The Rainy Day Killer (8 page)

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3

Saturday, April 27: afternoon

Hank ordered in lunch, after which they watched the other videos the Rainy Day Killer had sent to law enforcement in previous cities. Griffin had made copies of the case files, and he gave them a brief overview of each one before playing the corresponding video.

“The first one we know of occurred in St. Louis in October 2006,” Griffin said. “The victim was Pearl Mortenson, a twenty-one-year-old prostitute and drug addict. She was the first in the basic victim profile
—white, small, reasonably fit, blonde hair. She disappeared during a rainstorm in the middle of a Friday afternoon from a street corner on Jefferson Avenue in south St. Louis. He held her for four days, raped and tortured her multiple times using ligature strangulation, and left her along the river pretty much the same way he did here. This was his first video.”

It was longer than the Olsen video, rambling and melodr
amatic, and shot with different equipment that obviously didn’t include a remote device. He moved back and forth several times between his chair and the camera, at one point removing the camera from its stand and carrying it over to the body, all the while narrating as though he were filming a documentary. The movement gave them a look at his body, and it more or less matched the description given to them by Esther Banks of a slightly-built man who was not very tall. Griffin remarked that he likely wasn’t a very strong individual, which would explain the use of the stun gun, drugs, physical restraints, and the hand truck when disposing of the body.

Karen asked if he thought the killer might have some kind of disability or condition that resulted in abnormal weakness. Griffin thought it was probably not the case; it was more likely he simply wasn’t a very strong man, his sexual prowess
notwithstanding. He likely spent most of his time in sedentary activities, such as sitting in front of a computer. If he worked, it was likely at a job that didn’t involve manual labor.

In this first video, the Rainy Day Killer had already mutilated the body. He spent several minutes describing what he’d done, hol
ding up a bloodstained KA-BAR combat knife with which he’d removed the breasts and genitalia. He went on to describe the erotic strangulation and compared himself to the Dating Game Killer, who had been active in California in the late 1970s, then invited the investigating officer, Detective Len Capers, to call him the Rainy Day Killer. He described where he’d leave the body now that he was finished with it, and explained he was bringing her to the river to let her soul cross the Styx to the afterworld.

“
You could see he was in a warehouse,” Griffin said, ejecting the DVD and loading the next one. “They were never able to find it. Capers suppressed a lot of information, including the Rainy Day Killer nickname and the mutilation. The case went cold. They were handling a rash of sexual homicides at that time and had their hands full. I’ve looked at some of them and I think our UNSUB was responsible for at least three, possibly five, between 2002 and 2006, in which he was experimenting with different victims and different MOs. Personally, I think he had a near-miss on one of the other ones and left the city before they got any closer to him.”

The second video
had been sent to Lieutenant Jim Feeley of the Evansville, Indiana police department. The victim was Jane Anne Meecher, twenty-four, a convenience store clerk who was abducted on a rainy Saturday afternoon in June 2007 after finishing her shift. Again, she was white, single, slightly over five feet tall, one hundred and nine pounds, and her medium-length hair was blonde. He held her for three days before she died on him, which he complained about bitterly in the video before removing her breasts with the KA-BAR while the camera recorded it.

He explained his intention to leave the body on the banks of the Ohio River as a human sacrifice to the spirits of the Angel Mound builders. Angel Mound, Griffin explained, was a Native American historical site eight miles from Evansville. Feeley spent a lot of time investigating this angle
, and for some time worked on the theory that the killer was Native American.

“By the time he’d decided that the human sacrifice bit was bullshit,” Griffin said, “the case had grown cold.”

Because Capers had held back the nickname and the mutilation in the Mortenson homicide, Feeley didn’t connect his case to St. Louis. Additionally, Feeley made the same decision, hoping that the suppression of this information would help weed out false confessions and dead-end tips. Unfortunately, he made no progress before the Rainy Day Killer struck again, walking onto the campus of the University of Evansville on a wet afternoon in April 2008, where he abducted nineteen-year-old Jackie Pilcher, a sophomore majoring in business administration.

The video he sent to Feeley this time was shorter and more to the point. He reminded Feeley that he wanted to be publicly known as the Rainy Day Killer, he pointed out the similarities between Pi
lcher and Meecher so that his modus operandi would be clearly understood, even by a moron like Feeley, and he explained he was dumping Pilcher on the riverbank close to the riverboat casino to apologize to the water spirits for the defamation caused by the presence of such a hollow temple of materialism and greed.

