Gone ,but not forgotten

by Philip Margolin

  Her friends said she was overly conscious of her figure.

  Except for Reardon, who had been a nurse, none of the women had ever held a meaningful job, and Reardon stopped working soon after her marriage. They were happy housewives living in luxury, spending their time at golf and bridge. Their idea of contributing to the community was raising money for charity at country club functions. Where were these women now? Were they dead?

  Had they died quickly, or slowly, in agony? How had they held up? How much of their dignity were they able to retain?

  The phone rang. "Gordon," she answered.

  "There's a Mr. Lake at the front desk," the receptionist said. Nancy straightened up. Less than seventy-two hours had passed since her visit to the crime scene.

  "I'll be right out," Gordon said, dropping her pen on a stack of police reports.

  Inside the front door of the police station was a small lobby furnished with cheap chairs upholstered in imitation leather and outfitted with chrome armrests. The lobby was separated from the rest of the building by a counter with a sliding glass window and a door with an electronic lock. Lake was seated in one of the chairs. He was dressed in a dark suit and solid maroon tie. His hair was carefully combed. The only evidence of his personal tragedy was red-rimmed eyes that suggested a lack of sleep and a lot of mourning. Nancy hit the button next to the receptionist's desk and opened the door.

  "I wasn't certain you'd be here," Lake said. "I hope you don't mind my showing up without calling."

  "No. Come on in. I'll find us a place to talk."

  Lake followed Nancy down a hall that reminded him of a school corridor.

  They walked on worn green linoleum that buckled in places, past unpainted brown wood doors. Chipped flakes of green paint fell from spots on the walls. Nancy opened the door to one of the interrogation rooms. aside for Lake. The room was functional and with white, soundproof tiles.

  "Have a seat," Nancy said, motioning toward one of the plastic chairs that stood on either side of a long wooden table. "I'll grab us some coffee. How do you take yours?"

  "Black," Lake answered.

  When Nancy returned with two Styrofoam cups, Lake was sitting at the table with his hands in his lap.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "I'm very tired, and depressed. I tried going to work today, but I couldn't concentrate. I keep thinking about Melody."

  Lake stopped. He took a deep breath. "Look, I'll get to the point. I can't work, and I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to work for quite a while. I sat down with the papers on a real estate closing this morning and it seemed so… it just didn't mean anything to me.

  "I have two associates who can keep my practice going until I'm able to cope, if that ever happens. But now all I want to do is find out who killed Sandy and Melody. it's all I can think about."

  "Mr. Lake, it's — all I can think about too. And I'm not alone. I'm going to tell you some things. This is highly confidential. I'll need your promise to keep it confidential."

  Lake nodded.

  "There were four disappearances before your wife and daughter were killed. None of those women has been found. It took us a while to catch on, because there were no bodies. At first, we treated them like missing persons.

  But a note with "Gone, But Not Forgotten' and a black rose was left at each crime scene, so after the second one we knew what we were dealing with. The chief has put together a task force to work on the cases.

  "I'm sure you're working very hard," Lake interrupted. "I didn't mean to be critical. What I want to do is help. I want to volunteer to be part of the task force."

  That's out of the question, Mr. Lake. You aren't a police officer. It also wouldn't be advisable. You're too emotionally involved to be objective."

  "Lawyers are trained to be objective. And I can add something to the investigation-the unique insight into the criminal mind that I developed as a defense attorney. Defense attorneys learn things about the way criminals think that the police never know, because we have the criminal's confidence. My clients know they can tell me anything, no matter how horrible, and I will respect their privacy. You see criminals when their false face is on. I see them the way they really are."

  "Mr. Lake, police officers get a real good look at the criminal mind-too good. We see these guys on the street, in their homes. You see them cleaned up, in your office, a long way from their victims and after they've had time to rationalize what they've done and cook up a sob story or a defense. But none of that matters, because you simply cannot work on this case. As much as I appreciate the offer, my superiors wouldn't allow it."

