Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1) (12 page)

The captain had faxed everything we had on the case over to the feds earlier. The guy they were lending us to help was going to put together a profile and come at ten. I started the meeting by going over the interview I’d had with Kevin O’Hare a few hours earlier. I’d checked out his story as soon as I got in. He had been at the taxi station between fares when the cab picked up Diane Robins, and he was across town at the time Sarah McMillian got into a cab. The guy was another dead end, someone we could cross off the list.

We went over the autopsy report of Diane Robins next. When everyone was up to speed with where we left off, I addressed Detective Jones.

“Lingerie? What did you get?” I asked.

He looked into his notes. “It’s regular department store stuff. Big name brand that’s sold at just about every retail outlet in the area. We’re talking hundreds of stores. That’s not including online sales. Needle in a haystack stuff.”

I nodded. “What about connecting the two women?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, there’s just nothing there.”

“Okay, I have something that might be more productive for you.” I printed out a couple copies of the Diane Robins toxicology report. I took one from the stack and handed one to him. “Aside from being injected with Xylazine like Sarah McMillian, Diane Robins was also injected with a drug called Buprenorphine. It’s heavily regulated and normally comes in a pill form. Try to find out where someone would get the injectable stuff.”

Jones nodded.

“Timmons, what have your guys got from the airport?”

“Not much, Lieutenant—a few unregistered cabs that we cited, questioned, and then sent off. Since we talked last night, my guys have collected six tag numbers from cabs that took single females as fares. No one has called in a missing woman, though.”

“Okay, keep in contact with the guys up in missing persons. If they get a call, cross-check it right away. Can we keep the cars stationed at the airport going for now?”

“Yeah, I can keep guys there as long as they are getting paid their overtime.”

Timmons looked at Major Danes. Danes nodded.

“Good.” I looked at Rick. “Anything from forensics? Did you meet with Ed?”

“First, we went out to both scenes again yesterday. We canvased a block in each direction. We searched dumpsters. Nothing. Pax did see two red-light cameras while we were in the area of the attorney’s office. One was three blocks away, and the other was six blocks from the scene. We could try to pull those and see if we have a taxi in the area at the time. It’s a shot in the dark but could be something. Someone is going to have to get it signed off on, though.”

“Give me the time frame, and I’ll get you guys the video,” Major Danes said.

I nodded. “Thanks, Major. All right, what about the cuts on her hand, Rick? Ed mentioned he wanted your opinion.”

“He gave me a call last night, and I met him there first thing this morning. He questioned the cuts she had on her right hand and wanted me to take a look. She had a wound that ran horizontally, starting in the webbing between her thumb and index finger. The shape of the laceration was consistent with the blade of a knife slipping back into her hand while she stabbed something. It’s common with people who are unfamiliar with handling knives in that way. This wound had inflammation around it. Over the top of that wound and to the sides were more cuts. They were smaller in size and depth. There was also no inflammation present around them.”

“So, postmortem?” I asked.

Rick nodded. “They could have been made to cover up the original cut. It’s a possibility that our guy has a knife wound.”

“Can you make a few calls for us, Rick? Local hospitals?” the captain asked.

“A knife wound would be reported. From him stitching up the woman’s head, we know he had the materials to sew himself up if it did happen. I’ll make some calls either way,” Rick said.

“Thanks, Rick.”

Timmons, Rick, and Detective Jones left the room. Captain Bostok, Hank, and I went over the case.

One of the girls from up front knocked on the sill of the door to let us know our profiler had arrived. The captain went, got him, and brought him back to the meeting room. We had a quick round of introductions. His name was Agent Beck. He wasn’t what I was expecting. All the Feds I’d had come into contact with were interchangeable. They all seem to average six feet, all wore dark suits, and all had short hair with no mustaches or beards.

Agent Beck was five foot eight and overweight by thirty pounds. He wore a tweed suit from the late seventies or early eighties. His hair was shoulder length and graying. There was at least two weeks’ worth of scruff on his face. He was either exceptional at his position or did a damn good job of avoiding whoever was in charge of FBI appearances. He took a seat and opened a folder he was carrying under his arm.

