Lilith: a novel

by Edward Trimnell

  “I’ve been told that you stopped by for an update, LT.”

  “Affirmative. And I’m not the only one. This case has suddenly jumped onto the front burner. The attorney general herself has taken an active interest in it.”

  “We did receive jurisdiction over this investigation less than forty-eight hours ago.”

  The lieutenant nodded and punctuated the gesture with a grunt. He didn't have to tell Alan that this fact was fundamentally immaterial. The first hours out of the gate were crucial in any homicide investigation. Moreover, the powers-that-be had no sense of the scant timeframe in which the ODCI had been working. As far as the attorney general was concerned, the Lilith investigation was as old as the first murder, which had been committed in Columbus weeks ago. So why the hell didn't they have any concrete progress to report?

  “I understand that your team just got this case, and that you’ve been working hard,” Seeger allowed. “And I know you’ll keep me updated.”

  “I will,” Alan affirmed.

  “Anyway, the attorney general thinks we should go public with this case now.”

  “You’re talking about a press conference?”

  “Martha Cowler thinks we need to get the word out to the public. The killer is luring Ohio men who use these dating sites. So if we get the word out, at least some of them will be warier when they’re meeting women who might fit the profile that ‘Lilith’ has established. There is a certain logic to it.”

  Alan was taken aback. He had anticipated pressure for an update, pressure for progress, but he had not anticipated this.

  A press conference at this point in the investigation could change everything. The killer was aware of the pattern that had been established, of course; but the killer might not infer that state law enforcement was treating the three separate homicides as one investigation. After all, the killer had so far had the foresight to move around, striking first in Columbus, then in Dayton, and now in Cincinnati.

  Alan, like most cops, was of the belief that law enforcement should never tip its hand unless there was something of greater value to be gained by doing so. He didn't believe that Lilith’s potential victims would profit much from the warning.

  If the killer had been a man taking women, then, yes, there might be some rationale for a public warning. At least some women would listen.

  But men weren’t like that. In an online dating environment, they would be focused on their own, nonlethal hunts, as surely as Lilith would be focused on hunting them.

  “I think that’s a bad idea”, Alan said, “for several reasons. First of all, the men who use these dating sites aren’t going to start doing background checks on women before they go on dates with them. Most men would regard that as a distinctly unmasculine move. Or to put it another way, they’re more concerned about impressing women than keeping themselves safe.”

  “They might not go so far as to ask for background checks,” Seeger allowed. “But at least they’ll be careful if they’re approached by any dark-haired woman named Lilly or Lilith.”

  “No. Going public about the specifics of Lilith’s current profile could actually make the killer more difficult to catch, thereby endangering more men.”

  The lieutenant gave Alan a dubious look. He probably thought that Alan was mincing logic because he resented the interference from the attorney general’s office.

  “How so, detective?”

  “Right now we have absolutely no idea who Lilith might actually be. Lilith could be a man, a man working with several women, or several women working together, for all we know. If we go public and tell men in this state to beware of dark-haired women named Lilith, it’s quite possible that Lilith will simply become a blonde named Barbara, or a redhead named Allison.”

  “Well,” Seeger challenged, “If I can hold off the press conference, how long will you need to take down Lilith?”

  “We’re just getting started,” Alan admitted.

  “And how is it coming so far?”

  Despite his dislike of Martha Cowler’s interference, Alan could not give his superior a misleading report. That was a habit he had never allowed himself, and he knew that half-truths and prevarications could come back to bite him later.

  “We’ve pursued some initial leads and possibilities, based mainly on the electronic evidence. There was nothing at the crime scene. Lilith left Robert Billings’ house spotless, from an evidential perspective. But we’re going to regroup with a new plan. Trust us, lieutenant, we’re going to take Lilith down. But I can’t give a press conference and tip our hand.”

  The lieutenant sighed. “All right, detectives. I’ll run interference with the attorney general’s office for now. But I need to see results. I need updates.”

  “You’ll have them,” Alan promised.

  “All right then,” Lt. Seeger turned to go.

  “Thanks, LT,” Alan said.

  “Thank me by catching Lilith,” Seeger said, on his way out.

  11.

  “So now what?” Dave said, after waiting enough time so that he could be sure Lt. Seeger would be out of earshot.

  Alan looked to Maribel and then to Dave.

  “Okay,” he began. “Let’s assess where we are at this point. Lilith—whoever Lilith is—is relying heavily on computers. Ideally, Lilith would have left an electronic trail. But it isn’t going to work out like that.”

  Alan paused to reflect on all of the bulk electronic data that the NSA and other government agencies were accumulating—all in the hope that it would provide the stray clues that would prevent the next 9/11 or other major terrorist attack. But the gathering of all this data was a mixed blessing. The smart terrorists would simply add another layer of obfuscation—much as Lilith had done. And whoever Lilith might be, Alan was reasonably sure that Lilith wouldn't turn out to be a branch of al-Qaeda.

  “We aren’t going to catch Lilith at the keyboard,” Alan continued. “In order to catch Lilith, we’re going to have to engage in some old-fashioned police work. We’re going to have to identify suspects and talk to them. And if we do our jobs right, that process will eventually lead us to Lilith.”

