by Leslie Wolfe
“Well… I ran a search going back only two years. These are the unsolved cases that matched the parameters. May Lin is the earliest in the series, but there could be more victims before her.”
“Why didn’t you open up the timeframe?”
“I thought it would be better for us to remain focused on a manageable number of victims. Enough to give us clear victimology, but not an overwhelming number.”
“Have you looked, out of curiosity, to see how many more candidates would have been returned?”
“Y—yes,” Tess replied quietly, shooting Michowsky a sheepish glance across the table. She hadn’t shared that bit of information with him, and his disappointed glare showed just how he felt about that. “There are two more cases, but they have even less in common with these four. Both victimology and MOs are quite different.”
“I can see why you chose to narrow your focus, Agent Winnett. However, as a matter of process, we never keep blinders on. It’s easier to catch a killer if we know who his first victim was. Most of them start locally, with a victim they stumble on during their daily routine.”
“I believe we have more insight to gain if we focus on his mature, more experienced killings. With this particular unsub and his constantly evolving methods, I think it helps us crystallize victimology.”
“Okay,” McKenzie conceded. “May Lin hardly belongs on this board. I’m not sure if she was killed by the same unsub as the other three victims. I’ve never encountered a serial killer who increases the age of the victims, who starts with underage girls and moves to adult women. Displacement killers stay within set victim parameters, like age and physical features. Lust killers drop victim age, drawing more pleasure from the younger, more vulnerable, purer victim. So, I don’t think—”
“Give me a second,” Tess said. She sprung to her feet and snatched May Lin’s photo off the wallboard. She opened the door, and stuck her head out. “Guys,” she said, raising her voice to be heard across the squad room, “can you please come over here? We need a minute of your time.”
A woman in her 40s came into the conference room first.
“How old is she?” Tess asked, holding May’s photo for her to see.
“Um, hard to say. Twenty-one, maybe?”
“Thanks. How about you? What do you think?”
“Twenty-four, but I’m not sure.” That assessment came from the captain.
“Twenty, not more. Look at her eyes. Not a shred of laugh lines at the corner of her eyes. She’s young,” an admin added.
“Thanks, everyone, that’s it,” Tess said, then she turned her attention to McKenzie. “See what I mean? He made a mistake. May Lin looked older than she was. It’s a known fact that Caucasians have difficulties reading Asian facial expressions and assessing their correct age. That’s my theory.”
“That’s an interesting theory then,” McKenzie replied, “because it could tie up with the differences we see in MO for this victim.”
“What do you mean?” Michowsky asked, speaking his first words since their work session had started.
“He only held her for a day and a half, not four or five. He dumped her body wrapped in a clean sheet. He was apparently remorseful, which doesn’t jive with his psychopathic nature. He made a mistake, and when he realized, he killed her quickly, painlessly, and dumped her body respectfully. He’s probably never going to touch another Asian girl again.”
“So you think that’s why he—” Tess said, but McKenzie cut her off.
“I think there’s more to it. I think this particular victim tells us something about the unsub’s psychology. I believe he identified himself with this victim. The sheet he covered her in was a light blue color, pristine, brand new. Blue is a color for boys though. Might be coincidental, but it’s something I noticed. He didn’t pose her like he did the others. He just laid her down to rest. I think the stressor, the trigger event that made him start killing has something to do with his childhood, or his status as a child. I think what we read as remorse was something else. He felt deeply connected with the child victim.”
Tess nodded quietly.
“After May Lin, it took him eight months until he took another girl,” Tess said, “Shanequa Powell.”
“With Shanequa, he was angry and frustrated. His guilt over May Lin had prevented him from fulfilling his needs sooner. He was angry and he took it out on his new victim. Shanequa was beaten badly. He was at his angriest with her.”
“Makes sense,” Tess agreed. “Thank you for this insight. Some folks don’t believe May Lin and Shanequa Powell belong in this series, my boss included.”
“You can never be 100 percent sure,” McKenzie replied. “Typically, if you have enough common points and you can formulate a theory that makes sense, then it’s a safer bet to keep the victims in the investigation, instead of ruling them out. You can always rule them out later, but you can’t afford to overlook any critical details.”
“Yup. Let’s talk motivation, please. What do you see?” Tess asked.
“This unsub is definitely hedonistic, seeking both thrill and lust. He’s not an impotent, who takes his underperformance-fueled rage out on women. Per the ME’s report, he’s able to function quite well in that department. To him it’s about control, it’s about power, it’s about experimentation with power. He’s a power-assertive killer. That’s what gives him satisfaction. Look at the drugs he’s played with. He’s seeking the ultimate thrill, or, per Agent Winnett’s theory, the perfect recipe for retaliation against a woman who he believes has done him wrong.”
“You’re also describing a hybrid,” Tess said, a little confused.
“I realize that. If your theory is correct and he’s seeking retaliation then, yes, we have a hybrid. A rare occurrence, but it can happen, at least in principle.”
“Is he accelerating?” Tess asked.
“And fast,” McKenzie replied. “The cooling-off period between his abductions has decreased dramatically. We could potentially expect him to abduct a new victim any day now.”
