by Mike Omer
“Not directly, but one of the killers could be a gang member, right?”
“Glover isn’t in any gangs, and the unsub’s DNA doesn’t have any matches, meaning he wasn’t incarcerated.”
Koch shrugged. “It’s worth checking.”
Tatum nodded and walked over to Zoe. “How’s it going?”
“I’m working on the initial profile of the unsub. I think I can give them something to work with.”
Tatum sat down and leaned backward. “How do you figure it all happened?”
“What happened?”
“Glover and the unsub? How did they start working together?”
“Well . . . I assume the unsub was in the Riverside Baptist Church, like Glover was. Then, when Glover gave them his speech about wanting to help people with a violent life, the unsub approached him.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. This guy has some violent thoughts about blood drinking—”
“We don’t know that was the nature of his delusion back then.”
“But we can guess.” Tatum waggled his eyebrows and grinned when Zoe gave him a frustrated look. Zoe hated the word guess.
“Glover can read people well,” Zoe said. “He saw a man on the verge of violence, easily manipulated. And his fantasies aligned with Glover’s. I doubt Glover thought about him as a partner back then. But he must have figured that he might be able to use this at some point.”
“So Glover befriends him. Makes him trust him more.” In the background, Tatum heard O’Donnell telling Sykes that she wanted no pineapple on the pizza.
“Maybe he even tried to push the unsub into action back then, see if he could make him act out his violence,” Zoe suggested. “Testing the guy’s boundaries.”
“That sounds plausible. He can’t get him to act, but Glover knows that the guy is medicated. And it might occur to him that he’d be easier to manipulate when off his meds.” He enjoyed the discussion, feeling for once that he was keeping up with Zoe, that they were on the same wavelength.
“Then, last summer, Glover disappears for a while,” Zoe said. “He goes to Dale City and, during that time, gets the prognosis that he’s dying of cancer. He also gets shot.”
“Courtesy of Marvin,” Tatum said.
“He flees back to Chicago. He’s hurt, low on funds, and he knows his time is short. He needs help.”
“So he reaches out to someone he can trust, his weird psycho friend. Do you think Glover already figured they could become a serial killer duo?”
She bit her lip, thinking about it.
“Last chance to change your mind,” Sykes said loudly. “I’m ordering the takeout now.”
“He could have,” Zoe finally answered. “I think that at first, Glover was just desperate for help. But when he got better, he began to plan his final months. And for whatever reason, he felt he needed an accomplice.”
“He might be suffering symptoms. His tumor might be screwing him up. Blackouts, confusion, problems with his motor skills.” Tatum shrugged.
“That makes sense. That’s when Glover figured he should get his friend on board, and that meant getting him off his meds. He suggested blood could replace them. Pure blood.” She frowned. “He already decided their first target would be Catherine Lamb at that point. Why?”
Tatum considered it. It could be the result of a sexual fantasy that Glover had concocted, but it seemed like a too-easy explanation. They took a big risk, attacking Catherine in her own home. There must have been a very good reason for it.
“She must have known something,” Tatum suggested, just as Zoe said, “She knew something.”
Tatum smiled. “Catherine saw them together, or maybe our unsub asked her if she knew good ole Daniel Moore was back in town.”
“It could be something more serious,” Zoe pointed out. “Her father had said that something had been bothering her. Maybe the unsub was actually asking for her opinion about blood drinking.”
“Whatever the reason, Glover probably figured that once they began killing, Catherine would be a problem,” Tatum said. “So they started with her. Glover told his friend they had to start with Catherine because only her blood would be good enough to replace the meds completely.”
“They kill Catherine . . . ,” Zoe said. “And then Henrietta Fishburne followed very fast afterward.”
Tatum nodded. This was where their story faded. There were too many questions. Why so soon? What was the purpose of the pentagram and the knife? Why did Glover call the police?
“We need to figure out Glover’s agenda,” Tatum said.