“This time,” Griffin said as the video ended, “Lieutenant Feeley told the press he believed the two homicides had been co
mmitted by the same person, but again he didn’t use the nickname. Like many of us, he didn’t appreciate the way these individuals become popularized in the media. However, the UNSUB finally figured out it would be simpler just to go to the press himself, so he called a reporter with the local newspaper and gave him the works, including the fact that he was responsible for other rapes in the area but that the Meecher and Pilcher murders were what he liked to think of as his signature kills.”

“He really wanted the publicity,” Horvath said as Griffin changed
DVDs again.

“It’s the fear factor,” Griffin agreed, sitting down and picking up the remote control. “Evansville’s not that big a place, just over a hundred thousand people. The publicity forced the local authorities to step up their investigation, and once again
it got a little hot for this guy and he left town. Just over a year later, another victim turned up in Louisville. This time, things were a little different.”

The fourth video was addressed to Lieutenant Cindy Ko
wpacki, the lead investigator with the Louisville police department. The victim’s name was Sarah Towson, and at age twenty eight she was the oldest so far. She was married, where the previous victims had been single, and she was a real estate lawyer, where the others had worked at lower-income jobs. Most noticeably, instead of approaching her on the street, he abducted her from the front porch of her ground-floor apartment in the trendy Belgravia district on a Sunday morning in June.

The
quality of the video was higher than the other three and included the use of a remote control device for the first time. The UNSUB had upgraded his equipment upon arrival in Louisville. The routine was similar to what they’d seen in the Olsen video.

“This is the first time he explains his pretext on camera,” Griffin said.

Hank watched as the man leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands between his knees, his face still hidden in shadow.

“It was easy, Cindy. Can I call you Cindy? It gives me a bit of a tingle when I do. Anyway, it was very easy. I knew her husband played basketball every Sunday morning with a bunch of buddies downtown. I rang her doorbell and told her Frank had just been in a horrible car accident only a few blocks away. They were still trying to get him out, and he was calling for her. I told her I wi
tnessed the accident and volunteered to come and get her. I was on my way to church, but this was much more important. She wasn’t any brighter than the others, Cindy. She fell for it right away.”

He leaned back. “Why am I telling you this? Maybe it’s b
ecause I think females are stupid. They’re dumb and trusting. Some guy they’ve never met before in their miserable little lives is completely believable because he’s wearing a nice suit and carrying an umbrella to protect them from the rain in their moment of need. But what about you, my dear, sweet Cindy? Are you dumb too, like the rest of them? Or do you think you can catch me? Just the thought of it gives me such a rush. Being hunted by a woman. You have no idea how arousing that is.”

Karen grunted something under he
r breath.

“I’m going to leave her on the riverbank, Cindy,” the killer went on. “Another soul commended to the Ohio.
Were you paying attention when I said I’d done this before? I’ll give you a little tip, sweetheart. There’s no big spiritual meaning to it. It’s not a signature thing. Do you know what that means? Look it up if you don’t.”

When the video was finished playing, Griffin ejected the
DVD and put it back into the plastic case. “A victim like this is considered at low risk because she’s married and her occupation and lifestyle don’t expose her to targeting the same way as with someone working the streets, like Pearl Mortenson. The UNSUB was definitely taking a high risk to abduct her from her doorstep.”

He picked up a
nother DVD. “Victim number five, Patricia Skeldov, Pittsburgh.” He put it down and picked up another. “Lise Larsen, Pittsburgh.” He held up the final DVD. “Annabelle Witten, Harrisville, West Virginia.” He wagged it back and forth. “This one was the most unusual. He was clearly in transit. He found her waiting on tables at a truck stop, heard her talking about her trucker husband who was on the road, followed her home to a ten-acre farm, and used the barn as his captivity site. He says he liked hitting a rural target for once, as opposed to hunting in a city. It’s also the first time he mentions me by name. Kowpacki wanted to consult us in Louisville but her captain blocked it, so we didn’t get involved until Pittsburgh, where, of course, the press made a big deal of it. You could see he was playing around the edges of the whole profiling business in the first four videos, but when you watch these last three you’ll see him really getting serious about it. It raised the stakes for him and made the game that much more interesting.”

“It’s not a game,” Karen objected. “He’s raping and killing innocent women. Only a fucking sicko would think that’s a game.”

Griffin tossed the DVD on the table with the others. “You’re right, it’s not a game. I’ve devoted the past twenty-five years of my life to hunting guys like him and, believe me, I’m tired, depressed, and utterly devoid of religious faith or belief in a higher good.