  "I know it sounds strange, but I really do think I could contribute. I'm very smart."

  Nancy shook her head. "There's another good reason you shouldn't get involved in this investigation-it would mean reliving the death of your wife and daughter every day, instead of getting on with your life. We have their autopsy photos lying around, their pictures posted on the wall. Do you want that?"

  "I have their pictures all over my house and office, Detective Gordon.

  And there isn't a minute I don't think about them."

  Nancy sighed. "I know," she said, "but you have to stop thinking about them that way or it will kill you."

  Lake paused. "Tell me about your fiance," he said quietly. "How… how did you stop thinking about him?"

  "I never did. I think about Ed all the time. Especially at night, when I'm alone. I don't want to forget him and you won't want to forget Sandy and Melody.

  "Ed was a cop. A drunk shot him. He was trying to put down a domestic dispute. It was two weeks before our wedding date. At first I felt just like you do. I couldn't work. I could barely make it out of bed. I…

  I was racked with guilt, which is ridiculous. I kept on thinking there was something I could have done, insisted he stay home that day, I don't know. I wasn't really making much sense.

  "But it got better, Mr. Lake. Not — all better, not even mostly better.

  You just get to a point where you face the fact that a lot of the pain comes from feeling sorry for yourself, for what you've lost. Then you realize that you have to start living for yourself. You have to go on and keep the memories of the good times. If you don't, then whoever killed your little girl and your wife will have won. They will have killed you too."

  Nancy reached across the table and put her hand on Peter Lake's arm.

  "we'll get him, Mr. Lake. You have so much to deal with, you don't want to get involved with this too. Let us handle it. We'll get him, I promise."

  Lake stood up. "Thank you, Detective Gordon."

  "Nancy. Call me Nancy. And give me a call anytime you want to talk."

  A week later, Hunter's Point Chief of Police John O'Malley entered the task force office. He was usually in shirtsleeves with his tie askew and his top button open.

  This morning, O'Malley wore the navy blue suit he saved for Rotary Club speeches and meetings with the city council.

  The chief had the broad shoulders and thick chest of a middleweight boxer. His nose had been broken by a fleeing burglar when he worked in New York's South Bronx. His receding red hair revealed an old scar, a memento of one of many gang fights he had been in as a youth in Brooklyn. O'Malley would have stayed in New York City if a heart attack hadn't forced him to pursue police work in a less stressful environment.

  Walking behind O'Malley was a huge man dressed in a tan summer-weight suit. Nancy guessed that the suit was custom-tailored, because it fit perfectly, even though the man was oddly oversized, like a serious bodybuilder.

  "This is Dr. Mark Klien," O'Malley said. "He's a psychiatrist who practices in Manhattan, and an expert on serial killers. Dr. Klien was consulted in the Son of Sam case, the Atlanta child murders, Bundy. He's worked with VICAP. I met him a few years ago when I was with the NYPD and working a serial case. He was very helpful.

  Dr. Klien's seen a full set of reports on these disappearances and the deaths of Melody and Sandra
Lake.

  "Dr. Klien, O'Malley said, pointing to each member of the task force in turn, "this is Nancy Gordon, Frank Grimsbo, Wayne Turner and Glen Michaels. They've been on this case since it started."

  Dr. Klien was so massive, he filled the entrance to the office. When he stepped into the room to shake hands, someone else followed him in.

  O'Malley looked uncomfortable.

  Before Dr. Klien gets started, I want to explain why Mr. Lake is here.

  Yesterday the mayor and I met. He explained that Mr. Lake was volunteering to assist the task force in finding the killer of his wife and daughter."

  Nancy Gordon and Frank Grimsbo exchanged worried glances. Wayne Turner's mouth opened and he stared at O'Malley. O'Malley flushed angrily, stared back and continued.

