by Dirk Greyson
Playing With Fire
By Dirk Greyson
Jim Crawford was born wealthy, but he turned his back on it to become a police officer. Add that to his being gay, and he’s definitely the black sheep of the family.
Dr. Barty Halloran grew up with lessons instead of friends and toys and, as a result, became a gifted psychologist… with only an academic understanding of people and emotions.
When Jim’s pursuit of a serial killer goes nowhere, he turns to Dr. Halloran for help, and Barty thinks he can get inside the shooter’s mind. In many ways, they’re two sides of the same coin, which both scares and intrigues him. Together, Jim and Barty make progress on the case—until the stakes shoot higher when the killer turns his attention toward Barty.
To protect Barty, Jim offers to let Barty stay with him, where he discovers the doctor has a heart to go along with his brilliant mind after all. But as they close in on their suspect, the killer becomes desperate, and he’ll do anything to elude capture—even threaten those closest to Jim.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
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Copyright Page
To Lynn, who helped form the idea for this one, and to Dominic, who is now wondering how I know so much about serial killers.
Chapter 1
JIM CRAWFORD groaned as he flipped on the lights to his patrol car, turned around, and raced toward Route 1, which ran down the center of New Cynwood, Pennsylvania. The entire town was on edge, and this was only going to make it worse, much worse. Customers by the droves were staying away from the businesses in town out of fear. He could almost hear his boss screaming at him to do something about this, the council was going to have his hide, and of course, the highly upper-crust town was going to feature in the evening news yet again.
He pulled into the shopping center near where an ambulance was already coming to a stop, parked, and got out, staying clear of the lifesaving personnel. As other officers arrived, he got them busy securing a perimeter.
“What have we got, Tommy?” Jim asked the EMT.
“She’s already gone. There’s nothing we can do for her,” Tommy said, gently covering the body with a sheet. “You may as well call in the coroner and a medical examiner. But it looks exactly like the last one to me.”
“I was afraid of that.” This was the fourth of these shootings in the last few months, and as he looked around, he spotted the most likely place the shot was taken from.
Jim made the calls and got everyone rolling. “Check the surrounding buildings and get these people out of here. What if the shooter decides to take another shot?” It hadn’t happened so far, but who was to say the pattern wouldn’t change? In fact, Jim was pretty sure of what they were going to find—a single shell casing, sitting perfectly straight on the ground, exactly from where the shot had been taken, and not a single thing else.
“What is it, Sergeant?” Jim turned when Paul Carson, one of his senior men, approached.
“Found this right up there,” he said, pointing to the exact spot Jim had been contemplating.
Shit, it was fucking frightening that he could think like this bastard. The problem was, he could only do that after the shooting took place. Not before the asshole took his shot and ended yet another life.
“We’ve worked way too many of these. Get statements from everyone. Find out what they heard and saw. Check anyone in or around that building to see if they saw anything unusual. This guy has got to make a mistake, and we need to be there when he does.” Jim calmed himself so he could think, refusing to get too wrapped up in this case. He needed to be able to see things clearly if he was going to solve this, and he had to. His career depended on it.
When Carl, the coroner, arrived, Jim let him make his assessment and then waited for whatever information he could give him. “Looks just like the others I have back in the morgue,” Carl said softly. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was the same caliber and probably the same rifle, though I can’t confirm that until I extract the bullet and test it.”
“We already found his calling card.” Jim held up the evidence bag and signed it over to Carl so he could match the bullet to the casing.
“Let me get busy, and I’ll give you any information I can as quickly as possible.”
Jim nodded and turned away so he could finish processing the crime scene. He wasn’t about to let it go until he was sure he had everything there was possible to get. “Come with me?” he asked Paul, who nodded, and they went to inspect where the shot had come from.
Like the three previous murders, according to initial reports, there had been a single shot and then someone had fallen to the ground. Just like that, a life had ended. Jim went inside the small, empty office building and up to the roof. Sure enough, the markers were still in place, but the photographs had been taken and the evidence collected and bagged.
“A great vantage point, and it would be hard for someone down there to see up here because they’d be looking into the sun at the time. He picks his places really well.”
“He does indeed, Paul.” There were things Jim knew about their killer, but so much he didn’t. “The guy is methodical, distant, and so far we’ve not been able to find a single connection between the victims. They seem random, and that’s what’s got us stumped.”
“They do have something in common. All of them took place here, within four blocks. If it isn’t the victims that connect them, then maybe it’s the place or where he takes his shots,” Paul offered.
Jim had thought of that, and they had run down every lead, but after this killing, they were going to have to look at everything again. Sometimes it felt as though they were running in circles, but it had to be done to ensure nothing was missed.
