by P. D. Martin
We’re silent again.
Darren runs with it. “So we’ve got three killers working together? Maybe Janice’s killer makes four?” He looks at me for my opinion.
“The OD could be someone’s standard MO. It might not be an isolated case.” I pause. “They could be working together, comparing their techniques. Maybe it’s some kind of competition. See who can kill the most people.”
“That’s sick,” Stone says.
I bite my lip. “It’s always sick. This is just…” But I’m unable to think of a truly appropriate word to describe such depravity.
BlackWidow: So, Never, did you have fun?
NeverCaught: Of course. Do you want to see the last photos of her?
BlackWidow: The XXX-rated ones from last night were enough for me.
NeverCaught: So you don’t swing both ways, BW?
BlackWidow: No, I drive stick.
DialM: I wouldn’t say no to a photographic update.
NeverCaught: I’ll upload them.
DialM: Was it more exciting than a regular kill?
NeverCaught: Yes. Brigitte had no idea, either.
AmericanPsycho: Neither did Cindy. You should have seen her face when I told her. She sobered up real quick. But by then it was too late…she’d already willingly slipped into the handcuffs.
DialM: You’re all too quick and nasty for my taste.
AmericanPsycho: I’ve got the video stuff organized for your special chamber.
DialM: Thanks, Psycho.
NeverCaught: What special chamber?
AmericanPsycho: M’s still going to strangle his victim, but I’m going to let him have longer with his girl. He’s not going to the house.
BlackWidow: That’s not fair.
AmericanPsycho: Come on, BW, you prefer one-night stands, anyway.
BlackWidow: I guess. But Malcolm was fine. Fine enough for a few nights.
NeverCaught: Brigitte was fine. And she’s headlining on all the local news shows.
AmericanPsycho: Well done on restraining yourself, too, Never.
NeverCaught: Thanks. Nice to know it’s appreciated because it was ***ing hard.
DialM: I would like to be next. But I want Ling. I have standards. People used to have standards, you know. The youth of America are lazy and ungrateful. And I’m sure our IQ as a nation is dropping. And whatever happened to manners? Good, old-fashioned manners?
BlackWidow: He’s right. I see it when I’m out hunting. Chivalry is dead.
DialM: Could you give it up, BW? Not kill?
BlackWidow: No. Definitely not. You?
DialM: No. Although I do wonder how I’ll manage when I’m seventy.
AmericanPsycho: You’ll have to get yourself a sidekick.
DialM: Not a bad idea.
NeverCaught: I’ve got years of killing left in me before I have to worry about retirement!
AmericanPsycho: I’ll never stop. Never. How could you stop such a beautiful calling?
22
The next day we focus on the VICAP files of the stabbing victims wrapped in plastic, to which we’ve added all the crime-scene photos that we’d requested from the local forces. I’m glad one of my visions actually produced something useful, a lead we can follow, but even just thinking about the vision of the brunette’s murder makes me nauseous. It also makes me never want to experience another vision again.
We start with the crime that originally had photos attached to its VICAP file. In this case the body, or Vic A as we start referring to her, was found in the Black Hills National Forest in South Dakota.
Darren, the closest to the autopsy report, leads us through it. “So, cause of death is confirmed as a stab wound three inches long. It was deep and severed the carotid artery.” We go to the photos of Vic A on her back. The knife wound the forensic pathologist was talking about is obvious. It starts at her left collar bone and spreads three inches across her throat.
“That wound was meant to kill,” I say.
“She would have bled out anyway.” Stone points to some of the other cuts on her body.
“Oh, yeah. But these are his idea of fun.” I point to all the cuts on her abdomen and breasts. “And this one is to finish the job.” I point to the throat wound. “The business end of the kill.” The knife patterns remind me of the DC Slasher.
Darren flicks through the report. “No fibers, no hair, no bloody prints on the body. Tox screen was normal and nothing from the vaginal and anal swabs except a small amount of condom lubricant.”
“Nothing else in the autopsy report?” Stone asks hopefully.
Darren flicks through it. “Not unless you want to know what her heart weighed.”
“I’ll pass.” I reach across Darren to the first set of pictures and pick up one with her covered by the plastic. “Was he hiding her?” I’m asking myself more than Stone and Darren.
Stone looks at the picture. “The snow was about to come in, and apparently that track doesn’t get used in the winter months at all.”
“But could you expect nobody to go there?” This is the real question as I see it. Did the killer expect his handiwork to go unnoticed until spring?
“Probably not, no,” Darren says.
“It’s interesting.” I keep studying the picture. “Dumping her there was like pretending he was trying to conceal her. And it’s the same with the plastic. He covered her up, but with clear plastic. I think he wanted to be able to see her, right up to the last moment.”
“Or maybe he was planning a visit…if she wasn’t found,” Stone says. “Clear plastic would mean he could see her without having to disturb the scene.”
Stone’s got a good point. Many killers like to relive their kills by visiting the victim’s grave or body. “True,” I say. “Or maybe he’s the one who discovered her.” It’s an obvious suggestion, but it’s surprising how often it happens. Again, it’s all part of the killer’s need to relive the crime, to be involved in its discovery as well as its execution.
