Inmate 1577

20

Vail, Burden, and Friedberg returned to the Hall of Justice and took the elevator up to four. Friedberg stopped by evidence control to inquire about obtaining the brass key they had secured from the 1982 crime scene, while the others began laying out their case on a large whiteboard that spanned a wall facing the Bryant Street windows.

An hour later, Vail stood back to take in the murder board, and its victims, which now numbered four-five, as soon as Clay Allman sent over his materials on the 1982 murder. The linkage was tenuous for now, but it was an intriguing break in the case. An offender’s first kill-if it was the same guy, and if it was his first-often provided more clues about the man than his later crimes. As an inexperienced criminal, he was not likely as careful as he would be so many years later, when he had time, and presumably other victims, to hone his trade.

And if there was a victim in 1982, there were likely others in the intervening years. It was not a certainty, but it was a strong possibility.

Vail looked over at Burden, who was seated at his desk. “We’ve got four, maybe five vics, and probably a whole lot more we don’t even know about. And we’re nowhere in finding this guy. And he’s not going to stop killing to give us time to catch up.” She turned back to the crime scene photos of Maureen and William Anderson, Russell and Irene Ilg. “But I do think he’s trying to tell us something.”

Burden joined her at the murder board. “Like what?”

“He’s placing the male bodies in specific locations, out in public. And he’s leaving something at the female vic crime scenes. That key. I think it was meant for us.”

“Okay, so what does that mean? What if he’s telling us something and we’re not hearing him?”

Vail rested part of her buttocks on the edge of the desk. “It could get ugly-I mean, uglier. It’ll frustrate him. Remember BTK?”

“Bind, Torture, Kill. How could I forget that asshole?”

“Dennis Rader, in his BTK persona, sent the cops a note basically saying, How many do I have to kill before I get my name in the paper, or some national attention? Part of his positive feedback loop was attaining fame. He gave himself a media-ready nickname, for chrissake.”

“So maybe we should let Allman run with his story. Are we making things worse by not mentioning the key, which he’s purposely left for us? If he thinks we didn’t find it, won’t it piss him off?”

Vail sighed. Her eyes flicked over to the brutalized bodies of Anderson and Ilg. I really don’t want to see this happen again. Goddamn it. What’s the right call here? “I’m honestly not sure if I have enough info yet to make an informed decision.”

“We’ve got five goddamn bodies,” Burden said, anger lacing his tone. “How many more do you need?”

Vail banded her arms across her chest. “You have five seconds to apologize. I don’t fucking deserve that.”

Burden turned away and faced the whiteboard. “You’re right. That was out of line. I’ve been a detective for over twenty years. I should be able to work this case without relying solely on your analysis.” He thought a moment, then said, “How sure are you about this key?”

“That it was left for us? I’d like to know if the key from thirty years ago matches the one we just found at the Ilg’s. If they do…but how do we define match? An exact match? It’s the same key, just a copy…or a similar type of key…or same type of lock?” She thought a moment. “If Allman’s memory is right, and the ’82 key is very similar or identical to the one we just found, then that’s significant. Assuming for a minute that it’s not an incredible coincidence, it’s a very specific ritual behavior. My gut tells me it has meaning to the offender-and because it doesn’t appear to have been used to maim or mark the victim, I really do think it’s meant for us.”

“I’ve asked Jackson to see if he can get us some info on that key. It’s large and its shape is a little odd, with a shaft that’s not your usual pin setup. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Burden tossed a cluster of papers on the desk. “Knowing what we know now, are you still convinced this isn’t the type of killer who preys on elderly women-the offenders that Safarik’s studied?”

“I’m more convinced now than I was before,” Vail said. “There’s no secondary financial component to his act; he doesn’t, as an afterthought, take money, jewelry. A typical sexual killer of elderly women is unsophisticated, disorganized, and of lower intelligence. They certainly wouldn’t interact with the police. That’s an intelligent act, a sign of psychopathy. And displaying the bodies in public places-it’s just not their way. Let alone the fact that half his vics are male.

“Safarik found that the killers of older women aren’t sophisticated, and they don’t mix genders. So, no. Unless I see something that totally contradicts this, this guy doesn’t fit. He’s a psychopath, and we’ve got our hands full.”

Friedberg walked in. “I heard, ‘He’s a psychopath and we’ve got our hands full.’ That can’t be good.”

“It’s not,” Vail said, sliding off the desk.

“But what does that actually mean-for us?”

“Labeling him a psychopath isn’t as impressive as it sounds. Ninety percent of serial killers are psychopathic. That’s by far the highest percentage among violent criminals.”

“Someone actually studied that?” Friedberg asked.

“Hell yeah. A third of rapists are psychopaths, half of all hostage takers. Two thirds of molesters. Like I said, psychopathy’s cornered the violent crime market. If we ever make contact with him-and I think it’s only a matter of time before we do-figuring out how to categorize him properly could prove extremely important.”

“Categorize him how?” Burden asked.

“There are four types, all with the same basic traits and characteristics. But they’re present in differing doses. I’ve got a decent idea of how to approach him, of how to talk to him, but let’s see how he reacts to Allman’s article.”

Burden sat down at the table. “What if you get it wrong?”

“I’d rather not go there. Let’s just say it could inflame the situation.”

Friedberg shoved an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “More vics.”

More vics. The story of my life. Vail looked away. “Yes. To complicate things, psychopathy could be co-morbid with other psychiatric disorders. But psychopathy is king and that’s what will resonate the strongest.”

Friedberg pulled the Marlboro from his lips. “I’ve requisitioned the key from the ’82 case. Wasn’t easy because I had nothing to go on, but I think we found it.”

“Assuming the key’s the same, or similar,” Friedberg said, “what do you think it means? The key to what?”

Vail shrugged. “First thought is that it’s a taunt. See if you can find the key to the case. He’s left it right there in front of us. He’s saying, ‘Here’s the key. Can’t you see it? What’s wrong with you people’?”

“What’s wrong with us?” Friedberg said with a chuckle. “Guy’s an insane nut case and he’s asking what’s wrong with us.”

“Lose that thought right now,” Vail said. “And don’t bring it up again.”

Friedberg looked around, his brow crumpled in confusion. “What’d I say?”

“A psychopath is not crazy. He’s not insane, and he’s not a nut job. He’s in touch with reality and knows right from wrong. This is an important concept, especially when it comes time to interview him.”

“You sound pretty optimistic that we’ll catch him,” Burden said.

“We can’t take a defeatist attitude. I have to believe we’re gonna nail this asshole. I mean, don’t you?”

Burden and Friedberg glanced at each other. In unison, they said, “Sure,” and “Yeah.”

But their body language did not invite confidence.

“Look at it this way,” Vail said. “This scumbag’s enjoying these murders. And he likes the cat and mouse game he’s set in motion. So it’s up to us. If we don’t figure this shit out, it’s gonna be hard to sleep at night. Because he’s not going to stop.”