Silence engulfed the small conference room. McKenzie walked toward the back of the room, headed for the coffeemaker. In passing, he came by Tess, accidentally touching her shoulder. She jolted, shot him a brief glance, then looked away.
“Excuse me,” McKenzie said quietly.
Damn it, Tess thought. Out of all places and all situations to react badly to someone’s accidental touch, she had to do it with an FBI profiler present, the type of professional who could see through her like he was a walking X-ray machine.
McKenzie grabbed a bottled water from the mini fridge and came back to the front of the room. This time, he approached her carefully, making sure he didn’t startle her again. He brushed against the wall, allowing her enough space, while Tess watched his every move. He gave her space, and was careful not to touch her again, but he hadn’t chosen Michowsky’s side of the table to make his way to the front of the room. He walked by her on purpose. He was studying her. Oh, God.
She felt her heart race, pounding against her chest like a caged, terrified animal. A jolt of adrenaline sent shots of panic throughout her body, and she froze, trying not to pant. She focused on her breathing, taking slow, long breaths in, holding them for a second or two, and exhaling just as slowly.
“Agent Winnett?” McKenzie asked.
“Yes?”
“I was asking, what’s your theory about these drugs? How do you think he’s gaining access to them?”
When the hell did he ask that, and how come she hadn’t heard him ask it the first time?
She cleared her dry, constricted throat before speaking.
“We think he’s a medical professional with access to a readily available, varied stock of medical drugs. He could be working in a hospital, or a long-term care facility. Because he seems very comfortable from a financial point of view, I think he’s a doctor. Possibly a surgeon, considering his precision with a scalpel.”
“What if he’s not?” McKenzie asked. “You noted these vict
ims are all wealthy, and that he might be wealthy too.”
“He’s got money to burn, and he seems to be moving freely from state to state, where he spends time torturing and killing. He doesn’t seem to be tied to any one place,” Tess replied.
“That’s another concern, by the way,” McKenzie said. “Except for Ted Bundy, the vast majority of serial killers stuck to one geographical area. How do you reconcile your theory that he’s a hospital doctor, with this type of freedom to roam about?”
She shrugged involuntarily.
“Even doctors have vacations. Maybe that’s how he spends his.”
“I disagree,” McKenzie replied. “These types of killings need preparation. He’s spending much more time in the respective areas than the four or five days he keeps his victims. He hunts, and the pleasure of the hunt is one of the rewards for the hedonistic lust-thrill killer. He’d never cut his hunt short; he’s savoring it. While he’s out there, sizing up potential victims, his fantasies reward him with the promise of an exceptional kill. Your unsub doesn’t work, or if he does, he has lots of flexibility.”
Tess lowered her head. She hated being wrong, but that’s why she’d called McKenzie, to make sure she didn’t make errors in her assessments.
“As for medical knowledge, there are documented cases of self-taught serial killers with impressive skill level,” McKenzie added. “He could also be a med school graduate, but not an employed doctor.”
“How about the drugs, then?” Michowsky asked. “How is he gaining access to those?”
“You can get anything online these days or at the corner of the right street,” McKenzie replied. “As you know, there are entire channels of distribution bringing medical drugs from Mexico, for people who don’t have access to the expensive equivalents in the US drugstores.”
McKenzie drank some water, then continued.
“I can’t formulate an opinion on what his stressor might have been; it’s too soon and I don’t have enough information.”
“Do you think he evolved from a rapist?” Tess asked.
“Most likely yes. It could be worth looking at older incidents, but geography will be your enemy in this case. Until you can pinpoint his location, you can’t realistically do any of that.”
“How about this creep incident?” Tess asked. “It keeps coming back to me as the one lead we might have. Would this unsub frequent clubs?”
“Most serial killers are charming, fascinating, charismatic individuals. They’re not all reclusive. Yes, he could be hunting in clubs. I don’t like the timeline though.”
“What do you mean?” Michowsky asked.
“If the unsub were the creep, too much time passed between the day he eyed the last victim, Sonya Weaver, and the day he abducted her. It could happen, being he’s so calm and methodical, but I don’t think so.”
“Do you think he bit Sonya?” Tess asked.
“Again, the timeline doesn’t work. Your ME said two weeks, maximum.”
She let out a long sigh.
“I’m visiting the families, starting tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’ll check to see if May Lin frequented clubs, despite her age. That’s another missing commonality we see in her case. Wish me luck.”
“You’ll catch him,” McKenzie said. “I’m not worried. All I can give you now is a partial profile, but we’ll stay in touch.”
“Ready when you are, SSA McKenzie,” Michowsky said, ready to take notes.
“Our unsub is late 20s to mid-30s, most likely Caucasian and wealthy. He’s single, probably has fleeting relationships, nothing steady. His intelligence is above average, and he could be charismatic and well-spoken. He travels out of state frequently, for longer periods of time. He drives at least one large SUV with tinted windows, or a truck with a bed cover. He has access to locations where he can torture and kill unheard, undisturbed. He has started as a rapist, or as an abusing sexual partner. He’s a paraphilic, predisposed to fetishism. He cuts his victims to torture them, not as a form of picquerism. He’s a sexual sadist, and a calm, organized, and methodical predator.”
