Death Match

TWENTY

When Mauchly walked into the office around four, Lash was standing before his whiteboard. The man moved so silently Lash didn’t notice him until he was by his side.

“Christ!” Lash jumped, dropping his marker.

“Sorry. Should have knocked.” Mauchly glanced at the bulletin board. “Race, age, type, personality, employment, geographics, victims. What’s this?”

“I’m trying to type the killer. Assemble a profile.”

Mauchly turned his placid gaze on Lash. “We still don’t know there’s a killer.”

“I’ve gone over all your records. There’s nothing psychologically wrong with the Thorpes or the Wilners, zero clinical evidence of suicide. It would be a waste of time to explore that avenue further. And you heard what Lelyveld said in the boardroom: we don’t have time.”

“But there’s no signs of murder, either. The Thorpes’ security camera, for one thing. It didn’t show anybody entering or leaving the house.”

“It’s a lot easier to cover up a murder than to cover up a suicide. Security cameras can be interfered with. Alarms can be bypassed.”

Mauchly thought about this. Then he looked back at the writing on the board. “How do you know the killer is in his late twenties or early thirties?”

“I don’t. That’s the baseline for serial killers. We have to start with the pattern, and refine from there.”

“And how about this: that he’s either well employed or has access to money?”

“He killed people on opposite coasts within a week of each other. That’s not the modus operandi of a drifter or a hitchhiker: their killing patterns chart erratically across short distances.”

“I see. And this?” Mauchly pointed to the scrawled words, TYPE: UNKNOWN.

“That’s the troubling part. Usually, we type serial killers as organized or disorganized. Organized killers control their crime scenes and their victims. They’re smart, socially acceptable, sexually competent. They target strangers, hide their corpses. On the other hand, disorganized killers know their victims, act suddenly and spontaneously, feel little or no stress during the crime, have few work skills, leave the victim at the scene of the crime.”

“And?”

“Well, if someone murdered the Thorpes and the Wilners, he exhibits traits of both the organized and disorganized killer. There’s no coincidence here: he’d have to know the victims. Yet he left them at the scene, like a disorganized killer. But again, the scene isn’t in the least bit sloppy. Such inconsistencies are extremely rare.”

“How rare?”

“I never came across a serial killer like it.”

Except once, came the voice in his head. He quickly pushed the voice far away.

“If we can get a fix on this guy,” Lash went on, “we can compare it against criminal records. Look for a match. Meanwhile, have you thought about keeping a sharp eye on the other four supercouples?”

“We can’t do a close surveillance for obvious reasons. And we can’t provide adequate protection until we know exactly what’s going on. But yes, we’re already getting teams in place.”

“Where are the rest located?”

“All across the country. The closest couple, the Connellys, live north of Boston. I’ll have Tara get you brief reports on all of them.”

Lash nodded slowly. “You really think she’s the right person for me to work with?”

“Why do you ask?”

“She doesn’t seem to like me. Or else she’s dealing with some issues that are distracting her.”

“Tara’s going through a hard time. But she’s the best we have. Not only is she chief security tech — which gives her access to every system — but she’s unique in having worked both the security and computer engineering sides of the company.”

“If she gets with the program.”

Mauchly’s cell phone went off, and he quickly raised it. “Mauchly.” A pause. “Yes, of course, sir. Right away.”

He replaced the cell phone. “That was Silver. He wants to see us, and right now.”