“But he is not going to rape them?”
“No, as crazy as this sounds, I don’t think he is able to out of respect for them.”
“Huh?” Even Gray seemed stumped by that one.
“As much as he brutalizes them physically, he does so because of a tortured relationship in his past. Someone he loved and trusted brutalized him. Out of that love and respect, as much as he mutilates their bodies, he is unable to, well, unable to have sex with them.”
“So the guy’s been pussy-whipped,” the detective from Riverside blurted out, then bit his lip, remembering who he was speaking to.
“In a manner of speaking.” Cat would not justify the comment with anything more.
She amplified her voice. “So, gentlemen, that is why I have brought you all here today. The FBI has been authorized to create a statewide task force. In a matter of hours, we will be going national with what we have now, with some details left out of course, to prevent copycats.”
Sanchez nodded, already knowing this was coming down the pike. Cat’s work with the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences Unit in profiling, and correlating that information with what she had learned from a PhD in criminal psychology, made for a potent combination. The addition to her advanced knowledge in forensic medicine meant this bastard better watch out. This triad combination had not failed Catherine Powers yet.
Gathering all the FBI resources, with a backbone of statewide and national informants, meant Cat could put together a picture of murder from the victims’ and the killer’s perspectives. Everything from each victim’s character, physical traits, age, sexual preference, habits, and personality would be reexamined. From this, a correlative match with the killer’s likely characteristics would arise. Where the two pictures overlapped is where they would find their man.
“What I want each of you to take away from this meeting is the fact that this guy’s killing mechanism is changing. I want all of you aware of that. Consequently, if any of you come upon a young female body that fits either of these MOs, especially a floater, I want the information relayed to me immediately. Understood?”
The men nodded.
“And get the word out to other agencies. We will of course be sending out FBI notices via email to all agencies across the state today. That’s pretty much it. Any questions?”
There were none. As the men got up to leave, Cat remembered one more thing. “Hold on a minute. If any of you finds a body, floater or not, I don’t want it touched. Don’t drag it up on the beach. Just leave it. And call me right away.”
They nodded and filed out of the room.
Chief Richmond stayed behind. “That was very impressive, Catherine.”
“You can call me Cat, like everyone else,” she said casually.
“I like Catherine better—far more refined.”
“Whatever.” She was busy packing away the projector and slides. He held her forearm, stopped her movement. When she looked up, his deep-set, penetrating eyes were fixed on her with the most sincere look. “Do you really think we will catch him?”
“I don’t know, chief. I sure hope so.”
Her answer seemed to dispel some of his concern. “Would it be too forward to ask you to have dinner with me tonight?”
She stopped moving, taken aback by his frankness.
He wore no wedding ring, she noticed. “I don’t really think that would be…”
“Catherine, for once don’t think. I just want to have dinner. Nothing covert, no hidden agenda. I figured you’d be getting tired of room service by now. And you’re wound tight as hell. I could take you out, show you around a little.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” She was flustered, not knowing what to say.
He spoke as though he had rehearsed what he was saying in front of a full-length mirror, each word and pause measured and precise.
“I know. It’s been a long time for me too. Ever since Emily passed away a year ago, well, let’s just say I’ve been out of commission.” Hearing his words, his inflection, Cat was sure he had rehearsed them in front of a mirror a thousand times before. The man was heartbroken.
Sincerity returned to his tone. “I know you’re the head of this investigation. I think since we are turning a new leaf in it, it would be best if we talk informally, off the record.”
Cat didn’t understand what he was getting at, but her natural curiosity was piqued. “All right then, what time?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
FOURTEEN
But who will guard the guardians themselves?
—Juvenal, The Satires
The days had stretched into a week for Joey Powers. He lay on his stomach, just three feet from the TV, his head propped up on his elbows, his body fully encased in pajamas.
“Dad, when is Mom coming on TV?”
“Joey, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Come on, I never get to see Mom on TV. You never let me. I’m old enough. I’m six going on seven.”
“I don’t care what age you are. You’re not staying up to watch your mom.”
“Why?”
“Your mom deals with very bad people, very bad men. Criminals like we talked about. You remember?”
“Yessth.” Joey’s occasional lisp was showing through. He had lost a tooth in a baseball game, and they hadn’t made it to the dentist yet.
“And you know that sometimes those criminals do really bad things, really bad.”
“Yessth.” He stopped, thinking. “Like the cops and robbers on TV.”
“Yes, except cops and robbers on TV aren’t real. They don’t bleed real blood, they don’t really die.”
Joey rolled his eyes. “I know that.”
“The people your mom is going to talk about tonight on TV, they are real people. Like you and me. The people who were killed, they had a real family, a mom and dad, like you do.”
“So?”
“I don’t think you should see it, son. Your mom might have to talk about some pretty awful stuff. It might upset you.”
Joey stood up, put his hands on his hips, and sighed. “But, Dad, I’m six,” he said, pleading his case. “It’s not like when you were six. All you ever watched was Leave It to Beaver, dumb stuff like that.”