“No arguments here. But first, let’s give them what we have about the unsub.” Zoe stood up and walked over to one of the whiteboards. She rapped on it loudly. Eyes turned to face her around the room.
Only Sykes kept talking on the phone. “That’s right. Go easy on the coriander. And a large bottle of Coke.”
Zoe shot him a withering look. He quickly left the room, still whispering into the phone.
“We have a general outline for our unsub,” she said.
“Let’s hear it,” Bright said.
“Since we know Glover had chosen him as an accomplice, we can infer some of his characteristics. Glover is obsessed with control, and he would look for someone he could boss around. He would definitely avoid dominant people, and in all probability the unsub would be someone who’s used to taking instructions from others. Glover would also choose someone who was useful. That means the unsub has a job, or some other source of income, probably an apartment and a car.”
Tatum watched her, enjoying the way she dominated the room. Everyone’s attention was focused on her, people hardly breathing as she talked. Zoe had a way of handling herself, her body language making it clear that everything she said was crucial. She was the same when she told Sykes to go easy on the coriander, or when she explained to Tatum why Taylor Swift was a genius, or when she profiled a killer with a handful of evidence. Sure, she was brusque, often even rude. But she left no possibility of disregarding her.
“According to the witness statement acquired by O’Donnell and Ellis, the unsub had said about Fishburne, ‘It’s no good; she’s too dark.’ This makes it likely that he has a racial preference. He’s interested in white victims. There’s also an indication of ritualistic behavior in the crime scene. The unsub keeps walking in circles around the victims, which indicates a possible obsessive-compulsive personality.”
She locked glances with Tatum and continued. “This morning we might have located someone who chatted with our unsub online.” She proceeded to outline their conversation with Peter, the fang designer.
“Then you think the murderer is . . . what exactly?” Koch asked.
“According to his own questions, he was on antipsychotics. We now know that his desire for blood is caused by delusions. He might have a bipolar disorder, or he might be suffering from schizophrenia.”
Zoe continued. “Usually, a delusional murderer would be disorganized, go on a chaotic, unpredictable killing spree. And the age would be somewhere in the early twenties, since the onset of these conditions is around the age of twenty. But this case is different because he was medicated, which means he was already under treatment, so we can’t assume his age. Also, since he is probably manipulated by Glover, his killings are more organized. They are, in fact, organized by someone else.”
This, Tatum knew, was both good news and bad news for the task force. Disorganized killers were unpredictable and could potentially go on a killing spree. But they were also usually caught quite fast because they were careless and behaved bizarrely in public.
“We can also make some assumptions because we know Glover wouldn’t have chosen a partner that would attract attention,” she continued. “So our guy probably has a lot of control over his own behavior or at least can fake it really well. He won’t necessarily be easy to spot in a short interview. But he’d crack during a long interview. The pressure would mount, and eventually he’d lash out or behave e
rratically. Especially if he’s in an unfamiliar, hostile environment like a police interrogation room.”
“So Rod Glover is effectively unleashing the unsub as some sort of trained beast?” Bright asked.
“That was the dynamic, but as time goes on, he’ll lose his grip on him. The unsub’s delusions will grow stronger, and he’ll spiral out of control. We will . . .” She frowned. “Uh . . . we will . . .” She stopped.
“What is it?” Bright asked her.
“Nothing,” she said after a moment. “This is what we have so far.” She sat down and picked up her phone.
“What is it?” Tatum asked her in a low voice.
“It’s something Harry told me. It’s probably nothing . . . but I should check. Hang on.” She put her phone to her ear. After a moment she said, “Harry.”
Tatum noticed, bemused, how her expression became instantly annoyed, her tone brusque and hostile.
“That article you wrote about the police in McKinley Park,” Zoe said. “A woman reported someone tried to snatch her baby? Do you have a name?”
