by Oliver Stark
Levene pulled her Powerbook across the glass table and clicked a couple of times. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I want to help you get back out there and catch this monster. You know my research. We were trying to detect early neurological signs in these killers, so I spent time working with these guys.’
‘What happened?’
‘If I’m honest, I couldn’t handle seeing them close up. Hey, Tom, just so you know - I’ve got baggage that would put yours to shame. I’m just better at the makeover than you are. All I’m saying is that I got to know a thing or two about profiling killers. That’s why I took this job, to find out more about them from you guys.’
‘A profile can’t work in all cases. This guy defies profiling.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. The key is, Tom, to isolate the important points from the noise.’
‘How?’
‘Look, your killer is working on all kinds of different levels. He’s taking psychological reminders, he’s hiding himself from the victims, he’s sexualizing and degrading them, he’s also romancing them and then giving them some afterlife. It’s a lot of detail.’
‘Don’t we know it.’
‘Look, we just got to work facts and deductions from facts. Deductions, you know - necessary factual conclusions, not guesses.’
‘I get you. If you can work up a profile, we can see if we can use it. But I need something else.’
‘What?’
‘I got a strong feeling that Mary-Jane wasn’t premeditated.’ He paused and looked across to her. ‘I think he’s been getting closer to these women and he broke into Mary-Jane’s apartment to be near to her stuff, maybe even take something. But she came back unexpectedly, and then I think things went bad.’
‘In many cases I’ve studied, the killer isn’t sure what he’s going to do until he interacts with the victim. It depends on the victim’s reaction. Sometimes the killer sees no way out except by silencing them, especially if they struggle. It can trigger a very aggressive reaction. It’s self-protection.’
‘But he got a taste. He liked it.’
‘Yeah, this guy really liked it.’
‘The thing I’m thinking, Denise, is this. If I’m right, then we’ve got a piece of useful information about him. You know, something that we might use to lure him in, maybe even get him to speak to us. You think that’s possible?’
‘You want to interact with him?’
‘There’s a greater chance of finding him if we can get him to talk to us. I want to know if he’s responding to what we say. Can you help with this?’
‘Yeah, but I’ve got to understand him a little better.’
‘Okay, what do you need?’
She smiled thinly. ‘You give me the case files and as a quid pro quo I will try my damnedest to resolve your aggression against women. Not, of course, your aggression against me, which is textbook defensiveness for your psychological weakness. By the look on your face, you’d say that isn’t what’s wrong with you, but I’m here to tell you that’s what you’ve done with all that sadness. Turned it to something hard and unpleasant.’
Tom stared at her. It felt like a relief to hear someone identify things he didn’t dare identify for himself. ‘Okay. We have a deal. I’ll get you the files, but based on what you’ve heard so far, how do you read him?’
‘Well, first off, your killer is focusing on the key romantic symbols from his women. Eyes, hair, heart, breasts - they all have romantic symbolism. He’s afraid of the power that women - or a particular woman - have over him. What they make him feel. He’s afraid of the effect they have on him. If he’s a stalker, then he needs to control not only the women, but the way they excite him. He can go to them or their artefacts or pictures whenever he wants. He wants to neutralize the real threat, though, because he’s been hurt and humiliated by them. You’re looking for someone with a problem relating to strong women. If he’s in a long-term relationship it’ll be with someone weak. He’s smart, too. He’s someone who would be able to hide all of this from the person he lives with.’
‘Will he kill again?’
‘Yes. He’s compulsive. It might be his weakness. Now he’s been triggered, he might just keep on going until you stop him.’
‘What else?’
‘Here’re the thoughts I’ve been having. Forget trying to work out all the noise. Let’s focus on one or two things. Here goes. He attacks women he has stalked, right?’
‘I think so, yes; there’s evidence he’d been stalking. Jessica Pascal was spotted with a tall, handsome guy and Grace Frazer reported a stalker.’
