“What makes serial killer motives any different?”
“To find the reason, you need to look into their past, especially their younger years. They are very likely to have suffered or witnessed abuse, in one form or another. This leads them to live in isolation in their minds. They’re usually withdrawn, socially, and they create fantasies. They start to feel resentment about society in general. This manifests itself in sexual frustration and an inability to be social. They inadvertently turn to pornography. Sexual fantasies become deviant and usually involve them having control over others. Then there are the opposite ones who display the traits of narcissism. This type of killer has an overwhelming sense of self- importance. They are flamboyant in a social setting and on the face of it always seem to be doing good deeds for others, at the same time they are harboring the same sexually deviant and murderous thoughts… Look, I could talk all day on the subject but, if you want a full report, I can send you a quote.”
“I’ll have to think about that. Gotta admit that’s some pitch you got there.”
“Okay, but I think you’ll find it’s virtually impossible to track down a serial killer type by normal detective work. Many seem to live normal lives and can easily fool those around them. Hey, they even fool their psychiatrists by telling them what they want to hear, not to mention they have an ability to put the events out of their mind. Of course, if you want to wait until he strikes again, no problem. I can wait until the FBI calls me in.”
Hogan sat back in his chair. He was intrigued. He knew the profiler was right. Their usual methods of investigation would be useless in tracking down an alleged serial killer without forensics. Most murderers were friends or relatives, or just killed for money, and forensics helped clear up most cases.
“What about the messages he’s leaving?” Hogan asked.
“Are they symbols?”
“No, the guy leaves messages, but his sentences don’t make any sense.”
“Hmm... Could be a number of reasons. It could be that, just as he craves power over his victims, he may also want to feel power over the police by showing how clever he is. There again, serial killers have been known to show or feel remorse, and it could be a cry for help, or it could be a combination of both. Obviously, you can only find out if you can decipher the messages.”
“I just don’t get why they need to kill their victims.”
“Their profile type doesn’t always kill. In some cases, they develop their fantasies to become serial rapists. There have been reports that suggest killing is a form of bond between the victim and the killer’s deluded mind. When their fantasy becomes reality, they believe the victim is somehow consensual to the act.
“Okay, look, this psycho shit is too much for me. I have a meeting with the Mayor later today. My budget is going to be squeezed as it is, but if he gives the go ahead, I’ll get back to you.”
Hogan put down the handset. Damn it, Joe was right. To find what motivates this bastard, we need to know his past.
Contents
A time for reflection
Jamie grabbed his briefcase from his desk and hurried off to lunch. He bought a newspaper, an egg-salad sandwich and a can of coke and made his way to sit on a park-bench. Cuthbert’s words were still ringing in his ears and his head throbbed. He nibbled at his sandwich as he sat and watched a young couple amble by hand in hand, seeming full of the joys of life. He wondered if all modern relationships were destined to go down the tubes like his. Even the birds were busy displaying their courtship rituals blatantly in his vision. He somehow felt out of step with nature.
He noticed a guy sitting a few benches down who seemed to be peering at him furtively over the pages of his newspaper. Weirdo, Jamie thought. He began to read his own paper and found a stark headline.
Serial Killer on the Loose in Brakes County.
A second body of a single, young woman has been found.
Her murder bears all the hallmarks of a serial killer...
Suddenly, he was distracted by a pungent odor. It was an odd mixture of dumpster trash and alcohol.
“Mind if I sit down, bud?” asked a disheveled looking homeless bum. Without the chance for reply, the man sat down. “That sandwich looks mighty good. Egg salad is it?” He stroked his beard in anticipation, eyes gaunt and pleading.
“Want some?” Jamie leaned over and passed him half his sandwich.
“Mind if I take a look at your Brakes County Herald?”
Raising an eyebrow, Jamie passed him the newspaper.
“Thirteenth of May, 2029, brings back memories,” he said, looking at the date on the Herald. “I lost everything on that date back in 2009. God, time flies. Damn Wall Street blood suckers. Goddam Ponzi scheme wiped me out,” he said and proceeded to flush out his nostrils.
Jamie cringed then reached in his pocket.
“Here,” he said, handing the bum a twenty-dollar bill. “Buy yourself a cup of coffee and keep the newspaper.” He made a hasty retreat.
He’s right, time does fly, and life can be cruel. How could she run off with a guy like that? He felt as though he were dispossessed of a companion by a stronger male member of the human pride, no longer king of his comfort zone. His parents had managed fifty-five years of marriage, without a cross word in public, and they were still in love when they passed away within a year of each other. The last thing he ever imagined was that his marriage would crumble. Not that his parents would have given him much advice. His relationship with them had always been strained.
Born in Ohio, he had moved with his family to the UK for the first twelve years of his life. With an English mother and an American dad, and all that time he spent running the London office, he sometimes felt more English than American. A middle child of five offspring, it often seemed his parents found him invisible. His two brothers were much older, and he had nothing in common with them. His sisters were like aliens from another planet. His mother doted on them constantly. Jamie couldn’t stand either one, as they always seemed to get their way. He partly blamed his mother for his inability to enjoy friendly relationships with women, particularly his sisters.
