Gallery of the Dead

Eighteen

The National Center for Analysis of Violent Crimes (NCAVC) was a specialist FBI department conceived in 1981 and finally officially established in June 1984. Its main mission was to provide assistance in the investigation of unusual or repetitive violent crimes to law-enforcement agencies, not only inside US territory, but also across the globe. Though its headquarters was located at the famous FBI training academy near the town of Quantico in Virginia, the head of the NCAVC department, Adrian Kennedy, coordinated most of its investigations from his large and comfortable office in Washington DC. Kennedy was in the middle of a call to the US Attorney General when, without knocking, Special Agent Larry Williams, one of the NCAVC’s most decorated agents, pushed open Kennedy’s office door and stepped inside. Following him, with a frustrated look on her face, was Clare Pascal, Kennedy’s PA/secretary.

From behind black-framed glasses, the NCAVC director’s concerned eyes moved to both people at his door.

‘The Surgeon has resurfaced,’ Williams said in a tone of voice as urgent as the look he carried with him.

Kennedy held Williams’ stare just long enough for his brain to process the severity of his words. He felt a muscle flex in his jaw.

‘Sorry, Loretta,’ Kennedy said into the phone. ‘Let me call you back in an hour or so. Something just came up.’ He disconnected from the call and his attention returned to Special Agent Larry Williams.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Director,’ his secretary said, finally positioning herself in front of Agent Williams’ athletic frame. ‘I told him you were on an important call, but he didn’t care to listen and I failed to stop him in time.’

‘It’s OK, Clare,’ Kennedy said with a hand wave. ‘I’ll take it from here. Thank you.’

Clare, still disappointed with her performance, exited Kennedy’s office in silence, closing the door behind her.

Kennedy took off his glasses and placed them on his antique mahogany pedestal desk. Despite how spacious and luxurious his office was, Adrian Kennedy was no career bureaucrat.

Freshly out of law school, Kennedy had begun his journey with the FBI at quite a young age and immediately demonstrated that he had tremendous aptitude for leadership, coupled with an exceptionally analytical mind and a natural ability to motivate people. It didn’t take long for those qualities to get noticed and Kennedy was soon assigned to the prestigious US President Protection Detail team. It was then that he was hailed as a hero. During his fourth year with the protection team, Kennedy managed to foil an assassination attempt by throwing himself in front of a bullet that no doubt had the President’s name on it. After receiving a high commendation award for bravery and a personal ‘thank you’ letter from the President himself, Adrian Kennedy was asked by the director of the FBI at the time to head a new department that was still taking its baby steps back in Quantico — the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crimes. Kennedy deliberated on his decision for less than a day before accepting the position.

It was also he who, just a few years later, suggested that a new department within the NCAVC be created — the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU for short. Its mission was simple and complex in equal measures — to help with the investigation of certain violent repeat crimes through the use of psychology, psychoanalysis and behavioral sciences. Adrian Kennedy was not only the director of the NCAVC Department; he was also the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

‘The Surgeon?’ Kennedy asked in a naturally hoarse voice that had been made worse by years of smoking. ‘Are you sure?’

Agent Williams stepped forward and his conviction wavered a fraction. He scratched the underside of his chin.

‘Not one hundred percent, sir, but we should be getting confirmation very soon.’

Kennedy sat back on his Chesterfield winged chair, rested his elbows on its arms, and interlaced his fingers in front of his chin. His eyes were a remarkable shade of blue — dark, yet luminous and absolutely overflowing with knowledge and experience.

‘So let me get this straight, Special Agent Williams. You stormed past my secretary, almost kicked my office door down — without knocking, I must add — interrupted a very important call to the US Attorney General, just to give me a “maybe”?’

Williams shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His dark eyes avoided the director’s stare for just a second.

‘Are you out of your goddamn mind?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but it’s him, I know it. We just need official confirmation.’

‘And how exactly do you “know it”?’

Agent Williams pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

‘At around two o’clock this morning,’ he began, ‘there was an official search into the VICAP database for homicides where the perp had left any sort of written messages at the scene. More specifically, messages written in Latin.’

Kennedy still looked unimpressed. ‘And in your mind, that fact alone gave you the right to burst into my office unannounced.’

‘There’s more.’

‘Well, I sincerely hope so.’ Kennedy nodded sarcastically.

‘The search returned zero hits,’ Agent Williams continued. ‘So a new search followed — messages that had been carved somewhere on the victim’s body.’

Kennedy’s chin moved up a fraction. ‘Go on.’

‘Once again, and we know why, the VICAP database returned no hits, so a third, more refined search followed — bodies found with an odd combination of letters and symbols carved into their backs.’

The muscle on Kennedy’s jaw flexed harder this time.

‘It has to be him, sir,’ Agent Williams insisted. ‘There’s no other reason why anyone would search the VICAP database for that sort of information — a message, in Latin, which looks like an odd combination of letters and symbols, left carved into the victim’s back.’ He allowed that thought to hang in the air for an instant. ‘I know you don’t believe in that sort of coincidence, sir. It’s got to be him. It can’t be anyone else.’

Kennedy accepted it with a single head movement. ‘OK. Where is Special Agent Fisher?’

Williams consulted his watch. ‘On her way there as we speak. I’m joining her as soon as I leave here, but I had a feeling that you’d maybe want to come.’

Kennedy breathed out and got to his feet. ‘So where are we going this time?’

‘Los Angeles, sir.’

Kennedy was about to reach for the phone on his desk to tell his secretary to clear his calendar for the next two days, when it dawned on him.

‘Wait a second,’ he said, his left hand up in the air in a stop sign. ‘Los Angeles, California?’

Williams’s eyes squinted at the NCAVC director.

‘I’m... not aware of a different Los Angeles, sir.’

Slowly but steadily, Kennedy’s lips stretched into an enigmatic grin.

Unsure, Special Agent Williams turned and checked behind him before facing Kennedy again.

‘Have I missed something, sir?’

‘If you’re right... if this is indeed The Surgeon, then he might’ve just made his first and worst mistake.’

‘I don’t follow, sir.’

Kennedy picked up his cellphone. ‘I’ll explain it to you when we get to LA.’