The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [125]
Vail did not answer. She was studying the close-up photos, which depicted a heart-shaped gold locket.
“Karen? What’s wrong?”
“Looks familiar. . . .” She finally looked up. “Can’t place it.” Where have I seen something like this before?
“But what does it mean?”
The front door flung open and in walked Manette, Del Monaco, and Sinclair.
“. . . and I’m telling you, Sears Tower has the most stories,” Sinclair said.
“But in terms of actual building height,” Del Monaco said, “that one in Taiwan is tallest.”
“Hey, look at this,” Bledsoe said.
Manette, Del Monaco, and Sinclair joined the huddle.
Vail handed them the stack of photos. “ME found this locket during Linwood’s autopsy.” She turned back to Bledsoe. “We already know Linwood meant something special to this guy. Somehow this is related. When an offender shoves an object up a victim’s rectum, it’s a very personal act. First thought is that there’s a sexual component. It’s symbolic. Meant to send a message.”
“Another message,” Sinclair groaned. “We haven’t figured out the first one yet.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” Manette said. “Our UNSUB designs puzzles for The New York Times. He wears red underwear and likes pistachio ice cream because the nuts symbolize his mental state. What do you think, Kari, honey, maybe? Possibly?”
Vail ignored her. “Even though it’s ritual behavior he hasn’t engaged in before, it doesn’t change my profile. But it does support everything we’ve assumed about him up to this point. If anything, it solidifies our belief that Linwood’s a key. Oh—and a couple other things. The experts at BSU said the email this guy sent is likely a personal account of his childhood.”
“Pretty fucked up childhood,” Manette said. “Then again, isn’t that the thing with these killers, Kari? They were abused by a parent, or they were pissed on by some bully, someone didn’t like the color of their hair—”
“BSU also felt,” Vail said, gaze firmly rooted to Manette’s mischievous eyes, “that the offender definitely has artistic talent and that he’s probably had some art training along the way. Could be significant. The murals show repetitive patterns, even though they’re all different from one another.”
“So how does all this help us?” Bledsoe asked.
“Well, for one, the more emails we get from him, the better understanding we’ll have of what’s making him kill. The more info we can gather on his thought process, the greater the chances we’ll have of anticipating his next move, or even possibly catching him.”
“Anything on the emails themselves? Are they traceable?”
“The geeks are working on it, but so far all we’ve got is that he’s used some sort of special software that not only prevents it from being printed, but it causes the email to self-destruct after a certain period of time. In this case, approximately two minutes after you begin reading it.”
“So he’s a technology whiz,” Bledsoe said.
“Not necessarily. It’s all readily available info that anyone who’s good with a computer can figure out without too much difficulty.”
“Then what do we know about this software?” Sinclair asked. “Who makes it?”
“It’s not software that you buy in the store. This is Internet stuff, created by people who claim that anonymous email is an extension of Free Speech, used to protect human rights, workers reporting abuses, political dissidents complaining about their government, people writing on controversial topics, that sort of thing. Most of it is web-based. There’re a shitload of providers.”
Manette shook her head. “So we’re not gonna catch this dick-head by tracking down the source of his messages.”
“Doesn’t look like it. Especially since he’s using a public cybercafé, logging on, sending his message, and logging off quickly. But our people are still working on it. Next time he sends us a message, we’ll be better prepared to track it. If it’s possible, they’ll find a way.”
“And the murals?” Bledsoe asked. “You said there was some significance to them.”
“I’ve been thinking that this guy may suffer from OCD.”
“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?