His mother hadn’t helped matters. At his eighth birthday party, he was eating cake with his buddies from school, when he made the mistake of asking her a question.
“Mom, why don’t I have a middle name like my sisters?”
“Just be thankful with Jamie. We wanted to call you Jill,” she laughed.
His friends looked at each other and cackled.
She wouldn’t leave it there. She seemed to delight in his horror.
“I was sure I was carrying a girl. We were bitterly disappointed when they told us you were a boy. We always wanted a girl. Thank God we were blessed with your sisters!”
The words she uttered left him with a terrible complex. His “friends” would never let him forget it. They called him “Jill the pill.” Jamie was sure he would have had more attention from his mom if he just put on a dress.
His loathing for his sisters came to a head one Christmas when he was thirteen. He had hinted to his parents that he needed a new mountain bike. Rushing into the den on Christmas morning, two reclining chairs traditionally reserved for his sisters were piled high with presents and a bicycle parked in front of each.
He thought his brothers were playing a trick on him, as the sofa, usually reserved for his presents, contained only one gift. Jamie charged upstairs to his parents’ bedroom and started shaking his mother.
“Mom, where are my presents?”
“For God’s sake, Jamie, it’s five o clock, get back to bed.”
“But, mom, I only got one present.”
“That’s all you get when you’re thirteen,” she answered abruptly and rolled over to sleep. Jamie trudged to his bedroom, sobbing. It was a defining moment and cemented a lifelong fear of the female psyche.
June was the one exception, no doubt brought about by testosterone flowing rampantly through his young veins. He first saw his wife when they
were thirteen, and she moved onto his street. He was going through that awkward, bumbling puberty period. It took two years before he worked up the courage--through a third party--to ask her for a date to the local church dance. The evening was disastrous. June loved to dance, but Jamie was lacking in the rhythm department. He spent most of the evening sulking in the sidelines while she danced and chatted with some guy on the dance floor. Their courtship continued in this vein. He would fall into dark, jealous moods when she flirted with other boys, and June would always act as though Jamie was at fault. The aftermath of the futile arguments followed a pattern, and at the end of the evening, they would always kiss and make up.
As he approached eighteen, with no prospect of finding a full time job--his part time job at the butcher’s going nowhere--he decided to join the army. After passing all the medicals and written aptitude tests in secret, he decided to tell June, while asking her to marry him. He had never been to a restaurant. His parents neglected to teach him any social graces, and he was as terrified of dining out as he was of dancing.
It was soon to be June’s birthday and he decided to take the plunge. Jamie was spurred on; no doubt by Tricky Dickie--as he called him--the boy from the youth group. He hung around in the background and hovered around June like an unwanted rash. Attending June’s college, she had told Jamie that Richard--his Sunday name--had invited her out for a meal, and Jamie was petrified he would lose her.
“I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner for your birthday, June?” asked Jamie.
“I thought you didn’t like restaurants? Next you’ll be asking me to a dance,” she replied sarcastically.
“Don’t spoil it, June. It’s a big deal for me to ask you. An eighteenth birthday is special and besides there is something I want to tell you.”
“Tell me now, there’s no need to wait.”
“No it would spoil the surprise. You’ll just have to wait.”
He wished he had just told her, or even confided in her, not really sure if he was going about things in the correct way. All week she pestered him about the secret, causing nothing but sulks and arguments. Jamie hated arranging dates and begged his mom to make the reservation. He even had her go with him to buy the engagement ring. He couldn’t understand why she was so excited to help. Maybe she wants me out, he thought.
The night arrived. He picked her up in his mom’s car, and they headed for the restaurant. Sitting at the table, he was more nervous about which knife and fork to use than asking for her hand in marriage. He decided to skip the first course to avoid the confusion, and they ordered a steak, with fries and peas. He was all nerves.
“June, help me out here, which fork do I use?” his face reddened with torment, as he picked up the salad fork.
“Oh for God’s sake, don’t embarrass me, put that down. It’s that one.”
June struggled to cut up her steak when her knife slipped and peas flew to all four corners of the room.
“Who’s embarrassing who?” Jamie quipped, which didn’t go over well.
Everyone stared, as the diners next to them picked unwanted extras from their dishes. He wanted to slide down his chair and hide under the table. Clearly miffed by the incident, June hardly spoke. He wondered how he would get around to asking her the big question and then tell her he was leaving to join the army.
The wine waiter saved the day when he came to the table, more concerned about making a sale than asking for IDs. Jamie couldn’t even pronounce the words on the wine list, never mind order. He passed the wine list to June and she picked a red. Since he was driving, she emptied the bottle on her own. Much to his relief, it seemed to loosen her up and soon the pea incident was a faint memory.