“
Do I think this is a game? Do I feel like I’m playing a game where we keep track of the points and decide who won and who lost at the end of the day? No. This is my work, my life’s work, and it sure as hell isn’t a game.

“
But to him? Damn right it’s a game to him. Look, everybody’s got their own theories about what causes them to be the way they are. Some say it’s genetic, others say it’s a difference in brain structure or an unstable family background of violence or abuse, or a combination of things. Take your pick. Nobody knows for sure, although plenty of people
think
they know.”

He pointed his finger at the TV. “
This guy? I’m convinced he came from a relatively stable home and didn’t experience any childhood abuse. In one of these videos he tries to claim he was abused by a baby sitter when he was a boy, but I’m convinced it’s just more of his bullshit. I think he
doesn’t know
why he is the way he is.”

“I don’t understand,” Horvath said.

“Don’t you see?” Griffin waved his hand. “He’s sexually aroused in situations where he has complete power and control over females. He holds them for three or four days, as long as they can physically last, and he goes on a sexual binge, but for a reasonably intelligent guy he doesn’t understand why he does it. His self-image is all over the map. He thinks maybe he’s Hannibal the Cannibal, then he thinks he’s the Dating Game Killer, then he thinks he’s somebody else again. He likes the fact that an FBI analyst is on his case, so he keeps adding and subtracting stuff to yank on my chain and keep me interested, but at the end of the day he knows he’s showing me enough to form a reasonably accurate profile, and he’d love to know what that profile is, because—”

“He wants
you
to tell him who he is,” Horvath said.

Griffin
nodded. “Exactly.”

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Sunday, April 28: early morning

Every Sunday morning at seven o’clock, Chief Wilson Bennett arrived at the Silver Moon Grill on Clergy Street for breakfast. He sat in the same table near the back, ordered the same spread that included scrambled eggs, bacon, toast with orange marmalade, and a pot of coffee, and he read the Sunday morning newspapers while his driver drank coffee at the lunch counter and kept an eye on his boss in the big mirror on the wall. An hour and a half later, the chief stacked the papers on the table, walked to the cash register at the front, made a big show of paying his bill, and was driven two blocks to All Saints Episcopal Church at Clergy and Simpson, where he sat in his usual pew next to his ex-wife and their four children for the duration of the service. Afterward, he spent two hours with the kids—miniature golf was a favorite—and then took them to a restaurant for lunch. When their mid-day meal was finished, he dropped the children off at his ex-wife’s house in Granger Park and had his driver take him to the country club, leaving behind his former family for another week.

This morning, however, his routine at
the Silver Moon was interrupted to accommodate a meeting.

Hank arrived at ten minutes after eight o’clock to find Be
nnett and Ann Martinez waiting for him. After he accepted a cup of coffee, he watched the chief tap a folded-up section of newspaper with his index finger.

“According to this morning’s Op-Ed, Lieutenant
Donaghue, this department is ineffectual, quote unquote, when it comes to violence against women. Apparently Theresa Olsen’s becoming the central focus of several lobby groups with longstanding grudges against us.” He picked up a spoon and scooped sugar into his coffee. “Despite the fact that our violent crime statistics have been going down over the last eighteen months, this case is like an incendiary flare to these people. We need to show some sort of progress.”

“I agree.
” Hank said. He saw Martinez tilt her head slightly to one side and took it as a cue to assume Bennett wanted a full accounting. “We prepared a statement that I’ll release at this morning’s regular briefing. It’ll contain new information. There’s—”

“What’s your sense of the FBI’s contribution so far?”
Bennett interrupted, stirring his coffee.

“Good. Very helpful.”

“How detailed is the profile?”

“It’s good. What helps is that the description and composite sketch we got from the eyewitness on North Clanton Street seem to be a fit. For once we have a reasonably reliable eyewitness. In a nu
tshell, we’re looking for a white male, mid-thirties, short, slight build, not all that physically fit or strong but with good coordination and hand and wrist strength, well-groomed dark hair, fairly intelligent, may be a college graduate, may work part-time in a white-collar position, probably drives a late-model van or SUV that’s reasonably well kept. There’s more.”

“You’re confident it’s this Rainy Day Killer?”

“Reasonably confident,” Hank said. “Everything’s qualified, of course, until you have a suspect in custody with sufficient evidence to convict him, but it’s clear this is the direction we need to take.”

Bennett set down the spoon and sipped his coffee. “Okay. What about a task force with the other jurisdictions?”