‘He photographs them and takes their clothes. He wants to know them intimately and they’re all quite refined and educated girls. Forget all the symbols. He likes these girls. In his head, he might believe they like him. He might even believe he loves them. My first profile note would be this - your killer is building a relationship with these girls and he also feels bad about what he’s done. The religious posing suggested, to me, a kind of naive attempt at forgiveness. He can’t help what he wants to do, but he tries to absolve himself from it with romance and religion.’
‘So how does that help?’
‘Well, you lost Lisa, didn’t you - what did you do, after she’d gone? Move on and forget?’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘Visited places that reminded me of her.’
‘One thing I can be sure of, he will return to the scenes. He’ll want to continue the buzz it all gives him. That’s why he takes the trophies, to relive the kill.’
‘Yeah. But what can we do? Surveillance? We do that at the crime scenes anyway. It’s standard.’
‘No, not surveillance. You asked me how you could interact, based on your information about Mary-Jane. You need a set-up. ’
‘That’s what I was thinking. Tell him we know Mary-Jane was a mistake, that he can get out of this . . . that kind of thing.’
‘Maybe, but if you want him to talk to you, give him something to talk about. You need to press his buttons.’
‘Go on.’
‘He’s a control freak. How do I know? Because he doesn’t mind hurting these women when they’re alive. A disorganized type would kill them first because he’d be too afraid. This guy can communicate okay. Perhaps he’s even charming. But the point is, he likes to control everything - including, I’m guessing, his reputation. Part of this is about making society notice him.’
‘I don’t think I follow you,’ said Harper.
‘What we might do is release a statement live on air or through a newspaper and say something that undermines him and makes him look weak or even uncontrolled. Piss him off.’
Harper’s mind started to work on the idea. ‘Maybe we could get Erin Nash to run the story, if we promise to give her Williamson for an exclusive. What do you recommend, Doctor?’
‘Go with the paper, but it needs TV too. He needs to see someone bad-mouthing him. He’ll need it to be personal. Let’s set up a press conference and follow it up with an article from Nash. That covers all bases. Can you get it cleared?’
‘I can try. I could do the press conference myself. I’d love to bad-mouth this bastard.’
‘A couple of other things, then. First, tell him you understand the pseudo-intellectual messages he left at the corpses, the kind of messages an uneducated halfwit would leave to make himself look like someone he’s not. You got those poems, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, random poetry.’
‘You can say this is a message to the poetry-loving American Devil. Say you know where to expect the next kill and when. Say that he’s making errors and leaving a trail and that it’s only a matter of time. Tell him that the NYPD found something at the last crime scene that is central to the investigation and likely to lead to an arrest. Say that he can’t control his emotions and that’s the problem, that’s why he’s making elementary mistakes. And then you’ve got to make that all seem real to him.’
‘How?’
‘By relea
sing a piece of information about him that will surprise him.’
Harper nodded. Who knew if it would work, but it was worth a go. ‘What do we reveal?’
‘You can reveal the Mary-Jane information. Say that you know what happened. Or else tell him you know that he drives a blue car. A premium brand. Probably a classic model.’
‘And how the hell do you know that?’
Denise raised an eyebrow. ‘Think like him. He’s a low-status guy who wants to look like he’s made it big. He can’t afford a new high-status model because he works in a low income or commission job, but he doesn’t want to be seen to have an old model - what do you do? You go for a classic premium brand: low cost but high status.’
‘Why blue?’
‘That’s the serial killer’s colour of choice. You didn’t know that?’
‘I didn’t know that.’ They both smiled. ‘I like it,’ said Harper. ‘Don’t know if it’ll work but it beats sitting around and waiting. I’ll sell it hard to Lafayette.’
‘Yeah. If you front this up, Harper, remember, he’ll take it personally. And he’s going to be hard pressed to avoid speaking to you. He’ll need to know what you know. You gonna do this?’
It was the first time since the start of the case that someone had spoken any sense about this killer. Tom smiled. ‘Consider it done,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Blue Team Major Investigation Room
November 20, 2.23 p.m.
