us nowhere?”

  “Not nowhere,” Leo says. “The one place to look is her subscriber list. The people who paid to see her ‘members only’ area.”

  My ears perk up at this. Alan is nodding. “Right, right,” he says. “That’s how they got all those perps in the kiddie-porn sting, yeah?”

  Leo smiles at him. “Yep. There are a lot of laws and oversight when it comes to credit-card processing. Fairly precise records are kept. Best of all, most processors have a built-in address check. Where the address given at sign-up has to match the address of the cardholder they have on record.”

  “Do we know how many subscribers she had?”

  “Not yet. It won’t be hard to find out. We’ll need to get a warrant, but most of those companies are easy to work with. I wouldn’t expect any trouble.”

  “I want you to work on that when we get back,” I tell him. “Alan can walk you through the warrant end of things. Get the list and start combing through it. I also want her computer scrutinized. Look for anything—anything—that might be a clue. Maybe she noticed something off, made a note to herself…”

  “Right. I’ll also get her e-mail. Depending on who her provider is, they should still have copies of anything recent that’s not already sitting on her computer.”

  “Good.”

  “There’s something else,” Jenny says. “They went to a lot of trouble to make us think there was only one of them.”

  “Maybe they were hoping to confuse us with it later, somehow,” I say. “I don’t know. I haven’t worked that one out yet.” I shake my head. “Bottom line is, we have something to run with. The prints.” I turn to Callie. “Where do we stand on that?”

  “I’m going to enter the prints into AFIS when we’re done here and get the guys back in LA to run it. It can scan through a million prints in a minute or two, so just a few hours.”

  This, more than anything, excites everyone. It could be that simple. The Automated Fingerprint Identification System is a formidable tool. If we’re lucky, we’ll find our guy, quick.

  “Let’s get onto that right away.”

  “What did you and James figure out about them, Smoky?” Callie asks.

  “Yeah, let’s hear it,” Alan rumbles. Both of them stare at me, waiting.

  I knew they’d ask; they always do. I rode the dark choo-choo train, I saw the monsters, at least one of them. Callie and Alan want to know: What did you see?

  “This is all just based on feelings and surmise,” I say.

  Alan waves his hand at me, a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You always give us that same, lame disclaimer. Just tell us.”

  I smile at him and lean back, looking up at the ceiling. I close my eyes and gather it all in. Snuggle up against it, catch the scent.

  “They’re a little bit of an amalgam. I don’t have them separated out yet. They are…smart. Very smart. Not just faking smart. I’m thinking at least one of them has a higher education.” I glance at James. “Possibly medical school.” He nods in agreement. “They’re deliberate. Planners. Precise. They spent hours studying up on forensics so they could make sure to leave nothing behind. This is a very, very important part of it for them. Jack the Ripper was one of the most famous serial killers of all time. Why? For one thing, he never got caught. They’re following in his footsteps, in this and other ways, mimicking him. He taunted the cops, so they’re taunting us. His victims were prostitutes, so they’re going after what is—to them—a modern-day equivalent. There will be other parallels.”

  “Narcissism is a problem for them,” James interjects.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  Charlie frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “Think of it this way: When you drive a car, do you have to think about it?” I ask.

  “No. I just drive.”

  “Right. But for Jack Jr. and friend, driving isn’t enough. They need to admire how good their driving is. How perfect and artful it is. That type of narcissism, where they admire what they do as they’re doing it…” I shrug. “If you take the time to watch yourself drive, you don’t have both eyes on the road.”

  “Hence the fingerprints on the bed,” James says. “That’s not a small fuckup. We’re not talking hair or fibers. We’re talking about five prints. Too busy watching themselves be clever.”

  “Gotcha,” Charlie replies.

  “You know, when I said they were an amalgam, that’s not entirely true.” I purse my lips, considering. “There is a Jack Jr. I think that’s a single identity. It’s just too important to share.” I look at James. “You agree?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what does that make the other guy?” Alan asks.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a student?” I shake my head. “I can’t see it clearly. Not yet. I do think that Jack Jr., whichever one he is, is dominant.”

  “That’s consistent with past ‘double teams,’” Callie says.

  “Yep. So, they are smart, precise, and narcissistic. But one of the things that makes them so dangerous is their willingness to commit. They don’t have a problem with decisive action. That’s bad for us, because it means they don’t make things too complicated. They keep it clean and simple. Knock on the door, bust in, close the door, take control. A, B, C, D. That isn’t a natural ability as a general rule. It’s possible one or both of them has a background in the military or law enforcement. Something that
would train them in the unhesitating subduing of another human being.”

  “The taste for rape and murder is real,” James says.

  “Isn’t that a given?” Jenny asks.

  I shake my head. “No. Sometimes someone tries to hide a regular murder in the guise of a serial killing. But what they did to Annie, how they did it…that was real. They’re genuine.”

  “They have a dual victimology,” James says.

  Callie frowns. Sighs. “You mean they target us as well as the women they go after.”

  James nods. “That’s right. The victim selection, in this instance, was specific and reasoned. Annie King fit two profiles for them. She ran an adult Web site, and she was the friend of someone on this team. They went to a lot of effort to get your attention, Smoky.”

  “Well, they got it.” I sit back for a moment, running through it all in my head. “I guess that covers everything. Let’s not forget the most important thing right now that we know about these guys.”

  “What’s that?” Leo asks.

  “That they’re going to do it again. And keep doing it until we catch them.”

  18

  I HAD ASKED Jenny to give me a ride to the hospital so that I could check in on Bonnie while everyone else worked on their appointed tasks.

  When we arrive at the door to her room, the cop guarding it holds up a legal-size manila envelope. “This came for you, Agent Barrett.”

  Right away, I know something is wrong. There’s no reason for anyone to be dropping anything off for me here. I snatch it out of his hands and look at it. Block letters on the front in black ink give it a simple address: ATTN.: SPECIAL AGENT BARRETT.

  Jenny glares at him. “Jesus Christ, Jim! Use your head!” She’s gotten it. Jim is a little slower on the uptake. I know when it hits him because his face turns ashen.

  “Oh…shit.”

  I will give him this: His first action is to spin up and out of his chair and open the door to Bonnie’s room, hand on his weapon. I’m right behind him, and I feel a relief that almost overwhelms me when I see her there asleep and safe. I motion for the cop to come back out. Once we’re all outside, he puts it into words.