The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [107]
Vail fished out her HP 8-megapixel point-and-shoot from the closet and began documenting the scene. Using the standard protocol for crime scene photography, she shot the study from various angles, including close-ups of the message on the wall and the layout of the papers on the floor.
“Why don’t you take the ninhydrin,” he said. “Start spraying the papers on the floor. We know he went through them. If he wasn’t wearing gloves, the most likely place we’ll find a print is on those papers.”
They worked for the next fifteen minutes when Vail heard a “Hello!” through the screen door. Bledsoe. They walked to the porch and stepped out, each holding their tools of the trade.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
“Checking for prints.”
“This may be news to you, but we’ve got trained personnel for shit like that.”
“We were trained in evidence collection,” Vail said. “It’s just been a while.”
“Yeah, a long while.” Bledsoe looked around them, through the screen door. “So fill me in.”
Vail pulled off her latex gloves with a snap. “I had the papers spread out across the floor of my study, the ones Robby brought by yesterday. The Dead Eyes file. I went out for dinner and a movie last night and . . . got back this morning, about half an hour ago.”
Bledsoe’s eyebrows lifted and he gave a sideways glance at Robby. Adding it up. Vail was sure he hadn’t known there was something between them. But now he was probably patching it all together in his head. The overnight to Westbury, the rapport they seemed to share.
“So you think Dead Eyes was in your house sometime between last night and this morning?”
“Don’t you?”
“It seems to be the obvious conclusion,” Bledsoe said. “He’s trying to scare you. Trying to get inside your head.”
“Yeah, well, it worked.”
“Okay, I think some conclusions are in order,” Bledsoe continued. “One, the offender knows where you live. Second, he obviously found out your email address. For whatever reason, he feels the need to play head games with you. That’s good. If we can bait him, we can eventually catch him.”
“And it also places Karen at risk. I don’t think there’s anything good in that.”
Bledsoe looked away. “It’s the element we deal with. We’re always at risk.”
“It also tells us that he went to considerable effort to find your home address,” Robby said.
Vail nodded. “You’re adding to the profile.”
“Nothing we don’t already know. His approach indicates planning, which means intelligence. Organization.”
“Do we know what he did while he was here?”
“He rifled through the labs, forensic reports . . . and my profile. He now knows everything we know about him. Ed Kemper all over again.”
“Kemper,” Bledsoe said, snapping his fingers. “Kemper—I’ve heard that name.”
“Serial killer who hung out with cops at their favorite watering hole. He knew all the moves the dicks were making, all the evidence they had, because they would tell him. They never suspected he was the killer.”
They stood there staring at each other. Vail could tell the impact of this was beginning to hit them.
“So it’s possible this guy will alter his MO,” Robby said, “now that he knows our analysis of him—and his crime scenes?”
“Yes. He could alter his MO. But his ritual behavior would remain the same.” Vail shrugged. “Then again, I’ve never seen something like this happen before. And Kemper was before my time.”
Bledsoe asked, “What about getting Del Monaco’s take? He said he’s been in your unit the longest. Maybe he’s had a case where the profile’s been compromised.”
“We can’t ask Del Monaco.” Vail looked down at the cracked cement. “In order to ask him, we’d have to tell him that I had all these documents here. The next question he’d ask is—”
“How you got all this stuff if you’re suspended and off the case,” Bledsoe finished.
Robby held up a hand. “Let’s back up a second.