Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [76]
Hammer sighed. “Yes, Captain Morton, I understand that. But, as you say, I have my job to do, just as you have yours. We would also like to get a formal statement from you.”
“Fine,” Chuck said coldly without breaking eye contact. “I’ll fax one over tomorrow. Give me your number.”
Hammer scribbled a number in his notebook, ripped the page off, and gave it to Chuck, who stuffed it in his pocket.
“And now, if you’ll excuse us, we have work to do.”
“I’ll expect your statements by oh eight hundred hours tomorrow,” Hammer said. “You too, please, Dr. Campbell.” And with that, he left.
There was an awkward silence; then Butts muttered, “Oh-eight-hundred hours my ass! Who the hell does he think he is, Goddamn Patton?”
“Never mind,” Lee said. “I think we should all get him our statements as soon as possible.”
“I agree,” Chuck said. “But let’s forget it now, okay? Can we get back to the case at hand?”
“The Catholic angle is interesting,” Florette suggested. “You definitely believe we’re dealing with a religious fanatic here? I mean, he’s not faking it or something?”
“I don’t know if the killer is trying to set up an insanity plea or not, but the religious fervor is real,” Lee ventured.
“Really? Why?” Florette asked.
“Leaving the bodies in churches is risky and difficult—he could have easily been caught, and he’s too intelligent not to know that. And the carving is even more risky. It’s an important part of his signature, what he needs to get emotional satisfaction.”
“Yeah? So now we know what drives him, how does that help us nab him?” Butts asked.
“You know, Detective, if you spent less time criticizing the profiler and more time working with him, you might be closer to catching this guy.” Nelson’s voice oozed sarcasm.
Butts frowned and crossed his arms. “Yeah, and if pigs had wings, they’d fly.”
“All right!” Morton interrupted. “I know this is frustrating for all of us, but let’s remember we’re on the same team and stop sniping at one another. Knock it off.” He fixed a stare on Butts until the burly detective sighed and looked away. Morton turned his gaze on Nelson, who smiled.
“I couldn’t agree more, Captain Morton,” he replied.
“Well,” Butts remarked, “this guy is bound to slip up sooner or later.”
Nelson looked at the detective as though trying to determine what species he belonged to.
“The question is,” he said acidly, “what do we say to the parents of the next victim? That we decided to wait until he ‘slipped up’?”
Butts’s pockmarked face turned purple, and he clenched his plump hands into fists. “Look, I wanna catch this guy as badly as you do! Anyone who says otherwise is—”
“All right!” Chuck shouted. “Will you both cut it out? We have work to do!” He pointed to a map of the five boroughs tacked up on the wall. “Now, the red thumbtacks indicate where he’s struck already.”
“Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn,” Florette said. “So far he’s going borough by borough.”
“Could that be a coincidence?” Chuck asked.
“No,” Lee replied. “This guy is compulsive and orderly—obsessively organized. No,” he said, looking at the little row of tacks, “I think it’s all part of a pattern. He’s staking out his territory.”
“I agree,” Nelson said. “However, the question is, what’s next? Is he going to come to Manhattan, or cross down to Staten Island, leaving Manhattan as the final jewel in his crown, as it were?”
“You’re right,” Lee agreed. “There’s no way of knowing.”
“Why don’t we put out a public warning telling girls in those two boroughs not to go out alone?” Butts suggested.
Nelson bit his lip. “We tried that during Son of Sam. It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now. People are going to do what they’re going to do.”
“Of course we’ll issue a warning,” Chuck