by Todd Travis
“Who are you playing?”
“Me. I’m playing me.”
“You’re playing with yourself?”
This comment earned Kane an ugly look from Thorne. She settled back into her chair and gazed up at the wall. The grade-school pictures of all the victims, posited next to what post-op photos there were to be had, chafed at her intestinal tract like nails on a chalkboard. Gilday and Scroggins approached.
“How long is Captain Asshole going to let us cool our heels here?” Kane demanded.
“Could be quite awhile, he is the captain, and he’s probably paying you back for Riggs,” Scroggins said. “Norm told us he was sending his guy over to brief you on the latest.”
“In all fairness to Captain Asshole, that Riggs was a real piece of work, it was a nightmare, guy was totally out of his gourd,” Gilday said.
“You ever work with Riggs?” Scroggins asked.
“Don’t know him. Thorne?” Kane leaned forward in her chair.
“What?”
“Did you know Riggs?” she asked.
“I didn’t know him, I knew of him.”
“And?”
“Fuck up from Day One.”
“How did he even get into ISU in the first place?” Kane asked.
“Same way you did, sweet-cakes. Affirmative Action.” This comment earned Thorne a return ugly glare from Kane.
“Forsythe’s got a couple of registered sex offenders he likes, but no hard evidence on anybody,” Gilday said.
“Captain loves registered sex offenders, sounds really good when he says it on television,” Scroggins added. “Other than that, the sum total of who we like for this is jack fucking shit.”
“Jesus Christ, over twenty kids and there’s nothing?” Kane shook her head.
“Look, I don’t want you to think we’re not taking this serious,” Gilday said. “Believe me when I say that we’re pissed off and busting our asses here.”
“And there has been a fucking parade of people coming to Nebraska to try and tell us how to do our job,” Scroggins said. “We’ve had independent profilers, psychologists, psychics, investigative reporters from both print and television who want solve this before we do and none of them have done anything other than slow us down. We even had some dumb shit, this plumber who was working on a book, he used his own daughter as bait to try and catch the Iceman and get rich off of it.”
“We busted him on child endangerment laws and now his ex-wife has sole custody,” Gilday said. “You name the fruitcake, we’ve gotten it.
“I mean, Captain Asshole is an asshole, make no mistake about that,” he continued. “And he likes reporters. But he’s covering all the bases, crossing his t’s and dotting his i’s, he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. If he wasn’t, he would have been gone by now.”
“We got over a hundred men working this from every angle all over the state, forensics teams double-checking each other and uniforms knocking on every door there is. We’re doing everything that we can do. That’s one of the reasons Jeff and I are here,” Scroggins said.
“Our boss wants us to make sure that everything that can be done is done to catch this killer, but this guy is a fucking ghost,” Gilday said.
“It’s like he can walk through walls without leaving evidence,” Scroggins added.
“There’s a lot of resentment against the feds by the folks around here right now,” Gilday said. “Part of it is that fuck-up Riggs that was here first, and part of it is the fact this Mercy Killer is running around the country killing everybody, we’re all watching it on television and you all haven’t done a damn thing about it.”
This got Thorne’s attention and he perked up, leveling an even gaze at Gilday.
“But as far as Gerry and me are concerned, and everyone working here, we only want this fucker caught, we don’t care how it’s done,” Gilday continued. “If it’s you guys or Captain Asshole or Spider-Man who does it, we don’t care. We want to catch him. If you can help us, we’re with you. If you can’t, then stay out of the way. That’s what it comes down to.”
“Pretty much. So what do you think, Thorne?” Scroggins asked.
“About what?”
“Can you help us with the Iceman?” Gilday asked.
“Eventually.”
Thorne returned to his solo chess game. Gilday and Scroggins waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t and this confused them. They looked to Kane for help but she didn’t have anything more to offer either. Scroggins and Gilday glanced at each other and shook their heads in unison, pretty sure that they had another federal cuckoo on their hands.
