The Devil's Closet (5 page)

“Well, hello there! May I help you with something?”

Carl took off his gloves and extended a hand, which I graciously shook, identifying myself and explaining my reasons for paying him an official visit.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what I told the other officers. I can’t for the life of me understand why someone came into this neighborhood and stole my van, in particular. It’s the safest neighborhood. We’ve never had that sort of thing happen here, and I’ve lived here for twenty-five years. I left the van parked in the driveway with the keys in it, like I have for the ten years I’ve had it. I know one thing: I don’t want it back. Not after what happened to that poor child. Can I get you something to drink, Detective? Gallagher, right? Are you related to the other Gallaghers at the department?”

“Right. My father and uncles,” I answered, declining the beverage. My visit didn’t seem like it would add any new insight to the case.

“Hell, they’ve been in that department since Jesus was a boy. How many years?”

“Thirty-five and counting.”

Enough with the small talk. I was anxious to get back to the interview. I got Carl back on track and started asking more personal questions. Initially, he seemed somewhat put off, but I explained they were standard questions and told him not to read into them. Carl had been married up until a year ago when his wife died of ovarian cancer. They had no children, and Carl spent his current life as a salesman for a local manufacturing plant, covering the Midwest. He retired when his wife got sick and began doing light drywall work on the side. Fifty-one years old, Carl had no enemies, was liked by his neighbors, and hadn’t received so much as a speeding ticket, which I’d already learned when I first did a criminal history check. Carl Malone was as uneventful as his life, so I thanked him and left.

Back at the station, Kincaid, Coop, and the FBI agents were in the conference room waiting for me. A response to our inquiry into similar crimes had just come in from the Tampa Police Department. Jumping to it, Coop had already spoken to the detective on that case, which took place in 1983 and, by a miracle, the detective was still working there. Coop shared the case file the detective had faxed, along with a scanned photo sent through e-mail. Their case was unnerving, looking like a carbon copy of the Hanna Parker one—except for the shoe. Coop went on about how the detective said it was the case of his career that he forever wants to solve. He was stunned, and thrilled, to see our teletype. Simultaneously, our lab reports arrived, and they clearly showed Hanna had soil on her that differed from that of the cornfield where she was found.

“Did he bury her somewhere else first?” I asked.

“Not likely,” Coop answered. “She had only been dead three hours or so before her body was discovered, but I’ll get to that.”

“It can’t be possible. We’re talking over twenty years ago,” I said, referring to the Tampa killing. “Copycat maybe?”

“
That
would be impossible. It’s got to be the same killer,” Michael jumped in. “The body was found looking exactly the same, clear down to the red ribbon in the hair and around the neck—which, I might add, the Tampa Police never disclosed to the public.”

“Could one of the original investigating officers be a suspect?” Kincaid asked.

“Possible, but highly unlikely,” Michael said.

Tampa had no leads on a suspect, and the case had gone cold. I prayed we wouldn’t suffer the same fate. No time for further ruminating—Kincaid wanted to begin the meeting. We all secured our seats at the conference table.

“Now that we may have a possible—and I say that loosely—serial murderer, we need to bust our asses. Agent Hagerman has prepared a profile on the suspect, which he’ll give in a moment. It may come down to FBI jurisdiction due to the Florida case, but we are all going to help nonetheless. Before we get to Michael, CeeCee, what have you got? I want statistics and the whole enchilada put up on the dry-erase board to act as our guide.”

Since I’m a certified expert, I’d anticipated the request. Nonetheless, Kincaid knew damn well the FBI agents had the same stats. Grabbing the marker, and feeling Michael’s eyes on me, I started to write on the board.

“As most of you already know,” I began, trying to alert Kincaid that everyone already knew what I was going to say (though the chances were she wouldn’t catch on anyway), “we are dealing with a nonfamily abduction, specifically a stereotypical kidnapping. Stereotypical kidnapping being a child taken overnight, killed, or transported a distance of fifty miles or more. The perpetrator has evidenced intent to keep the child permanently.” I took a deep breath. “There are approximately thirty-two hundred to forty-six hundred attempted nonfamily abductions every year with about fifty-two to a hundred and fifty-eight of those children being murdered.”

Coop let out a low whistle. “I didn’t realize there were that many.”

“That’s what the stats say,” I said, taking my seat.

Coop was next in the hot seat with the autopsy report. Hanna Parker had rigor mortis in her small muscle groups only, indicating death had occurred three to six hours prior to discovery. Full rigor mortis sets in eight to twelve hours after death. The examiner indicated that the red ribbon around her neck had not been used as a ligature for strangulation, but that she had been strangled manually. This resulted in stimulation from the vagus nerve in the neck to cause immediate death from heart and breathing paralysis. Vagus-nerve stimulation gives the face a more normal appearance after death, avoiding the bloated face and tongue people assume come with strangulation.

That was the same method used in the Tampa murder. As for the sexual aspect, the report indicated there was severe sexual trauma, but no evidence of seminal fluid or DNA. Coop also put up a photo of the Tampa murder on the board. The victim, Cindy Lee Bowman, was also five years old when she died. Coop wrote their names next to their pictures.

Looking at both of the photographs, the similarities were remarkable. The faces were painted exactly the same, down to the lipstick color, and both had the same grotesque doll-like appearance.