  "The mayor feels that Mr. Lake brings a unique insight into the criminal mind, developed as a defense attorney, that will give us a fresh perspective on the case."

  "I hope I'll be of use," Peter Lake said, smiling apologetically. "I know I'm not a trained policeman, so I'll try to keep out of the way."

  "Dr. Klien has a busy schedule," O'Malley said, ignoring Lake. "He has to take a two-fifty shuttle back to the city, so I'm going to let him take over."

  Lake took a seat behind everyone in the back of the room. Frank Grimsbo shook his head slowly. Wayne Turner folded his arms across his chest and stared accusingly at O'Malley. Nancy frowned. Only Glen Michaels, the chubby, balding criminologist O'Malley had assigned to do the forensic work for the task force, seemed uninterested in Lake. He was riveted on Mark Klien, who went to the front of the room and stood before a wall covered with victim information.

  "I hope what I have to say is of some use to you," Klien said, talking without notes. "One disadvantage a small department like Hunter's Point has in these cases is its inexperience with crimes of this type.

  Although even larger departments are usually at a loss, since serial killers, for all the suffering they cause and all the publicity they receive, are, fortunately, rare birds. Now that the FBI has established the Violent Crime Apprehension Program in Quantico, small departments, like yours, can forward a description of your case to VICAP and learn if any similar murders have taken place in other parts of the country.

  VICAP uses a computer program to list violent crimes and their descriptions throughout the country and can hook you up with other police agencies where similar crimes may have occurred, so you can coordinate your investigation.

  "What I want to do today is give you a profile of the serial killer in order to dispel any stereotypes you may have and list some common factors you can look for. The FBI has identified two separate categories: the disorganized A-social and the organized nonsocial. Let's discuss the latter type first. The organized nonsocial is a sexual psychopath and, like any psychopath, he is unable to empathize, to feel pity or caring for others. His victims are simply objects he uses as he wishes to serve his own perverted needs. Venting his anger is one of these needs, whether through mutilation or debasing the victim. The Boston Strangler, for example, placed his victims in a position so that the first sight anyone had of them as they entered the room was to see them with their legs spread apart. Another killer mailed the foot of his victim to her parents in order to expand the pain and misery he had already caused."

  "Excuse me, Dr. Klien," Wayne Turner said. "Is it possible that our killer is leaving the notes to torment the husbands?"

  "That's a good possibility. The cruelty in torturing a victim's loved ones, and thereby creating more victims, would be very attractive to a sexual psychopath, since he is unaffected by any moral code and has no sense of remorse. He is capable of any act. Preserving body parts and eating them is not unusual, and having sex with the corpse of a victim is even less rare. Lucas decapitated one of his victims and had oral sex with the head for a week until the odor became so extreme he had to dispose of it."

  "is that the type of crazy bastard we're dealing with here?" Grimsbo asked.

  "Not 'crazy," Detective. In spite of the extremes of their behavior, these people are not legally insane. They are well aware of what is morally and legally right and wrong. The terrifying thing is that they do not learn from their experiences, so neither treatment nor imprisonment is likely to — alter their behavior. In fact, because of the compulsiveness associated with these sexual acts, it is most likely that they will kill again."

  "What does the black rose mean?" Nancy asked.

  "I don't know, but fantasy and compulsion are very much a part of these killer's fantasy. Prior to the killing, they fantasize about it in great detail, planning very specifically what they will do. This increases their level of excitement or tension so that ultimately their act is one of compulsion. When the murder is completed there is a sense of relief until the tension builds up again, starting the cycle anew. Son of Sam talked of the great relief he felt — after each killing, but he also demonstrated his faulty judgment when he said he did not know why his victims struggled so much, since he was only going to kill them, not rape them.

  "Since fantasy is so much involved in their behavior, these killers often take a specific body part or item of clothing with them. They use it to relive the act. This heavy use of fantasy also results in the crimes being very well planned. The Hillside Strangler not only brought a weapon, he brought plastic bags to help him dispose of the bodies.

