Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [65]
“Fetishism—you mean like a fixation on shoes or women’s underwear, somethin’ like that?”
“Right. And that isn’t illegal.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Florette remarked glumly. “Though if this administration had its way—”
“Also, wouldn’t that kind of behavior tend to be pretty private?” Chuck asked, turning to open a window. The frigid February air felt good as it rushed into the room.
“Right,” said Lee. “He’s a voyeur, obviously, but that too can be hard to spot, especially if he’s careful. He’s not breaking and entering to get his victims, so he’s abducting them outside their homes.”
“That means less chance of leaving forensic evidence behind,” Chuck pointed out, bending down to pick up some papers the wind had blown off his desk.
“Exactly,” Nelson said. “And the wide dispersal of victims means he’s comfortable in a large geographic area.”
Lee pointed to the map on the wall, placing his finger on the red tack indicating the location where Pamela Stavros’s body had been found.
“One of the reasons it’s important that we include Pamela Stavros as the first known victim is that most likely this is the borough where the killer lives.”
Butts frowned again. “Really? How do you figure?”
“Well, he’s most likely to live nearest to his first victim,” Nelson said. “It’s where he feels most comfortable—closest to home. After that, he’s more likely to branch out, but statistically, he will kill for the first time close to home.”
“He may have other attempts in his past, where he tried but failed to abduct a girl,” Lee pointed out. “You should send that to the media for possible leads.”
“Right,” said Chuck.
“Isn’t there usually a stressor of some kind that sets these guys off?” Florette asked.
“Usually, but not always,” Lee replied.
“Like what?” Butts asked.
“Oh, it could be anything—loss of a job, death of a parent, being dumped by a girlfriend. Something like that…an event that a normal person could handle, but which sends these guys over the edge.”
“Look, Annie O’Donnell’s funeral is day after tomorrow,” Chuck said. “I was thinking—”
“One of us should be there?” Nelson interrupted.
“Returning to the scene of the crime,” Florette murmured, running his elegant fingertips over the arm of his chair.
“Some criminals get a lot of pleasure from observing the results of their crimes,” Lee observed.
Butts frowned and kicked at the wastebasket. “That always really fries me, you know.”
“Detective Butts,” Nelson remarked, “I’m sure that we’re all equally upset by these events, but do you think it’s really necessary to express yourself constantly on the subject?”
Butts blinked twice, and his mouth moved like a fish gulping for air.
“All right, that’s enough,” said Chuck. “Let’s focus.”
“I’d like to cover the funeral,” said Lee.
“Do you believe the UNSUB is likely to make an appearance?” Florette asked, removing a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and cleaning them with a crisp white handkerchief.
“It’s not unusual for them to show up,” Nelson replied.
“Okay,” Chuck said. “You’ve got the funeral, Lee.”
“But if he already took a shot at Lee—” Nelson protested, but Lee cut him off.
“We don’t know whether the shot was even intended for me.”
“Right,” Chuck agreed. “And no one is likely pull out a gun at a daytime funeral in Westchester. It’s not the same thing as shooting at someone on Third Avenue at night. Detective Florette, I’d like you to start an investigation of the churches involved so far—find out what, if anything, they have in common.”
“Right,” Florette said, rising from his chair. “I’ll get right on it.”
Lee looked around the room at the others. The mood had visibly darkened. Butts slumped back in his chair, forgetting all about picking a fight with Nelson. Somehow, putting a name to Jane Doe Number Five didn’t help things. Now they had a name to go with a victim, but they still didn’t have a killer.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Annie O’Donnell’s funeral was held in Hastings,