“It’s not in the cards.” Hank had already spoken to Detective Capers in St. Louis, Lieutenant Feeley in Evansville, and Detective Hegman in Pittsburgh, none of whom had had the time for or interest in a meeting, let alone a joint investigation. Capers had been rude in his dismissal of any form of cooperation, Feeley had sounded distracted and overloaded, and Hegman had told him both cases were already flagged as “open-unsolved” and had been moved to the back burner. Lieutenant Cindy Kowpacki in Louisville had shown an interest in comparing notes, but her captain blocked a request to travel to Glendale. That left only Sheriff Tom Anglehart in Harrisville, West Virginia, who couldn’t afford to make the trip but said he was available by telephone at any time.

“We have copies of their case files,” Hank said, “or at least copies of what they gave the FBI, and that
will have to do.”

Bennett nodded. He began to doodle on the newspaper with a fountain pen.

“The plan is for me to appear at this morning’s regular media session and deliver an impromptu statement,” Hank said. “PIO Montgomery wrote it, and SSA Griffin and I vetted it. I’ll announce that we have reason to believe the Olsen homicide is connected to a series of homicides in other states attributed to an individual known as the Rainy Day Killer. I’ll mention that we received a communication from someone claiming to be this individual and taking credit for the Olsen homicide. For now we’ll withhold the fact that it was in the form of a video. We’ll also withhold what else was in the package. I’ll state that the FBI has been consulted, and an analyst who’s familiar with the Rainy Day Killer is providing assistance. I’ll then state that I’ll be the sole departmental spokesperson for this case, and that all other sources will have no comment. We’ll give them a handout including the composite and a TIPS number the public can call with information, I’ll repeat our request for assistance from the public, and then I’ll walk out without taking any questions.”

Bennett continued to doodle. “Sounds fine. Philbin’s agreed to
lend PIO Montgomery to Homicide. Ann tells me you’ve already decided how she’ll spend her time.”

Hank didn’t look at Martinez,
understanding now that she had briefed Bennett beforehand, but that the chief wanted to hear it from his lips. Was there a problem waiting to bite him on the ass?

“
Montgomery will set up a series of meetings with Block Watch captains,” he said, “to distribute the handout and encourage people to phone the TIPS line if they see or hear anything suspicious. She’ll also work directly with TIPS to screen the calls and collate anything useful. She’ll give me two reports a day. She’ll also draft all my statements.”

Bennett nodded again.

“Hank feels a proactive strategy is key at this stage,” Martinez said.

“Explain,” Bennett said to Hank.

“The use of a single spokesperson and the irregular timing of statements is one part of it,” Hank said. “As Ed said yesterday, it takes control of the information flowing out to the public and gives us a chance to manage public perception of the threat. Going out to the Block Watch program is a logical next step, because then the neighborhoods can see us following up on what’s said to the media. Also, the district commanders will step up patrols of areas with large-sized vacant buildings. We’d love to find the primary scene, or catch him moving to another site.”

“Good,” Bennett said.

“You’re also covering the dump site,” Martinez prompted.

“Yes.” Hank glanced at her now, but she was staring at Be
nnett. “We’re not sure if this guy’s the type who returns to his disposal sites afterward to relive the crime, but we wanted to cover it. Midtown was sending a car under the bridge twice a day but it’s not practical, so Tim Byrne set up a few motion-activated video cameras to give us twenty-four-hour coverage of the site. Midtown’s extending their patrols along the river in any event, in case he’s scouting for another dump site. We have to work on the assumption that he’s planning his next kill.”

“You know,” Bennett said, putting down his pen, “you can call him an UNSUB if you like. If it’s a good enough term for the FBI, it should be good enough for us.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Hank replied, “I think when it comes to catching offenders in our own jurisdiction, we need to be better than the FBI.”

Bennett smiled. “What I want to hear.”
He turned to Martinez. “With one exception. I want their lab to handle all future physical evidence collection and analysis, if, God forbid, he does act again.” He held up a hand as Martinez opened her mouth. “I know Turcotte will have a problem with it, but that’s how I want it done. I want their evidence response team at the next crime scene. With our people maintaining functional authority, of course, but I want the FBI using their protocols and equipment to collect and analyze everything. Plus, I want everything we have so far on the Olsen case sent to their lab for a second look. Negotiate it with Roubidoux, and make sure it’s given top priority, as she promised. I want rapid turnaround on everything from here on out so we can move quickly on whatever it tells us. We’re going to show everyone how the GPD does it.”