The room remained quiet for several minutes after Coop finished. The other agents, Shoupman and Hurst, were scribbling furiously in their notepads, while Michael simply stared at me. We all agreed there was a distinct reason for painting the victims’ faces, but for sane people like those of us in the room, it was hard to figure out why. This was where Michael came in. As he stepped to the front of the room, my heart gave a slight flip. Coop was looking directly at me in an attempt to read my reaction to Michael. I quickly looked away, but too late. Coop had already seen my face. I was sure of it. He damn well knew my thoughts.

Michael began with the intricate, detailed, and disturbing profile of the child murderer.

“At first, after reviewing the file, I believed the killer to fall under the category of sexual sadist, also known as an anger-excitation rapist. This is someone who is cunning and accomplished at deception and rationalizes their actions.”

So far his description was clear enough. “Feeling no remorse or guilt, the sexual sadist considers himself superior to society and law enforcement in particular.”

Both the Hanna Parker and Tampa murders displayed the three most important traits of a sexual sadist: ritualism, the killer’s fantasies, and the crime itself, which is the least common and most violent.

He further went on to explain that a ritual murderer commits acts that are unnecessary to the commission of the crime. Examples in these cases being the makeup, ribbons, and doll shoe. What also pointed Michael toward a sexual-sadist definition is that ritualistic killers remain constant over time, but may add what they feel are enhancements—hence the doll shoe. The ritualistic aspect of the killer is a more powerful tool in finding him than his modus operandi, or MO. The killer’s signature, a unique combination of behaviors across two or more crimes, would be the painted face and ribbons.

“I believe that the killer used a surprise approach in abducting Hanna, which is an immediate capture of the victim without injuries or force. I was convinced we were dealing with a sexual sadist until we saw how Hanna had been laid out, brushed off, and coiffed, as if a great amount of care had been taken. This contradicts a sexual sadist, but points somewhat toward a pseudo-unselfish offender, someone complimentary, apologetic, polite, verbally nonsexual, and reassuring to his victim.”

Calm and stern faced, Michael walked to his seat and took a long drink from a bottle of water, while we all sat silent, trying to take in everything he said so far.

He began again, trying to explain how the sexual and ritual traits of our killer were contradictory and highly unusual for one killer to have.

“So you think there might be two killers, each putting their own flair into the murders?” Coop asked, reading my mind.

“I won’t rule out anything right now. We could be dealing with a split personality, one man’s imagination and fantasies. A combination that offers no sureties in any criminal case, no matter how experienced the profiler or law enforcement is”

He lightly coughed. “I believe our killer expresses the violence and urges of the sexual sadist, but later feels remorse. I also believe the killer realizes he is sick and that leaving the doll shoe is an indication that he wants to get caught, that he wants to be stopped. But the sadist part of him wants to find out if law enforcement is smarter than he is.”

Coop interrupted. “Michael, from what you’re saying, it sounds as if he’s at the end of his rope and his behavior might be escalating.”

“Absolutely. I think there will be another murder, if there hasn’t been already. The killer may travel and not live here, and could already be in another state by now. Whatever, I think he’s ready to explode.”

Michael filled in more of the pieces. He felt the suspect was a white male in his late forties or fifties. His theory on the age was due to the time since the Florida killing.

“The suspect is very organized, educated, and knowledgeable in law enforcement, possibly from crime documentaries, books, or magazines. Sixty-one percent of serial killers collect violent-theme pornography, while nearly all pedophiles collect some type of child pornography and erotica.” He also said that it was possible the killer held a job for many years and had no criminal record.

“The bottom line,” Michael continued, “is he will continue to kill. Like all other pedophiles, asking them not to be attracted to children anymore is like asking a heterosexual to turn gay, or vice versa.”

“How does he feel afterward, Michael?” Kincaid asked. “Elated, angry, remorseful?”

“I think his post-offense behavior would be that of remorse or guilt. He laid Hanna out with dignity because he felt bad. He may be feeling ill, losing or gaining weight, having bowel disturbances or sleep disruptions.”

“So it’s possible he shit his pants afterward?” Coop barked, laughing.

“This isn’t a joke!” Kincaid snapped.

Coop put his head down like a schoolboy chastised by his teacher. For whatever reason, this produced a loud snickering from me. Now Kincaid just glowered at both of us. It was time for me to ask a question and get back on track.

“Michael, in this instance, what causes someone to be this way?”

I already knew the answer, but Kincaid looked like she was getting ready to bite my head off. The question was merely a diversionary tactic.

“It could be sexual abuse, physical abuse, drugs, alcohol, television, games, or music. No one really knows for sure.”

“Any ideas about why he’s doing the doll thing?”

“That I’m not sure of yet. It could be gender confusion, could be something else. Like I said, I’ve never seen something like this before, so I’m doing some extrapolating.”

The information was what we needed to begin to put Hanna’s murder into a general context, so it was time to start wrapping up the meeting. Kincaid told Coop to focus on finding a local sex offender who may have been in Florida around the time of the Tampa killing. She was right in checking it out. I agreed with Michael instinctively when he said the killer could travel. The downside of that theory was if it proved correct, our chances of catching him would be slim. He could be anywhere, and it’s a very big country. If he still was in the country.

Michael and I were almost back to my office when my phone rang. It was Captain Norris from patrol.

“CeeCee, you need to know about this immediately. The Parkers got a package in their mail today. It was another doll shoe, possibly a match. They don’t know anything about the shoe found with Hanna, but they called anyway because it was creepy. The box is small and covered in stamps, so there’s no way to track it. The good news is that it was mailed locally.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” I was stunned after strongly considering the possibility that the killer may have left the area. “I’m assuming the crime lab is already on scene to take the shoe and box for processing?”