McKenzie smiled slightly in Tess’s direction, and added, “And yes, he could be a rare retaliatory-excitation hybrid. When we catch him, we will definitely study him in detail.”
Michowsky glanced quickly at his watch, then stood, a little clumsily, leaning against the conference table for support. His back probably hurt bad after so much time spent sitting.
“Thank you, SSA McKenzie,” Michowsky said, “I’ll distribute the profile. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Michowsky walked out of the room, and Tess extended her hand, eager to evade McKenzie’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Thanks for coming in, I appreciate it,” she said, looking McKenzie in the eye for a second, then averting her eyes. “I know how busy you guys are.”
He shook her hand warmly, holding it for longer than she expected.
“Take it easy, Winnett, you look like shit.”
“Huh,” she laughed sarcastically, “men these days are such gentlemen.”
“You don’t have to live with it, you know,” he said, speaking with kindness in his voice.
“With what?” Tess frowned.
“PTSD.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, a little too fast, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and pulling her hand away.
“Don’t be an idiot, Winnett. If I couldn’t recognize hypervigilance when I see it, I wouldn’t belong doing what I do for a living.”
Tess lowered her head, unable to say anything. What was there left to say? McKenzie would probably report her; the first word in his job title was supervisory. He had the duty to report any agents seemingly unfit to do their job. Then they’d put her through countless assessments, to find an excuse to fire her. Then they would, expressing countless hypocritical regrets. End of story.
“Tess, I’m here for you, for whatever you need. PTSD is hard to live with, but it can be managed, made easier,” McKenzie said, speaking with the same kindness.
“You… won’t report me?”
“Not if you get help,” he said, seeking her eyes with a comforting look. “Call me, all right?”
“Yes, I will,” she eventually said, then watched his tall figure walk away with a steady gait and equal footsteps.
She closed the conference room door and leaned against it, letting her heart beat as fast as it wanted, while she breathed heavily, ignoring the tears pooling in her eyes.
21
One More China Shop
Tess lost track of time for a while, leaning against that closed door and battling her demons, but not slaying that many. Then she returned to reality, as her breathing normalized and her heart rate dropped to standard levels. She checked the time; only a few minutes had passed, in what seemed like ages.
A quick tap on the door, and Fradella barged in. Sweat beads covered his forehead. The day had proven to be a scorcher.
“Oh, so you’re done already?” he asked, sounding disappointed.
“Done?”
“With the profiler.”
“Yeah, he just left,” Tess replied. “We have notes we can share.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic,” he blurted angrily.
“What’s wrong?”
“Would it have killed you to call me when he got here? Or am I good only to run your warrants and screen your video surveillance, huh?”
“I honestly didn’t think you’d care about it,” she said, taken aback. Again, she’d pissed someone off without even knowing. Her absolute specialty.
“Yeah, and why should I care? It’s only the opportunity of a lifetime, to sit in a profiling session while experts discuss a case. My case!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t think about it. But now I know, and I’ll make sure to include you in anything even remotely interesting. How’s that?”
“Don’t patronize me, Agent Winnett. I’m not that dumb.”
“I wasn’t, honest
ly,” she replied, just as Michowsky entered the room.
“I’ve released the profile, for whatever good it’s going to do,” Michowsky said. “It’s not like these cops are going to approach loaded men going about their business in Miami, and ask them what? ‘Do you torture women in your spare time?’ I don’t think we have enough, profile or no profile. Not yet.”
“You’re right,” Tess replied. “We need to tighten the noose. Todd, can you please run these drugs and see where someone could buy them? Try online, black markets, street corners. Talk to informants on the streets of Miami Beach. See where all the channels for these drugs intersect. Maybe we get lucky.”
“Ah, here we go again. Here goes Todd Fradella, gofer for Agent Tess Winnett, FBI.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Michowsky asked. “That’s your job!”
“Yeah…” Fradella replied bitterly. “Funny how I end up with the crappiest part of whatever the job is. In about 15 years, I’ll get really good at running errands. Maybe I’ll get promoted to senior gofer, who knows. That’s if I’m lucky, and I kiss—”
“Detective Fradella, that’s enough,” Michowsky said, raising his voice.
Silence was heavy, palpable after the heated exchange. Fradella stared angrily at Michowsky, who was more surprised than frustrated.
She understood Fradella more than she cared to admit. The younger generations were more ambitious, more rushed than their parents had ever been. The world revolved at a much faster rate, and if they didn’t fight with their claws to get ahead, mediocrity swallowed them forever. She felt the same burning ambition to succeed, to learn, to better herself in every aspect of her work. And, yes, she hadn’t thought of him; she completely forgot all about him and saw the profiling session as her own opportunity to learn, not his. Truth be told, she remembered Fradella existed when it served her purpose, not his. Guilty as charged. Somehow, she’d become so tense, she barely noticed other people existed. She didn’t used to be like that.
“I meant what I said earlier, you know,” Tess said. “I’ll involve you in anything worthwhile and give you the chance to learn a few tricks.”