The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [13]
“What do you mean by ‘behaviors’?”
“Think of it this way. A sixteen year old who keeps a diary doesn’t lie to herself in her diary, right?”
“There’s no reason to. She’s writing to herself.”
“Exactly. So when you look at an offender, it’s best to look at his diary, which is the crime scene. He doesn’t lie to himself when he commits the crime. These behaviors, these things the offender has done after he’s killed his victim, are all over the crime scene, and they tell us a lot about him.”
“Like stabbing the eyes.”
“Right. Stabbing the eyes doesn’t prevent him from getting caught, and he doesn’t do it to disable the victim—she’s already dead.”
“So then why does he do it?”
“That’s the key question, Robby. Most of these offenders begin these behaviors when they’re young. For Dead Eyes, stabbing the eyes is part of a fantasy that kept evolving, developing over time. What we find repulsive is normal, even comforting to him. We find out why he finds it comforting, and we’re a step closer to understanding who this guy is. Understand who he is, and we can narrow the suspect pool. See, we don’t catch the bad guys, we give you dicks the information that helps you look at your suspects and say, this one fits, this one doesn’t.” She shivered. “Let’s go in, I’m freezing.”
“So why would a guy stab a woman in the eyes?”
“First of all, you can’t consider all the possibilities of why he did something. It’ll take you in a million different directions and you’ll never be able to focus. Only look at what’s most probable. So for the eyes, think symbolism,” she said as they walked through the hallway. “Maybe he didn’t want her to see what he was doing. Or maybe he’d met her somewhere and made a pass. She rejected him, and this was his way of making her pay for not seeing his true value. Or piercing the eyes may be sexual in nature. Maybe he’s incapable of having an erection.”
“I’d say it was probably rejection.”
“You can’t say it was anything. Not yet, anyway. A profiler has to come into the crime scene with her eyes wide open. No preconceived notions, no trying to attach labels to things. Consider the scene one fact at a time.” They stood at the doorway to the bedroom. “I’ve got some binders back in my office I can give you to read. Notes and research articles. They’ll give you an overview of all this stuff.”
“Cool.”
Vail nodded. “Okay, let’s go in again. And remember, you’re not looking at forensics. Keep an open mind and take what’s there, what the offender has given you. No biases.”
“Okay.”
Vail walked in and saw the other task force members standing at the foot of Melanie’s bed, staring at the wall.
“Those dot painters,” Hancock said.
“What?” Bledsoe asked.
“Those painters from like, a hundred years ago. They had a weird way of painting. See the wall, the paint strokes?”
Vail moved beside Bledsoe to get Hancock’s perspective. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “It’s blood, not paint.”
“You of all people should appreciate this, Vail.” Hancock looked at her. “These walls are filled with psycho stuff. Rorschachs all over the place.”
“Your mind’s as twisted as the offender’s.”
“Hang on,” Manette said, holding up a hand. She gestured to Hancock. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”
“The painters who used dots to paint their pictures,” he said. “That’s what this looks like.”
Vail studied the blood patterns on the wall. “Pointillism or Impressionism?” she finally asked. “Pointillism involved dot painting. If I had to fit this into a category, I’d say this looks more like Impressionism to me.”
Bledsoe eyed her curiously.
“Art history/psych double major,” she explained.
Hancock tilted his