11
Betty shoveled snow from her driveway while keeping an eye on her eight year-old daughter Janis as she played in the snow with the family dog, a chocolate Labrador named Pooh. Pooh was named by Janis after the famous Disney bear, though the name took on an added dimension as Pooh the Labrador demonstrated, at an early age, an amazing ability to produce prodigious amounts of excrement almost at will. Betty’s husband never failed to see the humor in that, though he rarely had to clean up after the damn dog.
Betty stopped and wiped her brow, as always a little unnerved by the wooded area located next to her house. At night it always seemed dark and creepy, despite the many yard lights her husband put up at her insistence.
She probably shouldn’t let Janis out here past dark, but the young girl loved being outside when the snow was falling in big fat flakes, and besides, Betty liked to stay ahead of the shoveling before it got too high in the driveway. If she left it up to her husband, he would just let it pile up and drive his truck right through it.
Today, for some reason, the dark woods spooked Betty more than usual. She decided that she’d done enough for the night. Pooh barked happily as Janis laughed and tossed snow in the air.
“Okay Janis, time to go in, it’s almost supper time.”
“No!”
“Don’t give me any lip, young lady, let’s go. Your dad’s going to be home from work soon and I want your bath done before he gets here.”
“Five more minutes!”
“In the house, now!”
Betty hefted her shovel over her shoulder and walked up her driveway into her garage. It was a bit cramped with all their junk plus her car parked in there, a mess as always. Pooh barked, louder than usual.
Hasn’t that girl gone in yet, Betty thought with a frown, she’d better not make me chase her all around the yard or there will be hell to pay. Stepping around the bumper of her car, Betty bumped into a large bag of road salt and spilled it all over the garage floor.
“Shit,” Betty cursed under her breath, kneeled down and tried unsuccessfully to scoop some of the road salt back into the bag. The barking of the dog rose to a fever pitch and then stopped with a yelp.
Betty froze and listened closely. She heard nothing, nothing at all, and that chilled her more than the ice and snow ever could.
“Janis? Janis!” Betty jumped up and hurried out of the garage, heart suddenly in her mouth. She ran quickly down her driveway. Janis was nowhere in sight. Pooh the Labrador lay unmoving on its side in the yard, a pillow of red snow cushioning its head. Betty ran toward the dead dog, looking around at the woods next to her home, and the county road running by her house, into the night and snow surrounding her, beyond frantic now.
“Janis! JANIS!”
Betty ran for the woods, stumbling through the snow, screaming Janis’s name over and over.
12
The local profiler’s name was Simms, which immediately reminded Kane of the video game by the same name, the one where you can simulate life-forms and interactive social systems on a computer, be they animal or human. She’d played that game on her home computer while on leave after The Van Incident.
Simms didn’t come across as terribly interactive himself. A pale older detective who had unfortunately given in to the aging man’s impulse to comb-over the bare spots on his scalp, Simms would compulsively reach up and pat his hair to make sur
e it was in place as he briefed them. His suit was shiny with age and Simms wore suspenders instead of a belt, along with a rather ratty tie.
Kane also noticed he didn’t look them in the eye or offer to shake hands, just said his name was Simms and that he was going to try to bring them up to date. His voice was higher than she would have thought, it had a flat nasality that reminded Kane of a social studies teacher she’d had in junior high.
Gilday and Scroggins had decided earlier that they would join in on the briefing, each man telling himself that it was in the best interest of the case at hand to quickly orientate the feds and that it had nothing at all to do with the slope of Kane’s cheek or the firmness of her grip.
It was already late, after eight-thirty, the delay in Simms’s briefing yet another indication of the low regard held for them by the locals. For a moment Kane thought that Thorne wasn’t even going to sit in and listen to what Simms had to say. When Thorne noticed everyone looking at him, he calmly leaned back away from his chessboard, crossed his arms and waited for Simms to begin.