“Come on Jamie; tell me. I won’t bite you,” she said holding his hand. Her eyes glazed from the effects of the wine. His self-consciousness and shyness were almost a mental illness, one he was desperately trying to overcome. Reassured, he decided it was now or never and slipped his hand into his pocket for the ring.
“June, we’ve been seeing each other for almost three years, and I was kind of hoping we could get engaged,” he said as he pulled out the ring.
“Oh, Jamie. . .that’s so sweet, but you need to ask me properly!”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you dare spoil it, Jamie Jameson. Get down on your knee right now,” she said through her teeth.
If he was ever going to overcome his shyness, it was time. The entire restaurant overheard June and eagerly awaited Jamie to make the proposal, as if he were the floorshow.
He took a deep breath and bent down in front of her on one knee.
“June, I love you with all my heart. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?” he asked as he handed her the ring.
She looked around to make sure everyone was watching.
“Yes! I will!” she shouted.
The entire room burst into spontaneous applause.
In celebration, they enjoyed a passionate kiss and Jamie whispered in her ear.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said and they both sat down.
“Yes love, what is it?” she said as she admired her ring and showed it to the couple at the next table.
“I’ve applied to join the army.”
June sat in a shocked silence and then almost choked as the realization hit.
“What?” her eyes shifted back and forth and she raised her voice. “You ask me to get engaged and then you tell me you’re going away to the army!” she shouted, pushing her chair back and stood up.
“But...”
“I wouldn’t marry you if you won the mega-millions lottery! How could you?” she cried.
She pulled the ring off her finger, stamped her feet, threw it on the floor and stormed away. Jamie thought everyone had death rays emanating from their eyes, as he felt the heat flushing into his face. He fumbled around on the floor with stares drilling into his back, crawling around on all fours until he retrieved the ring
Paying the bill in a shroud of embarrassment, he rushed outside to look for her. Not having to look too far, she was sitting on the hood of his car, sobbing out of control. When he approached, she ran to him and threw her arms around him.
“Sorry, Jamie. It’s just the thought of you going away. . .and leaving me here...on my own...”
“I know June, but I wasn’t thinking of getting married right away,” he said, embracing her tightly. “You know I can’t find work. In the military, I can soon save up for some furniture with my paycheck. Also, they tell me I’ll get regular leave. With the Internet we can see each other when we talk on camera.”
“How long?” she asked, as her sobs subsided. She gripped him like a powerful magnet.
“Seven years.”
“Seven years!” she broke away. “You insensitive pile of camel dung! You want me to wait seven years. Are you insane?”
She shoved him back. Turning in place, she set off walking only to trip up and break one of her heels. Not bothering to take it off, she made a strange sight, as she limped down the sidewalk. Jamie jumped in the car and caught up with her. He crawled in his car along at her side. June marched straight ahead, ignoring him.
“Come on, June, get in the car. We can talk about this. Think of all the exotic postings if we get married.”
Just then, a police car pulled up behind him lights flashing. A quick blurb on the siren hailed him to stop. The police officer got out and talked to June.
“Is this guy bothering you ma’am?”
“Yes, he’s pestering me. All I want to do is walk home in peace.” She took off her shoes and walked on.
The police officer walked back to Jamie.
“Step out of the car sir. May I see your license and insurance?”
Jamie showed him his driver’s license.
“Is this your car son?”
“No, it’s my mom’s.”
“Does she know you have taken her car, and do you have proof of insurance?”
>
“Yes, she does, and no I don’t.”
Jamie gave his Mother’s telephone number, but she failed to answer.
“Okay, son, give me the keys. I’ll lock up the car and then you can come with me to the station until we can contact your parents.”
Despite his pleas of innocence, the officer handcuffed him and helped him into his car. At the station, Jamie was duly booked. The degrading procedure over with, he was escorted to his cell minus his sneakers and was given one blanket. As the cell door clanked shut, he just stood there, holding the blanket and stared at the officer. How did it all go so wrong?
All he had for company was a cold steel toilet and a mattress, which he thought construction workers could have used as a corner stone for the Empire State building. Reflecting, he realized his naivety and wished he could turn back the clock and start the evening over. Apparently, his mom had gone to bed taking the phone off the hook. In the hours that ensued, he kept going over events as if it was the movie, Groundhog Day. Finally, he realized the futility of it all and felt like the biggest jerk on earth.
The following morning the cell door opened, and the officer handed him his sneakers.
“Come on, son, you’re free to go.”
Meeting his mom in the reception area, she was furious at having had to take a taxi to the station. She was fuming. Her anger intensified, as she was already running late for work, bringing her to the boiling point.
Travelling back to the car, there was a stony silence. World War III erupted as her temper exploded and venom spewed from her mouth like volcanic magma. He felt the violent heat of her verbal thrashing. Jumping into the car, she left him standing there and yelled one more blast of verbal abuse through an open window.
“Listen right here! If you don’t find work in the next seven days, you lazy piece of crap, you’ll find your bags on the street!”
Survival Instinct Page 3