“Okay gentlemen, if you don’t mind, let’s get right to it.” He looked up at us and waited.

We sat at the conference table.

Agent Beck cleared his throat. “Before I begin, has there been any development since last night that I should be aware of?”

“We had a glimpse of him on video. Appeared to be around five foot nine and thin,” I said.

Beck wrote it down. “Caucasian?”

“Appeared so.”

“Thank you.” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “First, I cross-referenced everything from the case with the FBI’s database. We have no one in our system that is branding victims. With nothing similar, we are indeed looking for a new suspect. Now, to be labeled as a serial killer, we would need three or more victims. You have two, but I believe—one hundred percent—the man you are looking for is a serial killer and has been for some time.”

“What brings you to that conclusion?” I asked.

“His acts are planned. There is no evidence at all left with the bodies other than what he wants you to see, in these cases the lingerie, branding, and method of kill. This guy is a pro.”

“So we should expect more bodies?” Hank asked.

“It’s Sergeant, right? Rawlings?”

Hank nodded.

“Sergeant Rawlings, yes, I believe there will be more. Something made this guy come out of the shadows. This guy now wants to be recognized. The more victims, the more notoriety. Yet, there’s more to it than that.”

“More to it? Like what?” Hank asked.

“I was about to give you my thoughts on that.” He flashed Hank an annoyed look for interrupting him.

Hank looked at me. His face said he wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. I had a better handle on him. He was some kind of genius, and from my experience, people like that were a little strange.

I’d known a person in Milwaukee similar to that guy. Aside from being socially awkward, the guy didn’t shower, dressed like a bum, and lived in a rundown little shack outside a trailer park. He’d retired at forty from designing software for the military. The guy had millions stuffed away in the bank but took a bus from city to city for chess tournaments. He competed at the master level. I bet the two knew each other.

“Sorry, go on,” Hank said.

“It’s the way he is killing the women. Now, if I’m a serial killer and I want to make a name for myself, what has more flair, killing my victims in a regular way or something that pops? Lobotomizing my victims sure packs more media punch than any traditional method of killing.”

“So that’s this guy’s goal? Fame?” I asked.

“He definitely wants to stand out. All right, we ready to get into the profile?”

I nodded.

“I put our suspect in his late thirties or early forties. A self-employed taxi driver is consistent with the kind of occupation he would have. It’s solitary. He’d have a hard time holding down a normal job. Normal friends and family would not be present. He is holding these women for a time, so it wouldn’t allow for it. Even if he was doing it somewhere else, his frequent absences would be noted. I would say he is single, possibly divorced.”

The captain spoke up, “What about them both being blond in their thirties? Does that hold any significance?”

“It could, but I’m not sure it’s a deciding factor. I believe he is selecting the women out of opportunity more than anything else.”

“What about the lobotomies themselves? The medical examiner told me the second procedure was far more advanced than what was done to the first victim. Do you think there is any kind of medical background?” I asked.

“No. Your suspect is experimenting. He’s learning and evolving. Like you said, the second victim’s procedure was far more involved. The woman’s skin was removed to get at the skull. He used a different drill bit to get through the bone. He took his time, possibly following directions. As bad as it sounds, it was done pretty close to how the doctors used to do it. That is a point that is very troubling.”

“Troubling how?” the captain asked.

“Well, lobotomies aren’t meant to kill. I’ll let that thought sink in with you guys for a while.” He went quiet. “Are your heads filled with really bad images yet?”

He was right. Everything that came to mind was evil and worse.

“Where would he get the information on how to do it? Books? Internet?” the captain asked.

“I’m sure you can find enough information at either spot. I would say books though if I had to guess.”

“Hank, can you get into contact with libraries in the area and see if they had any lobotomy books checked out recently?”

Agent Beck interrupted, “I wouldn’t bother.”