  This could account for the absence of forensic evidence at your crime scenes. I would guess that your killer is very knowledgeable in the area of police investigation. Am I correct that an analysis of the notes and the roses have yielded no clues, and that the crime scenes haven't turned up so much as a fiber or hair that's been of use?"

  "That's pretty much true," answered Glen Michaels.

  "We did get a print from the Lake note, but it turned out to be the wife's. All the other notes were spotless and there was nothing unusual about the paper or the ink. So far, the lab hasn't picked up a thing we can use."

  "I'm not surprised," Klien said. "There is a peculiar interest among these men with police and police work.

  Some of them have even been involved on the fringes of law enforcement.

  Bundy attended FBI lectures and Bianchi was in security work and in the police reserve. That means they may be aware of the steps they must take to avoid detection. Their interest in police work may — also lie in a need to know how close the police are to catching them.

  "Let's talk about the victims. Usually they're accidental, in that the killer simply drives around until he fixes on someone. Prostitutes make easy victims, because they'll get in a car or even allow themselves to be tied up.

  The victim is generally not from the killer's home turf and is usually a stranger, which makes apprehension much more difficult."

  "Do you see that as being true in our case?" Nancy asked. "I mean, these women all fit a pattern. They're married to professionals, they don't have regular jobs, and except for Mrs. Lake they were all childless.

  They're — also from the same town. Doesn't that show advance planning?

  That he's looking for a particular victim who fits into his fantasy, rather than grabbing women at random?"

  "You're right. These victims don't seem to fit the usual pattern of random selection. It's pretty clear that your killer is stalking a particular type of woman in a particular area, which suggests he may live in Hunter's Point."

  "What I don't understand is how he gets to them," Wayne Turner said.

  "We're dealing with educated women. They live in upscale neighborhoods where the residents are suspicious of strangers. Yet there's no sign of a struggle at any home but the Lakes', and, even there, the crime scene was relatively undisturbed." Klien smiled. "You've brought us to one of the major misconceptions about serial killers, Detective Turner. In the movies they're portrayed as monsters, but in real life they fit into the community and do not look suspicious.

  Typically, they're bright, personable, even good-looking men. Bundy, the Bandit, the
Hillside Strangler, Cortez-they're — all respectable-looking men. So our killer is probably someone these women would let into their home without fear."

  "Didn't you say there were two types of serial killers?" Grimsbo asked.

  "Yes. There's — also the disorganized A-social killer, but in this case we're not dealing with someone who fits that category. That's unfortunate, because they're easier to catch. They're psychotic loners who relate quite poorly to others and don't have the charm or ability to melt into the community. Their acts are impulsive and the weapon is usually whatever is at hand. The body is often mangled or blood-smeared and they frequently get blood — all over themselves. The crime scenes can be very gruesome.

  They're also not mobile, like the organized nonsocials.

  Their homicides often take place close to their homes and they often return to the scene of the crime, not to check up on the investigation, but to further mutilate the body or relive the killing. Rarely do they penetrate the body sexually. They usually masturbate on it or in the immediate area, which can be helpful, now that we have workable DNA testing. But your boy is much too clever to be a disorganized A-social."

  "Why haven't we found the bodies?" Turner asked.

  "He's obviously hiding them, like the Green River Killer. Chief O'Malley tells me there's a lot of farmland and forest in this area. Someday a biker is going to stumble on a mass grave and you'll have your bodies."

  "What will they look like, Dr. Klien?" Nancy asked.

  "It won't be pretty. We're dealing with a sexual sadist. If he has his victim isolated and he has time… You see, these men are expressing their rage toward their women victims. The mutilation and murder increases their sexual stimulation. In some instances, where the killer is usually impotent, the violence makes sex possible. The fantasy and the torture are the foreplay, Detective. The killing is the penetration.