“So?” Mark felt foolish defending his childhood innocence.
“Kids today are more grown-up. We’ve got the Internet. I can handle it.” Joey stood, feet shoulder-width apart. “And I haven’t seen Mom in a week.”
Mark thought about what his child said. It did seem that kids today grew up much faster, could handle more and had seen more than when he was a kid. Joey was just a boy, but he understood what violence was, watched the nightly news, knew all too well the violence that surrounded him. Police officers had visited his first grade class to discuss the danger of drugs and child molesters. And he was only six! Joey was right, he was growing up a lot faster. The thought made Mark shudder.
“All right, you can watch. But no nightmares.”
“Cool. What time is she coming on?”
“She’ll be on in a few minutes.”
Cat had called a national news conference for eight that evening. The big three networks were carrying live feeds from their Orange County affiliates. The national anchors were already hyping the killer as a combination of Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. A gentleman killer and mutilator all rolled into one.
Joey sat spellbound through the national anchors’ introductions, then the minute-long story segue into the conference. The reporter’s voice droned, detailing the number of killings, the sheer brutality of the murders, the little the FBI had.
The footage cut away to a police conference room.
“There’s Mom!” Joey cried, pointing at the brief glimpse of a woman dressed in a cobalt blue suit, her hair shining against the television lights. The men standing with her looked solemn.
Mark had second thoughts, wondering if this was a good idea. “You sure you want to watch, pal?”
�
��I’m sure.”
A man stepped to the microphone, adjusted his tie, and spoke. “Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming.” His eyes scanned the room quickly. “We have gathered you here today to announce the creation of a statewide task force focused on the killer the media has dubbed the Burning Man. From the Oregon border to San Diego, a statewide network of agencies will be working together on this case, all with the same intent: to catch him.”
“Dad, when do I get to see Mom?”
“In a minute, Joey.” Instinct told Mark maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
Reporters fired off questions as soon as Richmond took a breath. “What has changed in the case to necessitate a statewide dragnet?” a young reporter asked, her hand in the air, pencil in hand.
“For further questioning, I will turn you over to Dr. Catherine Powers, chief forensic psychologist of the FBI’s Behavioral Unit out of Quantico, Virginia. Dr. Powers will be heading the manhunt.” The man turned, stepped down, and Cat walked onto the screen.
“There she is!” Joey said. “There’s Mom.”
Mark had forgotten how lovely his ex-wife was. The color of her suit seemed to highlight her aquamarine eyes, the auburn streaks in her hair. She was beautiful but looked thin and tired. “Jesus, Cat. What are you doing to yourself?” he murmured.
“Thank you all for coming.” She looked up from her notes and flashed one of those million-dollar smiles. Mark wondered if she was smiling from nerves. “The reason we have called you all here tonight, as my colleague informed you, is to announce the expansion of the effort to bring the Burning Man to justice.”
“Dad, she looks tired, huh?” Joey looked back over his shoulder.
“Yes, son. She does.”
They listened as Cat continued. “As you know, two days ago we pulled a body out of the water off Dana Point. We have reason to believe that that woman, Jane Doe for now, is a victim of the Burning Man. The girl at this point remains unidentified, although we have circulated her photo to police departments in Los Angeles, Orange, and other Southern California counties. For this reason, we have reason to believe she may be a transient to the area, could even have come across state lines with the killer. Obviously, that possibility puts a new spin on the case. We could be dealing with a killer that is not just a California problem but a national one.”
Cat felt the flashbulbs hot on her face.
She caught a glimpse of Cooper off to the side in the back of the room.
The same young reporter was up again, seeming to have a monopoly on the questions. “What has changed in the case?”
“Well, a number of things have. The newest victim does not match the killer’s modus operandi, not entirely at least. Although she exhibits the same lacerations, she is the first one that has been strangled and the first to exhibit ligature bruises to the neck, torso, ankles, and wrists.”
“Dad, what’s a ligature?”
Mark thought of making something up but answered the boy honestly. “Mom’s talking about a kind of bruise that you get when you’re tied up real tight, son.”
“Like when Jason and I play in the yard?”
“Yes. Something like that.”
Joey and Mark turned their attention back to the television. Cat was explaining the similarities and dissimilarities of the three victims that had been found. She did not mince words, nor did she take her attention off her audience.
The fire in her eyes told Mark that she was fully into it now. Obsessed, he had called it, with her cases. That obsession for justice had cost them their marriage. It had killed the young, naive girl he had fallen in love with, and in her place had put a woman so driven to find truth that she destroyed and alienated everything dear to her in life.
Except Joey.
Cat said sternly that she believed there were more women’s bodies out there.
“What can the press do to help?”
“You can get the word out to every person in this country that Jane Doe is dead.” Cat turned to the same girl’s photograph she had used before, this time projected onto a five-foot screen behind her. “This is someone’s daughter, someone’s sister.”