  “Back to gumshoe basics,” Maribel said.

  “Back to gumshoe basics,” Alan affirmed.

  Alan noticed the slightest hint of a smirk play on Dave’s face, but the junior detective said nothing. This was a familiar, though reasonably subdued point of contention between Alan and Dave.

  As law enforcement personnel went, Dave was not a very physically fit individual; but he was a wizard with computers. Dave therefore tried to fit every crime into a structure that could eventually be solved by the right algorithm or the right Internet search.

  Alan, on the other hand, was almost hyperactively physical. While Alan acknowledged the usefulness of computers, he believed that law enforcement—not to mention society-at-large—had become too enamored with the Internet and its associated gadgetry.

  “So how to we apply ‘gumshoe basics’ to catch Lilith?” Dave interjected.

  “We begin with a simple question,” Alan replied. “Where does Lilith hunt?”

  “On dating sites.”

  “So we turn the tables and hunt Lilith on the dating sites.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what we’ve been doing?”

  “Yes—and no. We’ve been focused on tracking Lilith’s electronic trail—not on tracking Lilith.”

  Dave said nothing.

  “What we need to do,” Alan said, “is put some human bait out there. We’ll run it like a narcotics enforcement team would run a drug bust.”

  “But instead of posing like drug buyers—” Maribel said.

  “We’re going to pose like a lovelorn man on a dating site. We already know exactly what kind of target Lilith goes for—she likes slightly overweight men in their thirties, men who, for lack of a better word, would be conventionally described as ‘nerdy’.”

  Alan almost involuntarily glanced at Dave. Then he noticed that Maribel’s eyes
had been drawn to Dave as well.

  “Hey!” Dave objected. “Don’t look at me!”

  Maribel chuckled.

  “I would gladly do it myself,” Alan said. “But I’m about ten years older than Lilith’s victims thus far. And I don’t really fit the—profile.”

  “And you’re saying that I do?”

  Maribel laughed again. Dave’s cheeks visibly reddened.

  “Face it, Dave: you’re a natural for this one. I know that you’ve never gone undercover before—”

  This was true, even though Dave had been in law enforcement for the better part of a decade. The ODCI was roughly divided into analysts and field agents. Dave was clearly an analyst.

  Although these classifications were not rigid, analysts seldom went on undercover operations. But there was no explicit rule that prohibited them from doing so.

  “So my first time undercover is going to involve time alone with a serial killer, is that it?”

  “You’ll have to spend some time alone with Lilith—and probably many suspects who will turn out not to be Lilith. But only in public places, Dave. And only with lots of backup. No one is going to throw you to the wolves.”

  Dave sighed, resigned.

  “You’ll still be in charge of the computer end of this operation,” Alan added. “That aspect of the case will remain essential. But I don’t think we’re going to catch Lilith without actually meeting her.”

  “Without me actually meeting her, you mean.”

  “You’ll be perfectly safe. She only kills in the victims’ private residences. You’ll only be meeting with her in public.”

  “Aw man, I’m going to be bait.” But Dave’s turn was upbeat now, and laced with a bit of bravado. He had apparently remembered that Maribel was present, and he was trying to recover.

  “And you know so much about online dating.” Alan could not resist the barb.

  “I do not.”

  Maribel chuckled again.

  “Do what you need to do as far as the budget is concerned. You can use the group’s credit card to set up profiles on any dating sites that charge fees for male members.”

  “I’m on it,” Dave said.

  “And give this a chance, Dave. You might just find that you’re a natural.”

  12.

  It took only a few hours to set up Dave’s online profile and to duplicate it across multiple Internet dating sites.

  Maribel used her cell phone to take several casual snapshots of Dave, in each case taking pains to avoid any background that could be associated with the ODCI.

  Dave’s online alter ego would need the rudiments of a backstory and a biography. It was decided that Dave would pose as “Don”. He accurately reported his age, build, and other basic physical data.

  “Don” worked as the “computer guy” for a small business consultancy. And here was the tricky part: If Dave claimed to work for a well-known local employer, it would be easy for anyone—including the killer—to catch him in the lie.

  “Don” would therefore be as evasive as possible if asked about his job, with claims that the consultancy was small, consisted of only a handful of personnel, and worked exclusively with a small number of automotive industry client firms. “Don”, as the IT guy, could plausibly claim to know little about the heart of the business if queried. On the other hand, Dave could rhapsodize forever about computers, so he was covered if anyone threw him any questions about networking or software.

  Don would be a recent transplant from Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. This would obviate the need to create a complex local history including local school attendance, etc. Ft. Lauderdale was a deliberate addition to Don’s contrived life history: Dave had spent many of his childhood summers in Ft. Lauderdale, and could field basic questions about the South Florida city if asked.

  Finally, Don needed a last name: Morris. This was generic, but not patently fake generic, like the proverbial Smith, as in John Smith or Jane Smith. In all of the online people directories, there were multiple Don Morrises in the Cincinnati area—too many to be casually tracked down and verified by Lilith.