Darren shuffles some papers in the file. “She was found by two hikers, Simon Creaser and Jim Torr.” He flicks through the file’s contents again and fishes out their official statements and related paperwork. “Simon’s thirty-four and Jim’s thirty-eight. They work together in a plumbing business in Rapid City.” He pauses while he reads the statements before giving us a rundown. “Average stuff. They took a shortcut through the grass back to the track and saw plastic flapping in the wind. They went to investigate and found her. They were eliminated as suspects though, based on time of death.”
We move to the other files, the other six murders, hoping to find something. All the women were raped multiple times, stabbed to death and then posed in the plastic and dumped around wooded areas in North and South Dakota. No DNA, no trace evidence—the killer’s good at what he does.
We’re silent for a moment, staring at the files spread over the table.
Stone breaks the silence. “We still haven’t decided if we’ve got three killers or four. Was Janice murdered by one of the killers of Cindy, Malcolm or body number three, or are we dealing with a fourth killer?”
I sigh and shrug my shoulders. “Either’s possible.” I walk toward the whiteboard and flip it over, back to our jottings on Malcolm. The whiteboard is one of the electronic ones that allows you to print what you’ve written, so I take a printout of our Malcolm jottings for later review before wiping the board clean. I divide the board into four columns: Killer 1, Killer 2, Killer 3 and Janice. I start with Killer 1. “So killer one is our lady killer. Our femme fatale.” Giving a line for each point, I write: Female; Early to mid 30s; Uses sex to lure victims; Strangulation during sex; Handcuffs;21 victims from 1992 to present. Then I write Victim profile and underline it, before listing attributes of her victims—Early twenties; All races; Athletic build; Good looking; Bar patrons; and Variety of socioeconomic groups.
I move over to column two. “So killer two is Cindy’s killer. We don’t know much about him at all. If there was
a clue to his normal MO or signature, we missed it.” I jot down Male but leave the rest of the column blank for the moment.
We move onto killer three, the brunette’s killer. “So we’re talking male again, probably in his twenties given the first murder was only five years ago.”
“Restraints for his previous vics were ropes, so that’s another change in his MO,” Darren says.
I nod and write it up. It’s not surprising that all our killers restrained their victims. It’s one of the traits of an organized serial killer, as are transporting the victim, high IQ and stalking. In fact, no restraints would probably lead you to raise an eyebrow. “And cause of death in this case was strangulation, but his normal MO is the knife.” I write Strangulation/ Stabbing on the board.
“Seven victims in VICAP, from 2002.” Darren pauses and I write it up.
“Victim profile is women in their twenties, mostly in the lower socioeconomic groups,” Darren continues. “No physical similarities. Although…” he flips through the files and newly acquired photos, “they’re all quite big-breasted.”
I smile. “Thank God for you, Darren. I’m sure neither Stone nor I would have noticed that detail.”
Finally we come to the Janice column, but it is even emptier than column number two. A VICAP search on staged OD as a murder technique came up with no hits—not surprising. Even if there were similar cases they’d be classed as suspicious not murder, and therefore probably wouldn’t have been logged in VICAP.
“Well we know Janice and Cindy are linked. Janice knew something she shouldn’t have,” Darren says.
“And we know for sure that Cindy’s, Malcolm’s and this third woman’s murders are related,” Stone says. “The traces of soil from the Mojave and the hearts on their bodies tell us that.”
I draw arrows between Janice and Cindy’s killer, and arrows between the killers one, two and three. “So, how do the killers know each other? And how are they communicating?”
Darren drums his fingers on the table, Stone sits perfectly still with her arms crossed and I stare out the window—we’re all thinking in our own way.
Stone uncrosses her arms. “Well it’s not letters or phones, so we must be talking e-mail.”
Darren stops drumming. “Or instant messaging.”
“True…mmm…” I pause. “That means I might be able to get the Cyber Crime Division of the Bureau involved. I’ll call Rivers and see if I can’t convince him to assign a tech person to us. It may be easier than getting a field resource.”
“No complaints from me.”
Rivers picks up after one ring, and after a brief exchange he suggests I contact Agent Daniel Gerard, Senior Computer Forensics Analyst for the FBI’s Cyber Crime Division.
Gerard answers the phone after the fourth ring. “Agent Daniel Gerard.” His voice sounds distant, like he’s distracted.
“Hi Agent Gerard, it’s Sophie Anderson from the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
“Yes?”
“Special Agent Andy Rivers, one of the heads of the BAU, said I should give you a call about a case. Can you speak at the moment?”
“Um, just hold on a sec.”
I hear a keyboard tapping furiously and then he comes back to the phone. “Sorry, just had to finish that. Shoot.”
“We’re working on a case that looks like a group of serial killers.”
“Nasty.”
“Yes. And we think they might be communicating via e-mail or instant messaging.”
“Interesting.”
“So, is there any way we can track down suspect e-mails?”
“You heard of Echelon?”