Harper took the script from the printer and held it up. He felt a sense of pride. He and Denise Levene had sent the draft backwards and forwards all morning, trying to get every word right on the button. And now it was ready. What’s more, it was going to be used, live on air. Harper and Levene’s long shot was nearly set up and ready to go.
It was going to be a difficult day. Harper had put his reputation on the line by insisting the department try this technique to lure the killer into speaking to them. It had taken every second of his time to make sure it happened. Everyone needed convincing.
The previous day, Harper had worked until midnight putting together the operation they were now calling ‘Janus’. The most difficult person to convince had been Williamson. He didn’t believe it was right to put out a false report. It wasn’t in the spirit of the homicide squad. It smacked of the kind of thing the Feds would do and boast about endlessly.
In the end, Lafayette overruled Williamson and sanctioned it at Homicide. He knew that even if it failed, it gave the executives down at headquarters a sense that something was happening. He gave Harper the green light and that gave Harper only a few hours to put together the operation, get it approved and set up a press conference.
The idea of putting the same thing out to the press via Erin Nash died at the first phone call. The Daily Echo wasn’t going to lie to its readers. End of story.
Everyone in the homicide bureau knew that they had to be quick. Since the murder of Grace Frazer, the killer had struck every second day; if he was consistent, he’d be planning to hit again.
Harper took the script across to Nate Williamson. ‘Do you want to see it, Nate?’
‘No.’
‘If it doesn’t work, we’ve lost nothing,’ said Harper.
‘I’m okay with it, Tom,’ said Williamson. ‘I’m just not the innovative type, but you’re right to try. I’ve been going over the autopsy protocols again, seeing if we’ve missed anything. Looking at what this guy did to these kids. He’s evil. You understood that straight away, didn’t you? You saw it.’
Tom reached out and put his arm on Williamson’s shoulder. The man was fifty-four. His own daughter must be in her mid-twenties. ‘We’ll screw this bastard into the ground, Nate.’
‘Yeah, well I hope I’m there to see it. I want to put my heel in.’
‘Listen, Nate, I think I ought to do the press conference.’
‘Fuck that, Tom.’
‘This is going to rile him. He might react. It’s dangerous. It was my idea, I’m happy to front it.’
‘I’m lead, Tom, I lead. No question. If he wants to come and get me, I’ll be ready for him.’
Harper worked until the press release was ready to go, then he sat down alone in the bunkhouse and tried to get a few minutes of sleep before the evening sitting by the phone lines.
In the cold, drab room, Harper felt a sudden loneliness. For three months, there hadn’t been anyone to open up to. Lisa had been the only person he’d confided in, and now he didn’t know where to turn. He pulled out his phone and scrolled down to her name. He looked at it for a moment, then pressed call. She picked up.
‘Lisa. It’s Tom, you got a moment?’
‘I’m on my way out, Tom.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Not your business, remember.’
‘I just . . .’
‘What, Tom? How is this going to help?’
Welcome to my life, he thought. He loved Lisa, sure. And he knew he’d messed the whole thing up. It had gone wrong so slowly, almost invisibly, and then suddenly they didn’t know each other.
‘I love you,’ Harper said. There was a pause. ‘Don’t be angry.’
Lisa’s voice came back all calm and slow: ‘Tom, I know you think you do, but you don’t. You just don’t like to lose, Tom, and that’s ego - not love.’
It didn’t matter what she was saying. For a moment, it was just good to hear the way she spoke in nice neat sentences.
‘I’ll prove it to you.’
‘No. Listen. I don’t want you to prove it to me. It’s not the point. Listen to me. It’s hard. I know it is, and we’ve been doing this the hard way. You know. Love you, love this - just wrong time, wrong place . . . whatever.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Tom, I don’t love you. This isn’t hard for me. This is good for me. I’m happy. I don’t have to go through it with you any more. I’m not in love with you. I don’t think about you. I’m not waiting. I’m not looking to move backwards. And another thing . . . I don’t think you can love ...’