He watched the area from the shooter’s point of view, then let the guys finish up and headed back down. He listened to witnesses and reviewed the statements with the other officers, but like the cases before, no one had seen anything until the shot was fired, and then all eyes had been on the victim.
“Anything new to report?” Captain Westin asked as he strode toward Jim. These shootings were getting on everyone’s nerves, and a lack of progress made everyone edgy.
“I wish. It’s the same as the others,” Jim said rather softly. “This guy leaves us almost nothing to go on. Not even a footprint in the roofing material. Just that single bullet casing to taunt us.” He groaned. “I’m going to work the evidence, and then I think we need some help.”
“I don’t want to call in the feds, but….”
Jim moved away from the others to ensure privacy. “No, Cap, I mean the only way we’re going to catch this guy is to find someone who can think like him. This isn’t someone we’re going to catch using our normal methods because I think he’s well aware of what we do, how we do it, and the way we’ll try to catch him.”
“What do you propose?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Let me finish up here, and then can we talk about it in your office?” He really needed some time to clarify his thoughts before he requested money for his proposal.
“Definitely,” Captain Westin said, and Jim returned to finishing up with the crime scene.
Once he felt confident he could release it, Jim headed back to the station, where he instructed all of his officers to
get the statements reviewed, typed up, and sent within the next hour. He had to have all of it so he could look for any differences from the previous scenes.
With instructions handed out, he sat at his desk and made a phone call. “Marilyn,” he said when she answered, and his stomach did a little flip. “It’s Jim Crawford.” He hadn’t talked to her in nearly two years, and as much as he didn’t want to open this door, it was something he felt he had to do.
“Jimmy,” she said happily. “I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth. I knew when you and Garrett split up that things would change, but you know you can call and talk if you want. We were friends, you know.” She sounded pissed, and Jim regretted pulling away from a lot of their mutual friends when things went south with Garrett. It had been easier than trying to figure out which friends he’d gotten in the separation. Marilyn had been a hard one because he’d always gotten along with her really well, but she and Garrett had been colleagues and in the same discipline.
“Things were difficult for a long time.” That was the only explanation he had that made any sense at all once he vocalized it.
“I know that, and I’m still a little angry at him.” She paused, and he heard a door close in the background. “He wasn’t the only one who got left behind.”
That was news to him.
“I’m guessing you didn’t call to hash out ancient history.”
“No. But I will call more often, I promise. I miss you and Brian.” Hell, when Garrett left, so had almost all of his social life.
“So, what do you need? Are you still with Philly PD?”
“No. I moved to New Cynwood a few months after the breakup. It was easier and a great opportunity.” He grabbed some papers off his desk. “I’m working the shootings.”
“God, I saw those on the news. They’re awful.”
“They are, and we need some help. You’re plugged in there, and I’m hoping you can point me to an expert on psychological criminal behavior.”
She chuckled. “A criminological psychologist?”
“Yes. One of those. Is there someone you can recommend? I could really use some insight.”
“All right. Let me look into it a little. We’re pretty siloed here, as most educational institutions of our size are, but I happen to have some contacts in the psych department and I can make a few calls. Will you give me a number where I can reach you?” After he rattled off his direct line, she said, “I’ll call back as soon as I can.”
“Thanks.” Jim hung up and thanked all that was holy that Marilyn understood urgency, at least in this situation. Sometimes she took her own time with things. He also thanked his stars that Marilyn didn’t seem to hate him for not calling for all this time. Heck, she even seemed to understand, at least to a degree—something even he didn’t all the time. Things with Garrett had been good, until they’d gone bad, and he was still trying to figure all that shit out after two fucking years.
“Crawford,” Captain Westin snapped, and Jim stood and followed him into the office. “Okay, what is it you want? The township is about to explode, and we have to solve this fast. This has gone on too long, and people are scared shitless.”
That was like the understatement of the decade.
“I’m working on a criminal psychologist. They work with criminals and people with pathological and psychotic personalities. I think we need someone who can get into this guy’s head. We have data on his behavior and the crimes committed, but we aren’t sure how to use it.”
“You mean like The Mentalist or something?” Captain Westin asked skeptically. “You know that’s just made up for television.”
“Yeah. But it is a real discipline, and we need the help. It’s either that or lose control of the case, and with each incident, we get closer to that. So how much can I offer?” He wasn’t going to pull any punches. They needed help, he knew it, and from the doubt in the captain’s eyes, he knew it as well.
“Whatever the fuck he wants. At this point I can get the money for just about anything if it will help solve this damn case. Now get out, find one of these patho people, do it fast, and get some results—or else they’re going to be calling for both our heads.” He glared at Jim, who took that as the end of their meeting, so he left the office and returned to his desk as his phone rang.
“How fast can you get down here?” Marilyn said without preamble. “I think I have just the guy for you. But….”
“What? It isn’t Garrett, is it?”