Captain Bostok looked confused by Beck’s comment. “Why is that?”

“Same reason it would be a book and not the Internet. Our suspect is smart. Judging by the lack of evidence at the scenes, he wouldn’t let himself be caught by something so careless. Think about it. A few women show up dead with amateur lobotomies. It would only be a matter of days before the police look into that angle, just like we have here. A couple calls to webmasters of the sites with that kind of information would give away his IP address. A book checked out would give him up just as quick. The book, if that is in fact what he’s using, was either purchased at a book store, probably not in the area, or stolen. That brings up another point—I would venture to guess that he has a record.”

“What kind of crimes would we be looking for?” Hank asked.

“More than likely, petty crimes. Theft, identity theft, lewd acts in public, sexual harassment. I wouldn’t think there would be an arrest for anything too serious. I bet if he’s local, he’s already in your system for something minor.”

“Now, you said something was bringing this guy out of the shadows. What would we be looking for as a trigger? Divorce, death, fired from his job, something like that?” Hank asked.

Beck rocked his head back and forth. “There is something there, I believe. Something happened that spurred the escalation. What it is may not register to you and me, though.”

“Explain,” I said.

“Well, something like a cheating spouse or getting fired can set a person on a rampage. You know—a guy gets fired from his job and goes and shoots the place up, or a man finds his wife in bed with another man and kills the two. Yet, that’s a reaction for someone who has a mental breakdown. Serial killers are different. They already kill. These people don’t live within the boundaries of normal society, so a normal trigger may not fit.”

I nodded.

“You have to remember—the feelings we have of sadness, guilt, right and wrong, morality—none of these things apply to our suspect. Take, for instance, Ted Bundy. Everyone tried to find the answer to why he killed, the reason he took people’s lives. Do you know what his reason was?” He looked around the room for an answer but didn’t get one. “He said he liked doing it. That was it. He liked killing people.”

I was going through my notes, looking to see if he had covered everything I wanted to ask him.

“What about the brand? Did you find anything on it?”

Beck shook his head. “From everything I saw, it’s something original. It looked like a set of two triangles on top of each other facing left, a quartered circle in the center and two more triangles in the same orientation facing right. Sorry, I don’t have anything for you on it, but I have a feeling you’ll get the meaning to it when you find the perpetrator. I have copies of the profile I put together printed up for you guys.” Beck looked at each of us. “Anything else?”

I found the word
drugs
circled in my notepad. “One more thing, Agent. What is your take on the drugs being used, and how does that tie into the profile?”

He grinned. “Good question. Opportunity is the answer.”

“Can you explain that?” I asked.

“From my research, these aren’t the kind of drugs that are purchased on the street. When I say opportunity, I’m referring to these drugs being available to him in some area of his life. Obviously, a taxi driver wouldn’t have access to these sorts of things, but perhaps he stole them when the opportunity presented itself in the past.”

“Thank you, Agent Beck. If we gather more information, you will add it to the profile?” the captain asked.

“Absolutely.”

Beck handed his copies of the profile to the captain and saw himself out.

He started on her as soon as he got home. Unhappy with the results of his last procedure, he read up on something new. When he finished branding her, he began. The book he was working from referred to it as a
transorbital
lobotomy. It was much easier than his previous method and didn’t leave him covered in blood when he was through. He used a small spoon wedged between her upper eyelid and eyeball to give him the space needed. An ice pick with depth-gradation marks at two inches and two and three quarters was inserted at the top corner of her eye above her tear duct. With a medium-sized rubber mallet, he pounded the pick into the thin bone behind her eye. His ears caught an audible
snap
as the pick broke through. He continued tapping it into her brain until the depth was to the first etched mark. The book told him to sweep the pick horizontally through her brain toward her other eye. He did. At the pick’s original position, he tapped it in another three quarters of an inch to the next gradation mark. He repeated the procedure on the other side. Once he completed his procedure, he transferred the woman to his makeshift recovery room.