She waited on the line for a minute and then said, “No last name? Just Joanne? Yes, I know, but I thought you might have actually done some investigative work and talked to her. Fine, did she call the cops? But we’ve checked the recent case files in the area, and there’s no case file about . . . yes. Okay, thanks.” She hung up.
“What was that about?” Tatum asked.
Zoe raised her eyes from the phone. “A woman named Joanne from McKinley Park called the police yesterday and said a man chased her while she was walking with her baby in the street. She thought he wanted to snatch the baby away. And he stalked around her house for ten minutes afterward. She said he seemed unhinged.”
“That might be our guy.”
“Could be,” Zoe said. “It’s the same neighborhood as Catherine Lamb’s and likely close to where he lives. Harry said Joanne got the sense that the police didn’t take her complaint seriously. No one came to interview her. They sent a squad car to drive around, but that was it.”
“The call would be in the dispatch logs,” Tatum said. “Let’s check them out.”
CHAPTER 42
Tatum sighed and rubbed his eyes. His head throbbed.
They’d found the relevant dispatch log easily enough. O’Donnell had called the woman to get additional information. She wasn’t able to give a useful description about the person who had chased her, aside from the fact that he was Caucasian. It could be their guy, or not.
And then O’Donnell pointed out that if there was one incident, there might be more. They got the dispatch logs of the past week. They filtered out anything that wasn’t in the vicinity of McKinley Park. Then they read the logs, searching for anything that might be relevant to their case.
“I have an interesting call here,” Tatum said. “From a man who saw a strange object in the sky. The dispatcher asked if it might be an airplane, and he said, ‘Oh yeah, that’s probably it.’”
Zoe raised her eyes from her monitor. “That’s irrelevant.”
“You think?”
She turned back to her monitor. “I think I found something. There’s an entry on the sixteenth. That’s . . . Sunday. A drugstore owner called at ten fifty-one p.m. to say two girls ran into his store because someone chased them. He saw no one, but the girls wouldn’t leave until their parents picked them up. It could be the unsub.”
They kept going through the logs, finding two more instances of people reporting a man walking around the neighborhood, talking to himself, sometimes following passersby.
“You think this is all our guy?” Tatum asked Zoe.
“It’s possible. He’s probably spiraling out of control, and those could be moments when he snapped. All four instances are late in the evening. In each case it was a white male. Three out of four say he was talking to himself.”
“Sounds like the same person was reported,” O’Donnell said. “It’s anyone’s guess if this is the unsub or not.”
“We should get those people to talk to a sketch artist, see if we can get a common description,” Koch said.
“I’ll increase patrol presence in the area,” Bright said. “I’ll brief dispatch to relay any weird calls they get from the area of McKinley Park to the task force.” He got up and left the room.
“Hey, check this out,” O’Donnell said, sounding excited. “This is an actual case file. Vandalism. A shop’s window had been broken on Sunday night, not far from the location of that drugstore.”
Tatum didn’t see the connection. “It could be anything.”
“Originally, this was reported as vandalism because nothing was stolen. Except when the uniformed cops talked to the shop owner, he told them he thought maybe he had a cage missing. He wasn’t sure, because he said they might have been sold, and his assistant just forgot to list them—”
“Who’s they?” Zoe asked.
“Hamsters. A cage of hamsters.”
Tatum stared at her. “You think he might have stolen some hamsters?”
“I mean . . . he’s obsessed with blood, right? And if he couldn’t get human blood that night—”
“That works,” Zoe said. O’Donnell grinned. “Do they have security cameras there?”
“Unfortunately not,” O’Donnell said. “But we’ll send some crime technicians over tomorrow. They might still get some fingerprints from the area of the windowsill.”
“If we line up the reports of the sightings and this burglary, maybe we can get an idea of his route,” Zoe said. “If they’re all connected and it’s really the unsub, we can use geographic profiling to get a better idea of where he lives.”
“And we’ll do that, first thing tomorrow,” Tatum said.
“We have a breakthrough here,” Zoe said.