“God, no. He’s ancient philosophy. I doubt he’d be able to help you. No, I have one of the leading experts of psychological criminal behavior, and he’s agreed to meet with you, but he has appointments for the next few hours and then class after that.”
“Did you tell him how important this is?” Jim asked as he grabbed his things. “Surely his other appointments can’t be life or death.”
“Just come down here. Barty Halloran is someone you have to meet to believe. Call me when you’re close, and I’ll meet you and lead you over.”
Once he agreed, Jim got a move on.
To say traffic was hell was an understatement. It took an hour on the Schuylkill to get downtown. He thought of turning on his lights, but he wasn’t on an emergency call, so he inched along and waited to get downtown. He did use his official vehicle to get a parking spot, then called Marilyn, who met him in the center of the urban campus. She was a tiny, thin woman with a smile as huge as all outdoors.
“You look great,” Jim said as she approached and hugged him tight.
“I’m so mad at you for not calling. Just because Garrett was an ass doesn’t mean you have to cut everyone out of your life.” She released him and was already moving. “I’d love to catch up, but we have little more than half an hour for you to meet Barty.”
“Okay.” He followed behind as she led him into a relatively modern, completely nondescript brick building and up the stairs to the third floor. The place seemed to have been designed with a lack of character and a great deal of blandness in mind, like they wanted to stifle creative thought rather than encourage it.
“His office is right up here,” Marilyn said without slowing down. She reached the door she wanted, knocked, and then opened it.
“Do I know you?” the almost beanpole man inside asked, staring at Marilyn a little blankly.
“I’m Marilyn Grove. We spoke on the phone.” She smiled, but he didn’t.
“Yes.” The man turned to the clock on his desk and then back, his gaze landing on Jim, who swallowed. His blue eyes were the color of ice and held a slight chill.
“I’m Jim Crawford, a detective with the New Cynwood Police Department, and I’m working a case that could use some of your expertise.”
“Dr. Bartholomew Halloran. You can call me Barty.” He motioned to the chair.
“I’ll leave you to talk,” Marilyn said, and somehow Jim felt as though he were being thrown to the wolves. She turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Barty closed the door and sat at his desk, looking at him. “Well?” He blinked a few times behind his black-rimmed glasses. “You need my help,” he said, sounding confused.
“Yes. You might have heard about the shootings we’ve had.”
“Of course. I’ve been fascinated by them.”
Jim wondered at the words chosen. “How so?”
“Of course there are many things I don’t know, but the perpetrator seems like he’d make an interesting case study for my research.” Barty sat still, watching him, and Jim wondered if he was trying to get into his head somehow. It was a little creepy the way Barty seemed to look deeply into his eyes, but showed nearly nothing in his.
“We have few clues as to who this person is, and with four deaths now, I thought we needed more insight. Someone who can help us get into the mind of the killer to figure out how he thinks and maybe find a way to catch him before he kills again.”
Barty nodded. “You are correct in assuming your killer is male. Men kill from
a distance and are detached. Women usually kill more close up and it’s personal… crimes of passion and so on.” He turned back to the desk, and Jim thought he was checking his clock again. “I have an appointment shortly that I can’t miss.”
Jim didn’t want to pressure the guy, but he was becoming agitated. “Do you understand how important this is? People have died, and more will die unless we can stop him.”
“I’m aware of that, and I can try to help you.” Barty turned slightly and checked his computer. “I have appointments for the next few hours that are too late to reschedule.” He made a humming noise in his throat. “I can start tomorrow morning if that’s okay with you. I think this could be very fascinating and really advance my work.”
“It could also save lives,” Jim said. Barty was certainly as strange as Marilyn hinted at.
“I understand that’s important—of course it is.” Barty sounded as though the words were something he’d learned rather than truly felt. “Sometimes in my line of work, we have to look at deeply emotional and frightening things in a very dispassionate way in order to arrive at conclusions and knowledge that helps us understand why people do the evil things they do to one another.”
Jim could understand that, and yet there was something about Barty that made him wonder if he was the guy Jim was looking for. “Do you really think you can help?”
“I believe so.”
Confidence Jim understood, and it eased some of his growing doubts.
“I’m very good at what I do—one of the best, I believe—and I’m sure I can help you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t have all the facts, but from what I’ve read, I’d say you’ve come to the conclusion that the killer is choosing victims at random, is remote, and is trying to send some sort of message, but you aren’t able to figure out what that message is. The thing is, he may not want you to understand the message because it isn’t intended for you, but for whoever or whatever the trigger is that started his rampage. And yes, there is a trigger of some sort, I’m sure of it.” Barty said all of this dispassionately. “I’m assuming that you’ve gone over all the physical evidence. What I’ll do is try to build a profile of the killer and see if I can figure out why he’s killing.”