Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [63]
“What if he was the ‘assistant’ or sidekick to a rapist say, five years ago—and he’s since graduated to his own crimes?” Florette suggested.
“I actually think the nature of these killings indicate there could be two perpetrators working together,” Lee said. “There is evidence of arrogance and gentleness—”
“What’s ‘gentle’ about these crimes?” Chuck asked.
“The killer is someone who didn’t seem threatening to his victims, which means he was probably shy and unassuming—”
“Or smooth and convincing, like Bundy,” Nelson interjected.
“Then there are the physical difficulties of one perpetrator doing this all by himself,” Lee went on.
“Yeah,” Butts agreed. “It does seem kinda tricky.”
“The girls were all low-risk victims who were left in public places,” Lee continued. “And the carving is both arrogant and incredibly risky. At least one perpetrator is controlling and organized, with a sophisticated knowledge of forensic investigation.”
“It’s perfectly believable that it could be the work of one person,” Nelson argued.
“If there are two killers,” Lee continued, “we could expect the more submissive partner would be exhibiting odd behavior as the stress begins to get to him. People around him would notice this.”
“What about the other guy?” Florette asked.
“If he is in a relationship of some kind, he would be controlling and possibly violent—though not necessarily physically violent. But he would certainly be manipulative and controlling. He might have a history of petty crimes: shoplifting, breaking and entering, that kind of thing. But he might not have a criminal record yet, depending on how old he is—or how lucky.”
“What about these mysterious text messages you’ve been getting?” Chuck asked, changing the subject. “Do you think they’re related?”
“I don’t know,” Lee replied. All attempts to trace them had been unsuccessful so far.
“What text messages?” Nelson asked. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”
The door was flung open, and Detective Butts stormed into the room, brandishing a newspaper over his head as though he were going to swat someone with it.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded, slapping the paper down on Morton’s desk.
Nelson’s eyes narrowed and hardened, as they did when he was dangerously irritated. Butts was oblivious to Nelson’s mood, however; his square body was rigid with rage.
“Look at what these pansy reporters wrote! Where the hell do they get off writing this kind of crap?”
Lee looked down at the paper, its headline screaming out alarm:
Slasher Continues to Terrorize City
Police Baffled
“For Chrissake, talk about yellow journalism!” Butts fumed, shoving a chewed cigar stub into his mouth.
Florette snorted. “Well, what do you expect from the Post?”
“That’s all we need, to have a goddamn panic on our hands!” Butts threw himself into the beat-up chair in front of the window and stared out moodily.
Lee looked down at the headline, and read the first paragraph of text. “The killer is not content to merely kill, but must mutilate his victims in order to achieve his sick satisfaction…” He looked at Butts. “Where did they get this? This information wasn’t released to the public.” What he didn’t say was that it was curious that the press had picked up on the nickname Butts himself had chosen for the killer.
“Who knows?” Butts replied. “They’re goddamn vultures—scavengers makin’ money off these girls’ deaths.”
“Well, if you put it that way, we are too,” Florette pointed out.
Butts chewed viciously on his cigar, nearly biting it in two.
“It’s not the same thing! We’re workin’ to solve this thing. Our job is about protecting people.”
“Well, we’re not going to get very far if someone keeps leaking things to the press,” Lee pointed out.
Butts got up and tossed what was left of his cigar in the trash basket next to Morton’s desk and sat in one of the captain’s chairs