Page 112 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Are you still with the lab in Illinois?” I asked.
“Nope. I’m in DC now. Profiling for the F B of I. What’s happening in the world of bones?”
“Funny you should ask. I’d like your take on something.”
“Of course, you would.” Faux hurt. “The only reason you ever call is to pick my brain.”
I ignored that. “I’ve had some puzzling cases crop up. There’s no common MO, but I think they’re related.”
“MO isn’t fixed, at least not with sexual predators. I once profiled a guy who used a different kind of weapon at every scene.”
“I don’t see a sexual component in these deaths.”
“Fair enough. But no serial offender remains static. For one thing, there’s a learning curve. These guys figure out what works and what doesn’t, and they improve with practice. Also, there are all kinds of random variables that can impact the best-laid plans. A knife bladebreaks. A dog starts barking. A neighbor shows up. The perp must improvise. Some are better at that than others.”
“I don’t think it’s that, either.”
“Is there a signature?”
“A signature?”
“A unique pattern. Most repeat criminals develop one because, once a plan works, they stick with it, thinking it will lower their risk of getting caught. But with violent, repetitive offenders there’s something else operating. In a word, anger. Their anger leads them to fantasize about violence, and eventually they act out their fantasies.”
“They evolve rituals for expressing the rage.”
“Exactly. Maybe to control or humiliate the victim. But the victim isn’t really the point. Their age, gender, appearance may be irrelevant. It’s the need to express the anger. I profiled one guy whose victims were both male and female and ranged from thirteen to eighty-four.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“Important questions: How does the perp encounter his victims? Does he know them? Is his approach verbal? Physical? Does he torture them? Sexually assault them? Mutilate them? If so, does he do it before or after he kills them? Does he leave items at the scene? Take items away? You still there?”
“I’m listening.”
“And?”
“I think there is a ritual. And I agree that the victims don’t seem to be the point.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t think sexual sadism is operating here.”
“What is?”
“Who knows? Jealousy? Revenge? Resentment? Hatred? Good old anger?”
“Directed toward whom?”
“Me.”
“What?!”
I laid it all out. Kwalwasser’s eyeball and head. Sanchez’s guttedtorso. Boldonado, garroted and hung from a tree. The Burke County bucket. Charlie Hunt, dead of peanuts and CO. Then I explained the parallels to my previous cases.
I waited out a long pause. A slow expulsion of breath.
“I hope you’ve reported all this to the cops.”
“I have.”
