The Judge’s List

31

Late Saturday morning, Lacy and her boyfriend left Tallahassee for a three-hour drive to Ocala, north of Orlando. Allie did the driving as Lacy handled the entertainment. They began with an audiobook by Elmore Leonard, but she soon decided she’d had enough of crime and dead bodies and switched to a podcast on politics. It, too, quickly became depressing so she found NPR and they laughed through an episode of Wait Wait... Don’t Tell Me! Their appointment with Herman Gray was at 2:00 p.m.

Mr. Gray was an FBI legend who had overseen the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico for two decades. Now pushing eighty, he had retired to Florida and lived behind a gate with his wife and three dogs. Allie had been referred to him by a supervisor and had made the necessary calls. Herman said he was bored and had plenty of time, especially if the conversation was about serial killers. He had tracked and studied them throughout his career, and, according to the legend, knew more about the breed than anyone. He had published two books on the subject, neither of which was particularly helpful. Both were more or less collections of his war stories, complete with gory photographs and a bit too much self-congratulation.

He greeted them warmly and seemed genuinely pleased to have guests. His wife offered lunch, which they declined. She served them iced tea without sugar, and they talked for the first half hour on the patio with the spaniels licking their ankles. When he began talking about his career, Lacy interrupted politely with “We’ve read both of your books, so we know something about your work.”

He liked that and tried to defer with “Most of that stuff is accurate. Maybe a bit of embellishment here and there.”

“It’s fascinating,” she said.

Allie said, “As I explained on the phone, Lacy would like to walk through each of the victims and get your thoughts.”

“The afternoon belongs to you,” Herman said with a smile.

Lacy said, “It’s extremely confidential and we won’t use any real names.”

“I understand discretion, Ms. Stoltz. Believe me, I do.”

“Can we go with Lacy and Allie?”

“Sure, and I’m Herman. I see you’ve brought a briefcase, so I assume there’s paperwork, maybe some photos.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps we should go to the kitchen and use the table.”

They followed him inside, as did the dogs, and Mrs. Gray refilled their glasses. Herman sat on one side of the table and faced Lacy and Allie. She took a deep breath and began, “There are eight murders that we know about. The first was in 1991, the most recent less than a year ago. The first seven were by strangulation, same type of rope, same method, but for the last one no rope was used. Just a few blows to the head.”

“Twenty-three years.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could we drop the ‘sirs’?”

“Yep.”

“Thank you. I’ll be eighty in two months but I am refusing to let the old man in.” Thin as a weed, he looked like he could walk ten miles in the hot sun.

“Obviously, we believe our suspect killed all eight people. Six men, two women.”

“There are probably more, you know?”

“Yes, but we have no knowledge of them.”

Herman took out his pen and found a notepad. “Let’s talk about Number One.”

Allie opened the briefcase and handed Lacy a file. She said, “Number One was a forty-one-year-old white male — all but one were white — who was found beside a walking trail in Signal Mountain, Tennessee.” She handed Herman a sheet of paper she had prepared with the words Number One typed in bold letters at the top. Date, place, age of victim, cause of death, and a color photo of Thad Leawood lying in the bushes.

Herman studied the summary and the photo and took notes. They watched him carefully and said nothing. When he had reviewed it, he asked, “Other than the body, was there anything from the crime scene?”

“The police found nothing. No prints, fibers, hair, no blood other than the victim’s. Same for all the crime scenes.”

“A strange knot, something like a clove hitch.”

“A double clove hitch, not very common.”

“Rare indeed. If he used it every time, then it’s obviously his calling card. How many blows to the head?”

“Two, with what appears to be the same weapon.”

“Autopsy?”

“The skull splintered, numerous cracks radiating from the contact point. The police in Wilmington, North Carolina, at another crime scene, thought it was something like a hammer or small round metal ball.”

“Works every time, though it does make a messy scene. The blood spatters to such a degree that the suspect probably had some on his clothing.”

“Which, of course, was never found.”

“Of course not. Motive?”

“The theory is that Number One sexually abused the killer when he was a young boy.”

“That’s a lot of motive. Any proof of this?”

“Not really.”

“Okay. How about Number Two.”

Lacy handed him the sheet for Bryan Burke and said, “The following year, 1992.”

Herman looked at it and said, “South Carolina.”

“Yes, each was in a different state.”

He smiled and made notes. “Motive?”

“Their paths crossed in college when the killer was a student. Number Two was one of his professors.” Lacy was careful not to use the words “law school.” That would come later. Allie had not told Herman much about her and had not revealed where she worked or who she investigated. Again, that would be discussed later in the afternoon.

Number Three was Ashley Barasso. Lacy said, “Four years later, in Columbus, Georgia. We know nothing of motive, only that they were in school together.”

“College?”

“Yes.”

“Was she sexually abused in any way?”

“No. She was fully clothed, nothing was disturbed, no sign of molestation.”

“That’s unusual. Sex is a factor in about eighty percent of serial crimes.”

Number Four was Eileen Nickleberry, in 1998.

With Number Five, Danny Cleveland, Lacy said, “Our man took a break for eleven years, at least as far as we know.”

“That’s quite a gap,” Herman said, studying the photo. “Same knot. He doesn’t want to get caught, too smart for that, but he wants someone to know that he’s out there. Not at all uncommon.” He scribbled more notes as his wife appeared and offered them cookies. She did not stay in the kitchen but Lacy got the impression she was close by, probably listening.

Number Six was Perry Kronke down in Marathon. Herman studied the photos and asked, “Where did you get these?”