“Yes sir,” Martinez replied, her tone neutral.

“Good.” Bennett leaned back and picked up the coffee pot. “Get to it.”

Martinez stood up, black portfolio in hand. Hank pushed out his chair and, as he was about to stand, Bennett put a hand on his arm. “A word, Lieutenant.”

Her face blank, Martinez left the table.

Hank sat back down.

Bennett refreshed his coffee, then topped up Hank’s cup as well. “Ann has what it takes to make the next step up.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”

Bennett looked at him. “We don’t know each other very well. Socially, I mean. Professionally, I’ve made it my business to become thoroughly familiar with your jacket.”

Hank said nothing.

“The Hero Cop,” Bennett said. “Saved the young son of then-councilman Adolphus Post single-handedly as a twenty-three-year-old patrol officer. When Post was elected mayor, he appointed Gerald White as our first African-American chief of police, and White, word has it, became your rabbi. You made detective at twenty-five, sergeant at twenty-nine, and lieutenant at thirty-one. Lightning speed, and just in the nick of time before Mayor Post finished his second term and his Democratic replacement got shellacked at the polls by Darrien Watts. When Watts replaced White with Orvell Jenkins, your many sins as special assistant to the chief came back to haunt you.”

Hank sipped his coffee, waiting.

“You stepped on a lot of toes during your time in the chief’s office,” Bennett said. “You developed a good rapport with the media, but you don’t seem to have inherited your mother’s sense of internal politics. I have no doubt you’re aware that Myron Heidigger still wants your hide nailed to his door, years after the fact. When you make enemies, Lieutenant, you make good ones.”

Hank nodded, knowing that Heidigger, who was now deputy chief of Internal Affairs Division, still deeply resented public stat
ements Hank had made about ongoing investigations while Heidigger was captain of the Homicide unit. It had resulted in friction between Heidigger and Chief White that had interfered with Heidigger’s career advancement at the time and caused the man to hold a grudge ever since.

“
You’ve been the subject of three IAD investigations,” Bennett went on. “One for selling information to the Triad, one for falsifying the performance reports of a subordinate while you were her supervisor during your first stint in Homicide, and one for improper use of force.”

Hank kept his mouth firmly closed.

“In the use-of-force case you made an off-duty arrest of a biker who was engaging in a knife fight with two other men outside a bar. Internal Affairs contended you inflicted the knife wounds yourself, but the complaint went away when one of the other men insisted he get the credit for cutting the biker. Is that how it went down?”

“That’s how it went down.”

“Falsifying performance reports to hide the incompetence of a subordinate in exchange for sexual favors is an extremely serious charge,” Bennett continued. “The fact that Ann Martinez’s competence is and has always been beyond question, plus the fact that absolutely no evidence of sexual impropriety was uncovered, took the wind out of the sails of that one. Is there anything negative related to Ann’s abilities that you saw at the time that I should be aware of?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so.” Bennett shifted in his seat. “Your personal history with her is of absolutely no interest to me unless it interferes with her ability to do her job now. Will it interfere with her ability to do her job now, Lieutenant?”

“Of course not
, sir.”

“Wonderful.” Bennett sipped his coffee. “The thing with the Triad. I saw the photo, with the money passing between your hand and someone else’s hand at an outdoor stall in Chinatown.
Cropped, of course. It took two requests, which is one too many, but I finally saw the original sequence of photos in which you were buying a carton of noodles from a vendor. I mention this investigation last because it relates to the wider question of your ongoing relationship with known Triad officials and associates. This thing with Mah, is it a problem I need to worry about?”

“There is no thing with Mah, sir.”

A frown flitted across Bennett’s face. “Try again.”

Hank sigh
ed. “I saved Peter Mah’s life in an alley in South Shore East two years ago. He believes he owes me some kind of debt of honor. I’ve told him he doesn’t. He insists. His family, particularly his father, are likewise deluded, despite my attempts to set them straight. Peter Mah’s currently out of the country, but his associates occasionally contact me as confidential informants. They won’t accept CI money; they believe it’s part of the repayment of the debt. I’ve been rolling with it, because their information has been useful in several cases. A CI’s a CI. I believe Peter Mah’s committed more than one homicide during his rise through the Triad ranks, and I believe once he comes back, if he does come back, he’ll pick up exactly where he left off, at which point I hope the next one lands on my desk because I’ll bust his ass and go for the death penalty like a point guard driving to the hoop for an easy lay-up.”