“Sure.” After much denial in the 80s and 90s, the existence of a network of satellites specifically tasked to intercept suspect key words in telephone conversations, e-mails, and the like has now been widely accepted. It’s a contentious issue. Is it invading our privacy or protecting us? Everyone’s got a different opinion. My own thoughts swing on the matter. Knowing what people are capable of, I think it’s great to have a tool that acts as an early-warning system. Then again, I also know that discretion isn’t always a government’s best feature. If the wrong person was behind the wheel…
“Well, that’s set up to listen for key words, mostly focused on terrorism, but it also includes other suspect words, some of which may be in your killers’ e-mails.”
“Great.” I lean forward, excited by the prospect of having a way to track down our killers.
“Problem is there are a lot of e-mails to sift through.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me a bit more about the case so we can set up dedicated search.”
I take Gerard through the basics of the case, including the love heart on the victims’ chests and the evidence pointing to the Mojave.
“Okay, I’ll get someone on this and let you know. No promises, but we’ll see what we can do.”
“Thanks, Gerard.” I hang up, not sure whether to feel hopeful or disappointed.
AmericanPsycho: Next time we need to take out Danny or Jonathan. They seem to have gotten past their initial hatred and are talking. Too much.
DialM: I concur with AmericanPsycho on this one but I think Danny should be next. I don’t like his military background. Then again, I have been waiting a long time, and I think I deserve to get my girl. Ling.
AmericanPsycho: You have been very patient, M. But we need to fit Danny into the schedule, and Wednesday is only a few days away.
NeverCaught: Do two next time. What the ***?
DialM: NeverCaught, I think that’s a stupendous idea. AmericanPsycho, please consider this possibility.
BlackWidow: Go on, Psycho. Then we’ll kill two birds with one stone…so to speak.
AmericanPsycho: Mmm.
DialM: It would be proper for me to go next, yet I see your point regarding Danny. This will solve both issues.
AmericanPsycho: Okay. This is a democracy…sort of. I’ll do Danny—nothing fancy—and the other person will go the normal way. I’m happy to grant M’s request and make it Ling. Yes?
BlackWidow: Fine by me.
NeverCaught: Me too, I guess.
AmericanPsycho: Ling and Danny it is. But we’ll all have a chance at Ling.
23
I put my head in my hands. Time is moving faster than we can, faster than the evidence. We haven’t made any progress in the past few days and the next murder is closing in on us. If the killers keep on schedule, we’ve only got a couple of days to go and we’re still no closer to finding one of the killers, let alone all three—or four—of them. Agent Gerard drew a blank on the e-mail searches, which means they’re either not communicating via e-mail or they’re running a heavy-duty encryption program. With our normal investigative techniques drawing a blank, I know I should be trying to embrace my gift rather than reject it. And while there have been a couple of times when I’ve experienced the early-warning indicators of an oncoming vision, each time I’ve shut myself down hard, frightened of what I might see.
Darren’s cell rings. “Carter, Homicide… Excellent.” He covers the mouthpiece and looks up at me. “The lab results are back from our Jane Doe,” he whispers. He uncovers the phone and grabs a pen from his top pocket.
“Well?” I ask when he hangs up.
He goes over his notes. Tox screen was negative, no semen and no DNA. The plastic has been identified as manufactured by Lee Light Industrial Products Co. Ltd. of Hong Kong.
“And no ID yet?”
He shakes his head. “The dental X-rays have been e-mailed for matching.”
“I’m going to draft a profile of her killer. See if that doesn’t help us.” To date, we’ve been following leads on the case and discussing the killer’s MO and basic personality, but that doesn’t replace a full psychological profile. Now that we’ve received the complete files from the Dakota forces, including the essential photos, I’m in a position to draft the profile.
“Take the project room again if you like.”
&
nbsp; “Okay. What about you?”
“I’m going to run the case files one more time. But there’s not much more to investigate. Not until we get our next murder.”
“The thought of another murder sickens me.”
“I know.”
We’re silent for a moment—there’s nothing else to say on the subject—so I pick up my laptop. “See you in a few hours.”
In the project room, I spread the seven files across the desk but before I’ve had a chance to open them up Darren comes in. His face is blank.
“What’s up?” I say.
He opens his mouth then shuts it, and then fidgets, smoothing his hands along his jeans.
“What’s up?” I repeat.
He takes a breath and speaks slowly, his voice controlled. “It’s been a few days now, Sophie.”
I give him a puzzled look.
“Since your last vision.”
“Oh.” I lean over the table and open up the files, revealing the top photo for each murder, each victim.
Darren takes my right hand. “Sophie.”
I look him in the eyes. “Yes, it’s been a few days.”
“And you haven’t had another vision? Or a dream?” There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice.
I gently pull my arm away from him. “No, I haven’t.”
He shakes his head. “Are you sure? You didn’t tell me about the one of the girl wrapped in plastic straightaway.” Now his voice goes from mild disbelief to accusatory. “What else are you hiding?”
I lean both hands on the desk and stare at him. “Nothing.”
“So they’ve just suddenly stopped?” His voice is controlled again, too controlled.