“They were given to us by a source who’s been working on this for many years. Freedom of Information Act, FBI clearinghouse, the usual. We have photos from the first six crime scenes but not the last.”

“Too recent, I suppose. Poor guy was out fishing, just minding his own business. In broad daylight.”

“I’ve been to the scene and it was pretty remote.”

“Okay. Motive?”

“They crossed paths in the workplace, probably a disagreement over a job offer that didn’t materialize.”

“So he knew him too?”

“He knew all of them.”

Herman just thought he’d seen it all and was visibly impressed. “Okay, let’s see the last one.”

Lacy handed over Number Seven and Number Eight, and explained their theory that the first victim was the target and the second arrived on the scene at the wrong time. Herman studied the summaries and photos for a long time, then said with a grin, “Well, is that all?”

“That’s all we know about.”

“You can bet there’s more, and you can bet he’s not finished.”

They nodded and both took a bite of a cookie.

Herman said, “So, now you want a profile, right?”

Allie said, “Sure, that’s one reason we’re here.”

Herman put down his pen, stood and stretched his back, and scratched his chin as he thought. “White male, age fifty, started his mischief when he was mid-twenties. Single, probably never married. Except for the first two, he kills on Fridays and weekends, clear indication that he has an important job. You mentioned college, and it’s obvious he’s bright, even brilliant, and patient. No sex angle, so he’s probably impotent. You know the motive, driven by a sick need for revenge. Kills without remorse, which is usually the case. Sociopathic to say the least. Antisocial but, being educated, probably manages to put up a front and maintain what appears to be a normal life. Seven crime scenes in seven states over a twenty-three-year period. Very unusual. He knows the police won’t dig deep enough to link the crimes. And the FBI is not involved?”

“Not yet,” Allie said. “That’s another reason we’re here.”

“He knows forensics, police procedure, and the law,” Lacy said.

Herman slowly sat down and looked at his notes. “Quite unusual. Even unique. I’m impressed with this guy. What do you know about him?”

Lacy said, “Well, he certainly fits your profile. He’s a judge.”

Herman exhaled as if somewhat overwhelmed. He shook his head and thought for a long time. Finally he said, “A sitting judge?”

“Duly elected by the voters.”

“Wow. Quite unusual. Narcissistic, split personality, able to live in one world as a respected, productive member of society while spending his off-hours plotting the next kill. It’ll be hard to nail this guy. Unless.”

Allie said, “Unless he makes a mistake, right?”

“Right.”

Lacy said, “We think he’s made one, at his last stop. You asked about the FBI. They’re not involved in the investigation but they have found a clue. He left a partial thumb print on a cell phone. The lab in Quantico has spent months with it, run all the tests. The problem is there is no match anywhere. The FBI thinks he’s probably altered his prints.”

Herman shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I’m not a print guy, but I know that’s virtually impossible, without extensive surgery.”

Lacy said, “He can afford it, and he’s had plenty of time.”

Allie said, “I’ve checked around, talked to some of our experts. There have been a handful of cases where the prints were altered.”

“If you say so. I have my doubts.”

Lacy said, “So do we. If we can’t get a match, then the case looks hopeless. There’s no other proof, other than motive, and that’s not enough. Right?”

“I don’t know. I suppose there’s no way to get his prints, his current ones?”

“Not without a warrant,” Lacy said. “We have suspicion, but that’s not enough to convince a judge to issue one.”

“We need advice, Herman,” Allie said. “What’s our next step?”

“Where does the guy live?”

“Pensacola.”

“And the print is in Mississippi, right?”

“Correct.”

“Will the authorities there call in the Bureau?”

“I’m sure they will. They’re desperate to solve the murders.”

“Then you have to start there. Once our boys are involved, it’ll be easier to convince a federal magistrate to issue a search warrant.”

“And search what?” Lacy asked.

“His home, his office, anyplace there might be prints.”

Allie said, “There might be a couple of problems with that. The first is that this guy is capable of leaving no prints anywhere. The second is that he might disappear at the first whiff of trouble.”

“Let our boys worry about the prints. They’ll find ’em. No one is capable of wiping clean their home or office. As for the disappearing act, that’s a chance you take. You can’t arrest him until there is a match with the prints, right? No other proof?”

“So far, none,” Lacy said.

“There might be another problem,” Allie said. “Is there a chance the Bureau will decline to get involved?”

“Why?”

“The slim chance of success. The first six crime scenes yielded zero evidence. Those cases are ice cold and have been for years. You know the politics at Quantico. And you know how perpetually understaffed the BAU is. Is it possible they could take a hard look at this and pass?”

Herman waved off the idea. “No, I don’t see it. We’ve tracked serial killers for years and never found them. Some of the cases I worked on thirty years ago are still unsolved, always will be. That will not deter the BAU. This is their meat and potatoes. And, keep in mind, they don’t have to solve all of the murders. You just need one to put this guy away.”

Herman put down his pen and folded his arms across his chest. “You have no choice but to bring in the Bureau. I sense some hesitation.”

Lacy told the story of Betty Roe and her twenty-year quest to find her father’s murderer. Herman interrupted with “Is she looking for a job? I think the Bureau needs her.”

“She has a career,” Lacy said after a laugh. “She filed a complaint with the Board on Judicial Conduct. That’s where I work. She’s very fragile, and frightened, and I promised we would not bring in the police until we finished our initial investigation.”

Herman didn’t like this and said, “Too bad. She’s no longer a factor. You have a very sophisticated killer still at work, and it’s time to bring in the Bureau. The longer you wait, the more bodies they’ll find. This guy will not stop.”