  It was not a full-proof alias, of course. Without a corroborating driver’s license and other official documentation, Don Morris could not even obtain a local library card. And the alias could never stand up to any level of professional vetting.

  But it would probably not come to that. Lilith, in her own alias as an honest woman engaged in online dating, would be bound by the protocols of that world. If Lilith questioned her targets like a potential employer or a representative of officialdom would, she would scare away her victims.

  It was a safe bet that Lilith would be aware of this risk, and would not take such a chance. She would not overplay the role of interrogator, so as not to alarm the men she planned to eventually kill.

  “Okay,” Dave said. “Check it out.”

  Alan and Maribel were gathered around Dave’s computer, within the cramped space of his cubicle. Seated, Dave launched a view of the completed profile in Internet Explorer.

  “Hi, my name is Don,” Dave read. “I’m 37 years old, and I enjoy dining out, movies, and attending professional sports events. My work involves computers. I’d like to meet a lady between the ages of 27 and 38, who enjoys good conversation, going out, and taking walks.”

  “It’s a little lame,” Maribel said tentatively. “I mean—Don sounds a little lame. Not you, Dave.”

  “All dating profiles are lame,” Dave said.

  “I don’t read that many of them,” Maribel replied.

  Flustered, Dave was about to respond when Alan broke in.

  “A little bit lame is okay. Lilith preys on the lame. This is good work, Dave. Now you need to spend some time online, on these sites, posing as Don. If Lilith is out there, I believe that ‘Don’ will draw her in.”

  13.

  Later that evening, in a restaurant not far from the home where Robert Billings had been shot, thirty-two-year-old Jessica Knox met Mark Quinn for the first time.

  Like Robert Billings, Mark Quinn was in his mid-thirties. Also like Robert Billings, Jessica had been able to easily peg Quinn as an early middle-aged man whose romantic life ordinarily ranged from lackluster to nonexistent. Quinn was tall and prematurely balding. He was also awkward and fidgety; and he would have made a horrible first impression if Jessica Knox had been on a real date—which she was of course not.

  Unlike Robert Billings, however, Mark Quinn appraised Jessica—whom he knew only as “Lisa”—with a scrutiny that she found unnerving.

  Robert Billings, like the two men before him, had been so thrilled to receive attention from a woman of Jessica’s caliber that it took little effort to deceive him. Those men had all deceived themselves, to one degree or another.

  But Mark Quinn showed every sign of being different in this regard. It was partly what he said, of course, but it was also a “vibe”.

  “You don’t look like your pictures,” Quinn said, somewhat abruptly. He took a sip from his water glass. “Not exactly. Actually not at all, now that I look at you. I mean, you have dark hair, and the photo on your online profile is of a dark-haired woman about the same age and build, but that is about where the resemblance ends.”

  Mark had been drawn in, originally, by one of the fake profiles that contained the photos of a Ukrainian model—something Travis had pulled off the Internet. Gathering the online photos, setting up the profiles on the dating sites—that initial part of it was Travis’s job.

  There was, certainly, no way that Jessica could risk having her real photos attached to one of those profiles. That would simply be too risky. Although she and Travis covered their tracks, sooner or later one of the “donors”, as Travis called the men, would be traced to one of the dating site profiles.

  The police weren’t stupid. Jessica and Travis therefore moved around. They drew in the men using different profiles and different dating sites. Travis said (and she was reasonably confident, too) that from a police perspective, there
was no obvious, logical connection between the dating site activity and the murders.

  A long time would likely pass before the police made any sort of connection at all. Otherwise, it would be all over the news: “The dating site murders” or something like that. And once the media circus started, they would simply conclude that their routine had become too dangerous, and back off.

  But if the police had her actual photos, those photos would be the smoking gun. Her picture would be all over the news, and she would be arrested within twenty-four hours. Hence the photos of Eastern European models.

  “They aren’t my pictures,” Jessica admitted. She had found from past experience that it was usually best to come clean about this inconsistency. “I can’t use my real photos.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows, obviously dubious.

  Then Jessica launched into a rehearsed story about a stalker ex-boyfriend, an abusive man who loved and hated her so possessively that he actively searched for her in online dating venues. He had told her that there would be hell to pay if he caught her keeping company with another man.

  “Oh, great,” Mark said. “’If I can’t have you, then no one else will.’ Is that what he says?”

  “More or less,” Jessica replied. “He doesn't want me to have any sort of a life without him.”

  The ex-boyfriend was a total fabrication, of course. If there had been such an ex-boyfriend, she had no doubt that Travis would have made short work of him.

  “Ah, so that’s like, sort of another thing that you weren’t exactly above-board about,” Mark said. The words came out with a smile, but Mark’s sarcasm was unmistakable. This wasn't proceeding as it was supposed to. When she told most of the targets about the psychotic ex-boyfriend, they practically tripped over themselves to show their chivalrous side.

  “Are you disappointed, though? I’m not the woman in the photos, that’s true; but would you have still communicated with me if you’d seen my real photos?”