“I know that you’ve read through the files so I’ll just hit the highlights,” Simms began. “We have twenty-three victims counting Wendy Frederickson, the young girl abducted last night in York. Ages range from five to twelve, twenty of the girls were Caucasian, two Asian and one African-American. We’ve run the MO through VICAP to see if there were any cases similar in other states but so far there aren’t.
“The first victim that we know of was five year-old Katherine Fitzgerald. She was abducted in North Platte thirteen months ago by our UNSUB in the middle of the day from her own house. He was seen by the vic’s brother, who was fourteen at the time and babysitting. The brother came out of the kitchen with snacks for the two of them and there the guy is. Our UNSUB sapped the boy on the head and disappeared with the girl. Description of our perp was a tall man, dressed in black and wearing a black ski mask, similar to what the Fredericksons remember. The house was locked, both before and after. The body of the girl was never found,” Simms said as he reached up to check his hair.
“He’s been spotted in seven of the abductions and the description is always the same, though sometimes witnesses vary the height and weight.”
“We think he likes being seen,” Gilday said.
“He probably gets off on it,” Scroggins added.
“It’s likely there was no need in the first disappearance to sap the brother, he was in the kitchen for a substantial amount of time,” Simms actually looked grateful for the troopers’ interruption. “Our USUB had significant opportunity to abduct the girl without encountering anyone. We think he waited for the kid purposefully.
“Same holds true with last night’s abduction. He’s subdued parents and or babysitters with a sap three times and a stun gun four, including last night,” Simms continued. “He’s taken them from their homes, from church, from bathrooms at malls, outside in their parents’ cars, and once at a pediatrician’s office. We have fibers and footprints in several instances but so far nothing conclusive.
“We’ve recovered remains of only nine of our missing children, victims three, seven, eight, twelve through fifteen, nineteen and twenty-one. We’ve never recovered a body whole, usually we only get parts, so our guy is probably keeping trophies. Victims thirteen, fifteen, nineteen and twenty-one were left the most intact, with torsos and heads. He may have been interrupted at work in those situations.”
Kane wasn’t new to this sort of talk, but still she felt bile rise up to the back of her throat. It affected Scroggins and Gilday as well; she could feel the visible anger from the troopers as they listened to Simms recount the details. Thorne just stared impassively.
“He’s using a blade with a serrated edge, but never the same one, to part his vics out; that coupled with his choice of prey and appearance are the only signs of consistency he’s demonstrated. The consensus is that our subject is not a newbie at this, he’s too clean and bold. That’s what we know so far.”
“What don’t we know?” Kane asked. Thorne glanced at her and for a moment she thought the look in his eye was one of approval, but the moment passed quickly. Simms cleared his throat.
“Unfortunately, there’s a lot that we don’t know,” Simms replied. “We don’t know how long he keeps them alive before killing them. We don’t know what he does to them when he has them, we don’t have any evidence of rape so far, we don’t know where he keeps them when he takes them or where they’re killed when they get killed.
“We don’t know how he chooses the girls he chooses or why. His incubation periods have no consistency, those that we’re aware of. Sometimes body parts show up a couple of days later, sometimes a couple of weeks. Sometimes they don’t. All we really know is he takes little girls and kills them. That’s it.
“We think we’re dealing with a trapdoor spider personality here, someone with a house with some privacy and probably a big basement. Given the ease with which he’s handled alarms and locks, we also think that it’s likely he works as a locksmith or for an alarm installation company, if not at this point then sometime earlier in his life.
“He’s probably self-employed now, which gives him freedom in terms of time and schedule, and he owns a panel van. He’s probably a sexual offender, most likely has a history of such offenses from an early age and he has trouble adjusting socially even to this day.”
Simms coughed and patted his comb-over again. “Any questions?”
“What’s that on your hip, is that a forty-four?” Thorne gestured toward the weapon just visible under Simms’s jacket. “Looks like a Taurus forty-four Mag.”