She waited for the photo to sink in.
“As much as he brutalized her, she needs justice. We need to find out who she is. If we can, we will have made one more step toward finding and catching the Burning Man.”
“Dr. Powers, how is the investigation going?”
“Will he be stopped?”
“Have you narrowed down the suspects?”
“How can we be sure it’s even a man?”
The questions came like rapid-fire bullets.
“The investigation at this point is going as well as can be expected. The FBI is running DNA testing, toxicology.” Cat knew she wasn’t telling them anything concrete, but it sounded like something. It was a skill she had picked up over the years and learned well. “We have a photo analysis team flying in from Washington tonight.”
“Wow, cool,” Joey said, impressed by what his mother was saying, though Mark was sure he didn’t understand it. “As far as suspects, we have some ideas but no concrete leads at the moment. In that area, the investigation is continuing, progressing nicely.”
If he was watching, Cat wanted the Burning Man to believe they were getting close, even if they weren’t. Sometimes a psychological game of cat-and-mouse could be best played out before millions to see.
“Are they gonna catch him, Dad?”
“I don’t know. But you know what, with your mom on the case, I would bet pretty sure odds they’re going to.”
“Cool.”
“How can you be sure it’s even a man,” a woman reporter asked again.
“On the most recent victim, we have evidence of damage to the neck, along with other use of force that suggests the killer is probably a man.”
“What else can you tell us about him?”
“He is well educated, articulate, probably soft-spoken, knows how to blend in, but is also wound pretty tight, full of fears and phobias when it comes down to it.” More cat-and-mouse, Mark thought.
“And he is medically trained.”
“How do you know that?” Cooper shouted, even before Cat could answer.
“I cannot discuss that detail of the case, other than to say the precise nature of the lacerations to the bodies indicates a man who has had medical training.”
“Like a doctor?” Joey asked his dad.
“Yeah, maybe. Let’s listen, okay?”
Joey nodded and turned back around, his head propped on his hands again.
A male reporter finally got in a word edgewise.
“How about the acid? Did he use it on the last one?”
“Yes, he did. He used it on Jane Doe. Let’s find her a name, shall we, ladies and gentlemen?” Cat bowed her head, Mark suspected to hide tears. “She deserves better.”
The questions, lights, flashes kept coming. Cooper kept trying to ask questions. Cat would have none of it. She simply smiled and said, “That is all we have for now. As the case progresses, we will be holding additional briefings.” She stepped down off the podium.
Joey turned, his brow stitched together in concern. “Dad, you think Mom’s doing okay?”
“Joey, I think your mom can handle herself just fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Now it’s off to bed for you, trooper.” Mark tried to sound upbeat.
Joey was already in his face, lips puckered with a kiss. “Night, Dad. I love you.” A big hug followed.
“I love you too.” Mark returned the kiss and popped him on the butt as he scooted off.
Mark was always surprised by Joey’s innocence and intelligence, and his love for his mom. His smile faded as he thought about how bad Cat looked.
FIFTEEN
Here’s the smell of blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
—Shakespeare, Macbeth
The next day, the Burning Man in
vestigation broke wide open.
By eight o’clock, Cat had her answer. Jane Doe was no longer Jane Doe but Melanie Garrett, a seventeen-year-old runaway from Flagstaff, Arizona. Even on the swollen corpse, the girl’s parents recognized the star-shaped freckles on their daughter’s chest.
Cat flew them in from Arizona. She figured word would get around soon enough who they were, and she wanted to spare them the agony that additional media attention would bring. “Bring them in quietly,” she told McGregor. “I don’t want them rattled by the press first.”
“Will do.” McGregor seemed rejuvenated, as if the new leads were like fresh blood pumping through his veins. Even Craig Gray’s tagging along couldn’t bring him down.
Before long, Melanie Garrett’s parents were at FBI command headquarters in Irvine. McGregor escorted the man and woman, both in their late forties, inside.
“Glad to meet you, Mrs., uh, I mean Dr. Powers,” the man said, pumping her hand aggressively.
“There is no need for that,” Cat reassured him. “You can call me Cat; everyone else around here does.” Melanie Garrett’s father seemed genuinely awed by the scene. To Cat’s right, a team of detectives worked the phones—calls coming in from all over, from people who thought their friend, neighbor, relative could be the Burning Man. In another room, to Cat’s left, an expert team was poring over the crime scene photos. On the first two cases, the team had to work from photos. Exhumations of both bodies at this point would cause far more problems than it was worth, angering both girls’ families and possibly alienating the media support they had.
Cat simply didn’t have any proof thus far that the first two girls had been poisoned. Although she suspected it.
Lidocaine administered in lethal doses, over time, could easily have been missed by medical examiner Dr. Conrad James. Administered via IV, given the brutal nature of the killings, there was every indication that the needle pricks could have been missed. And the girls would have gone quietly to sleep, only to wake to the sound and smell of acid eating their own flesh.
The Burning Man Page 11