Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [57]
Nelson looked out over the room of upturned faces. “What’s the difference between a killer’s signature and his MO?” Nelson inquired, leaning back on his heels. “Yes, Ms. Davenport?”
“The MO is short for modus operandi—the way a killer usually operates—but it can change. The signature refers to the repetitive ritualistic acts, often unnecessary for the commission of the crime, but which are necessary to the killer in order for him to receive emotional or sexual satisfaction from his crime.”
“What might constitute a signature, for example?”
The skinny blond boy with the raspy voice shot up a hand.
“Yes?”
“Things like postmortem mutilation or the way the body is posed—those could be signatures, for example.”
“Right again.” Nelson smiled. “A signature is deeply significant to the killer—and to the criminal profiler—because it arises out of some unconscious drive or obsession, and does not change in its basic essence, though it may evolve.”
A dark-haired boy in the front row raised his hand. “Evolve? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, for example, the posing of the body may become more elaborate, more detailed—the Boston Strangler’s, the Green River Killer’s, and Jack the Ripper’s victims all had certain similarities, but in all these cases the rituals escalated and become more ornate as time went on. This represents the killer becoming more at ease with what he does—he feels freer to act out his fantasy in increasing detail. Or, in a mentally ill, disorganized killer, it can represent the increasing pressure of his mental illness.”
Nelson glanced at his watch. “Okay, that’s it. Don’t forget to do the reading I’ve assigned for our next class.”
As the students filed out, Lee walked up the side aisle to where Nelson stood gathering his notes and slides. When Nelsen looked up and saw his friend, he smiled, but his smile faded when he saw Lee’s expression.
“Oh no,” he said. “There’s been another one?”
“I’m afraid so. Chuck wanted me to ask—do you think you could—”
“He wants me to consult?” Nelson sounded as though he was trying to hide his pleasure at being asked to join the investigation.
“If you’re not too busy.”
“Of course not.” He paused and studied Lee, his freckled face serious. “How do you feel about my coming on board?”
“I’d be honored. And I have a feeling we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Detective Leonard Butts looked around Chuck Morton’s office as though he had found himself in the den of a small and rather dirty burrowing animal. He studied the chair nearest him as if calculating the number and severity of diseases he might contract by sitting in it, then lowered himself into it with an air of resignation. Lee glanced at Chuck to see if he noticed Butts’s attitude, but if he did, he didn’t react. Morton walked over to his desk and perched on the edge of it, his muscular arms folded. Nelson sat in a chair in the corner, a paper cup of coffee held between his freckled fingers. Detective Florette sat in the opposite corner, looking like he had stepped straight off the cover of GQ—blue striped Brooks Brothers shirt with French cuffs, black Givenchy loafers polished to a glossy sheen. They had all been waiting, somewhat uncomfortably, for Butts to appear.
“Well?” Nelson said. “What have you got?”
Morton picked up a manila envelope from his desk and tossed it to Nelson, who caught it with his left hand.
“Brooklyn,” Morton said, rubbing his eyes. “She was found Saturday. Same MO—strangulation, mutilation, left on the altar.”
Nelson raised his left eyebrow, which could signal anything from surprise to disgust. Nelson looked at the photos in the file and then turned to Lee.
“You went to the crime scene?”
“Yes. There was a difference this time: there was evidence of a struggle—a lot of it.”
Chuck rubbed his forehead wearily. “This time the pathologist said the wounds were ante-mortem.”
Nelson raised an eyebrow. “So now he’s torturing them before he kills.”
“Yeah.”
“That means either he’s restraining them physically or chemically,” Nelson mused.