“I’ve heard. You have a lead. It sounds like a good lead, but it can wait until tomorrow. It’s already ten.”
Zoe frowned at him. “This could potentially—”
“Zoe.” He raised his eyebrows, hoping she’d get the message.
“Fine.” She groaned. “We’ll head back to the motel.”
“It’s late, and my kid’s already asleep,” O’Donnell said. “Do you want to grab a drink before heading back?”
Tatum frowned. “It’s late. We should probably—”
“Yes,” Zoe said to Tatum’s astonishment. “I’d love a drink.”
CHAPTER 43
Bernice’s Tavern was just what Zoe needed. As if to contrast the dark moments from the night before, it was a cheerfully lit room, with tiny Christmas lights twinkling on the walls. Old-school bar paraphernalia covered every wall—beer posters, framed pictures of bands and celebrity bar patrons, a street sign. None of it was tacky or forced; it didn’t feel like stuff that had been bought at a hipstery garage sale. The clutter was a tapestry of the place’s history.
Zoe ordered her usual Guinness, Tatum ordered Honker’s Ale, and O’Donnell had a beer named Daisy Cutter, which Zoe wasn’t familiar with. There was an actual jukebox in the bar, and Zoe considered walking over and choosing a few songs. She hadn’t done that in years.
“So is this a typical case for you?” O’Donnell asked, taking a long swig of her beer.
“No case is really typical,” Zoe said. “Each one has unique characteristics.”
“Serial killers are like snowflakes, huh?”
Zoe frowned. “I can’t really see the comparison.”
“No two are alike.”
“Well, serial killers do have some common traits,” Tatum said. “That’s why we can do what we do. We don’t just make up a profile. We base it on comparison to similar individuals.”
“For example, the blood drinking isn’t unique at all,” Zoe said. “There were several well-known cases, even just in the United States. John Crutchley was one. And the Vampire of Sacramento, of course. And—”
“Okay!” O’Donnell raised her hand to stop her. “So you look at the common traits and derive the killer’s
psyche from that?”
“That’s part of it,” Tatum said. “But it’s not just about creating a profile. We try and come up with a strategy to catch the killer, using methods that have been successful before.”
“And how long have you been doing it?”
“Well . . . what year is it?” Tatum made a show of glancing at a calendar hanging on the wall. “It’s 2016, huh? Then I’ve been doing it for about . . . three months now.”
“Seriously? Three months?” O’Donnell sounded miffed. “I thought you two were serious hotshots, not the FBI’s newbies.”
Tatum grinned. “Oh, Zoe’s the real thing. She’s been doing it for a while now. I’m here mostly for my good looks and razor-sharp wit.” His phone rang, and he took it out. “Hello? Yeah, Marvin, I . . . it’s music. Yes, I know you know what music is . . . I’m in a bar. Yes, killers are still prowling the streets of Chicago. What? What do you mean the cat broke it? How did he get the remote? Hang on—I can hardly hear you.” Tatum gave Zoe an apologetic look and stepped out of the bar.
“Who’s Marvin?” O’Donnell asked Zoe.
Zoe ran her finger along her mug’s rim. “He’s Tatum’s grandfather. They live together.”
“Oh. Is Tatum taking care of him?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” Zoe frowned. “His grandfather is quite capable. And from what I can tell, they mostly just argue. But I think Tatum is Marvin’s only family, so they stick together.”
“Hang on . . . Marvin is Marvin Gray?”
“You’ve heard of him?” Zoe asked in surprise.
“He appears in the case file of Glover’s assault of your sister. He shot Glover.”
“That’s him. Like I said, he’s very capable.” Zoe felt weird about O’Donnell reading about Andrea’s assault. It was relevant to the current investigation, and professionally she should be aware of Glover’s past. But it somehow felt personal. As if O’Donnell had found out about a family secret.
“So it’s just Tatum and his grandfather?”
“And a cat. And also a fish, I think.”