Suicide Run_ Three Harry Bosch Stories - Michael Connelly [12]
McCaleb opened a file on his desk and referred to it before speaking.
“First of all, are you familiar with our VICAP program—Violent Criminal Apprehension?”
“I know what it is. This is the first time I ever submitted a case.”
“Yes, you’re a rarity in the LAPD. Most of you guys don’t want or trust the help. But a few more guys like you and maybe I can get a bigger office.”
I nodded. I wasn’t going to tell him that it was institutional distrust and suspicion that stopped most LAPD detectives from seeking the help of the bureau. It was an unspoken dictate that came from the police chief himself. It was said that the chief could be heard cursing loudly in his office every time news of an FBI arrest within city limits was reported. It was well known in the department that the bank robbery squad routinely monitored the radio transmissions of the bureau’s bank squad and often moved in on suspects before the feds got the chance.
“Yeah, well, I just want to clear the case,” I said. “I don’t really care if you’re a psychic or Santa Claus, if you’ve got something that will help me I’ll listen.”
“Well, I think maybe I do.”
He turned the page in the file and picked up a stack of crime scene photographs. These were not the photos I had sent him. These were 8x10 blowups of the original crime scene photos. He had made these on his own. It told me that McCaleb had certainly spent some time with the case. It made me think that maybe it had hooked him the way it had hooked me. A girl with no name left dead on the hillside. A girl no one had come forward to claim. A girl no one cared about.
In my secret heart I cared and I had claimed her. And now maybe McCaleb had, too.
“Let me just start with my overview of what I think you’ve got here,” McCaleb said.
He shuffled through the photos for a moment, ending with a still that had been made from the news video. It showed an aerial shot of the naked body, arms and legs stretched wide on the hillside. I took out my cigarettes and shook one out of the pack.
“You may have already arrived at these same conclusions. If so, I apologize. I don’t want to waste your time. By the way, you can’t smoke in here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, putting the smokes away. “What have you got?”
“Whether this is the actual murder site or not, this scene is very important in that it gives us an avenue to the killer’s thinking. What I see here suggests the work of what we call an exhibition killer. In other words, this is a killer who wanted his crime to be seen—to be very public—and by virtue of this to instill horror and fear in the general population. From this reaction by the public he draws his gratification. He is somebody who reads the newspapers and watches the news for any information or update on the investigation. It is a way of keeping score. So when we find him, I think we will find newspaper clippings and maybe even videos containing television reports on the case. These will probably be in his bedroom because they would be useful to him in carrying out masturbatory fantasies.”
I noticed he had said we in reference to the case investigators but I didn’t react. McCaleb went on as if he were talking to himself and there were no one else in the office.
“A component of the exhibition killer’s fantasy is the duel. Exhibiting his crime to the public includes exhibiting it to the police. In effect, he is throwing down a challenge. He is saying, ‘I am better than you, smarter and more clever. Prove me wrong if you can. Catch me if you can.’ You see? He is dueling with you in the public media arena.”
“With me?”
“Yes, you. In this case in particular you appear to be the media front man. It is your name in the newspaper stories included in the