“Uh, yes,” Simms replied and instinctively touched his gun, reassuring himself that it was still there.
“That’s one hell of a revolver. Handy if you think you’re going to run into any rhinos.”
“It’s a stopper,” Simms said.
“Do you know what you smell like to me, Mr. Simms, with your squeaky voice, cheap shoes and oversized elephant gun? You reek of inadequacy.”
Simms flushed and allowed himself a quick glance at Kane.
“What?”
“I said you reek of inadequacy, that’s what I said. You smell. Let me guess. Grew up watching Hawaii Five-O, didn’t you? Dreamed of someday being like Steve McGarrett, catch criminals and kiss girls in grass skirts, is that it?”
“Listen …” Simms stuttered.
“Only thing is, you live in cow country, you’re not quite tall enough, your jaw isn’t square, your voice isn’t deep as Jack Lord’s and you look like a fucking librarian. Everyone is always surprised to find out you carry a badge because you don’t look or sound like a cop at all and there’s a part of you that believes maybe everyone’s right, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing one, maybe you don’t have what it takes to be a badge. So you drift into forensics where among the lab rats and techs you kind of fit in but you still wonder about yourself, don’t you?”
“Hey,” Scroggins, who had been listening open-mouthed, snapped out of his shock. Simms was lock-jawed and a stunning shade of purple.
“And that, Mr. Simms, that is the foul source of inadequacy. You’re so caught up in who and what you AREN’T that you’re NOT properly doing your job. You’re just filling out the forms, ‘crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s,’ collecting a paycheck and not doing anything about what’s happening here. You’re missing the obvious.”
“Hey, Thorne,” Scroggins objected.
“Hey what?”
“Maybe you’re forgetting that you’re a guest here, you know?” Scroggins’s color was also up.
“Guest? I’m not a fucking guest, sport, what do you think this is, a bed and breakfast? I’m here to fix this problem.”
“What problem, the problem caused by the last fibbie that was sent here? Riggs-”
“I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about Riggs,” Thorne said. “Riggs was probably the best thing to happen to you all here because he gave you a convenient excuse.”
“You know what? Fuck you,” Gilday said. “All of us, Simms and the two of us and everyone in this building, we’ve been busting our butts for a year here and if there was any possible way to catch the Iceman up to this point then we would have done it by now, so fuck you.”
“You’re right about the Iceman but I’m not talking about the Iceman, I’m talking about the other guy.”
“Other guy, what other guy?” Scroggins asked.
“The other guy,” Thorne unwrapped a fresh stick of gum.
Scroggins and Gilday looked at each other, confused. Simms struggled to move his mouth and get his normal pale color back. Kane tried to think of something to say but was at a loss for the moment.
“You do know that there’s two of them killing kids in your state, right?” Thorne asked after getting his gum going.
“Two serial killers?” Simms asked, finally finding his voice.
“Yes.”
“Two serial killers?” Simms asked again.
“Absolutely.”
“Two guys working together?” Scroggins asked.
“Two guys yes, working together no. You have two separate serial killers here.”
“How do you know?” Kane asked.
“It’s right in front of you, all you had to do is read the fucking report. Four kills belong to somebody other than the Iceman. In other words, you have a copycat.”
“But …” Simms was back to stuttering.
Thorne stood and went to the map on the wall, using it to illustrate his points.
“Look at victims thirteen, fifteen, nineteen and twenty-one, the four bodies that when discovered were the most intact. There was a reason for that, you fucking wanna-be. Look at how close these four kills are, they are close in time and more importantly close in distance; that’s not happened in any other abduction.
“Those four abduction-murders occurred in a thirty-mile radius of this town called Brainard, which sits right in the exact center of all four kills. That’s killer number two, your copycat. This guy lives in this area, he’s been following the papers and staging his kills so they look like the Iceman’s.”