There was a silence. Lisa knew she had hit out but she knew the big hit was to come. That was all just padding. He knew it too. He sensed what was coming. He’d known for some time now. But he wasn’t going to let it happen.
‘Right,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll get off. Sorry I called. I gotta—’
She interrupted. A second later and he’d have ended the call.
‘I’m seeing someone, Tom. I’m seeing a guy I met. He’s a nice guy.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Lisa. You’re not seeing anyone.’
‘It’s goodbye, Tom.’
She hung up. He threw his phone hard across the room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Fullerton Lounge
November 20, 6.23 P.M.
The man in the black suit and white shirt was drinking a martini in the Fullerton Lounge. He was dog-tired. Like someone had drugged him or something. He needed a pick-me-up. Killing wasn’t as easy as some people contended. It had its costs as well as its benefits.
The Fullerton Lounge on Lexington was an over-expensive and self-important bar that aimed to extract as many dollars as possible from people too self-consciously rich to dare to ask the price of things.
The man in the black suit liked it because it was quiet and dark. He had three newspapers from the last few days spread out in front of him. He picked up the Daily Echo and started to read the account of Jessica’s murder.
It was front-page news in all of the papers. It was page one to five in the Post. The headline in the Daily Echo read: ‘Devil Kills Fourth Angel’. He liked that. He opened the other papers. They’d all caught on now. They understood. This was serious. He was the main attraction. The killer smiled. It was in the detail that the horror lay. None of them had the level of detail that the Daily Echo reporter had got. He read Erin Nash’s exclusive with particular glee. She even had the nice touch of his with the cherry blossom. The public would be terrified and secretly excited by it a
ll.
It was good to be the only man in the world worthy of the media attention. At 6.25 p.m., he asked the bartender to put on the news. He watched as they trawled through the political nonsense and finally, towards the end, they got round to the latest on his story.
A cop from the old school was speaking at a press conference about Jessica’s murder, telling the city that it was all under control. He was lying. They had nothing under control. They just didn’t know it yet. The cop said little more than had already been in the majority of the papers: a student had been murdered by her date. He said that it was a vicious attack and that the police were doing everything they could.
The killer sneered. He didn’t like the cop’s attitude. It was disrespectful. He’d murdered an entirely innocent, moral young woman in an apartment block full of residents and they didn’t have a single lead. Give the American Devil his due. He looked at the cop’s name: Detective Williamson. He made a mental note. He had a head full of mental notes. Then the cop’s face came right up close and personal. He wanted to make a statement to the public. The killer watched and listened.
Williamson cleared his throat. The statement he was about to read out was designed to prick the killer’s pride. ‘We are seeking help in finding this killer. The following information will help us to identify major suspects. We are looking for a man too weak to control his own temper, a man who routinely sees himself as inadequate. He always preys on weakness and is a confused and random opportunist. We are looking for a frightened individual who has difficulty holding down relationships or speaking to women. He only picks on defenceless victims because he is weak himself, weak and afraid. Further to that, he attacks these bright young women from behind with lethal force so that they are absolutely no threat to him. These are all symptoms of a deranged and fearful psyche. He will be unable to have normal sexual relations and will rely on fantasy to fuel his own self-hatred. He is not careful. He leaves a great deal of evidence, both physical and behavioural, at the scene. However, he does work and drive. At the last crime scene the killer left behind a very telling clue to his identity. We also know he drives a blue car. A premium brand classic car. We have a number of sightings of his car and his face. We need the public to help identify this killer. But we’d prefer to speak to the American Devil himself. This is a direct appeal. We know you did not intend to kill these girls. We know what happened at the first murder scene and that it was a mistake. You need help. We need you to get in touch with the NYPD on the number below to discuss the case. If you don’t, we are close to homing in on you, and you will be brought to justice by force. Please call the number below if you want to talk to us.’
