Alan Jacobson: Inmate 1577

“A chair? Someone was watching?”

“My partner’s guess? Forced to watch.”

“The husband.”

“Possibly,” Burden said. “Assuming he’s not the killer.”

Vail nodded thoughtfully. After a long moment, she said, “Okay.”

“So COD, to answer your question. Multiple. Heart attack, probably from the shocks she sustained. But there was also substantial head trauma. Like I said, she was kicked. Repeatedly. Hard. And there was some cutting on the body, but not deep.”

“I’ll want to see your photos.”

“Being printed this morning. My partner’s putting together a packet for you full of what we’ve got so far.”

Vail stepped over to the window and peered out, taking in not the scenery but whatever was there to see. Routes of escape, views that passersby might have had. What the neighborhood looked like from this vantage point.

“How long have they lived here?”

Burden pulled a notepad from his interior sport coat pocket. Flipped a couple pages. “In the neighborhood, twenty-two years. In this place, nineteen.”

“We’ll need a list of all residents in a six-block radius, with ages and occupations of the males. Contact info, too. Flag any with prior violent acts or arrests of any kind.”

“In this neighborhood?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” Burden pulled out an older model BlackBerry and began typing. “I’ll have my partner start on it. It’ll take a while to get that together.”

Vail turned away from the window. “What can you tell me about Mrs. Anderson?”

Burden shrugged. “People liked her. She had her circle of friends, many for a couple decades or so. But she wasn’t overly social.”

“Let’s check into the Andersons’ finances…were they involved in any shady deals? Were they the subject of a scam? Were they involved in any failed business or real estate partnerships that might’ve gone south?”

Burden began typing again. “Don’t know. Nothing that came up.”

“Ask the neighbors, family members. Let’s be thorough.” Vail crouched down to peer under the bed. “I take it you haven’t had any other elderly female sexual homicides in the region the past few years.”

He pocketed his BlackBerry. “Correct. I checked before calling. I knew we hadn’t had any up till ’06, when Safarik was here for that Violent Crimes conference the BAU put on for us. That’s why I was concerned. Somebody like this, I think he’s gonna hit again. We need to grab him up quickly.”

Vail thought a moment before responding, because she knew her answer was not going to be one that Burden wanted to hear. She decided to withhold her opinion until she had gathered more information and examined the body. “Are any of the lamp cords missing or cut?” Vail asked.

“What?”

“You said it looks like he used an electrical cord to torture Mrs. Anderson. Did anyone check the appliances, lamps, anything with a power cord?”

“I don’t see-”

“Did he bring it with him, or did he use what was here? If he brought it with him, that indicates premeditation. He planned this out. And that typically points to-”

“An organized offender.”

Vail tilted her head back. “Very good. There’s a very recent shift away from using that term and classification system, but I’m impressed.”

“I remember that from Safarik’s session at the conference. But don’t get all excited. A lot of it went in one ear and out the other. Wish we’d recorded it.”

“What, and put me out of a job?”

Burden looked at the night table. “We didn’t check the appliances. Guess we should do that.”

“Guess we should.” Vail and Burden began inspecting every outlet and powered device in the townhouse.

Vail pulled back the nightstand closest to her and peered over its back for an outlet. “Was she naked when you found her?”

Burden yanked the mattress aside to check behind the bed. “Nightgown was pulled up.”

“Over the head?”

Burden thought a second. “No, why?”

“Offenders sometimes cover their victims’ faces with an article of clothing or a pillow. A lot of times they pull up the dress and drape it across the eyes. Think of it like an apology, embarrassment at what they’re doing to an elderly woman. Maybe they don’t want to look at the face they’ve just beaten the hell out of. But if we’re dealing with a psychopath, they don’t feel anything. No remorse, embarrassment, guilt. Nothing.”

“It’s hard to think of these monsters being embarrassed about what they’re doing.”

Vail moved over to the dresser in front of the wall opposite the bed. “Like a lot of the behaviors we see, it’s symbolic. Psychologically, they’re not aware of why they’re doing what they’re doing. It just feels right to them. It gives them a sense of power; it’s sexually gratifying, exciting.”

“Exciting, huh? Man, I just don’t get that.”

“Then congratulations, Burden. You can tell your ex you’re not just a jackass, you’re a normal jackass.”

“Thanks.” He glanced sideways at her. “I think.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Vail was back on task-and headed into the living room to look at the lamps’ electrical cords. “Based on your knowledge of the neighborhood and your discussions with the neighbors, do you think the UNSUB made conscious efforts to avoid detection? That’s Unknown Subject-”

“No shit. I know what an UNSUB is.” Burden grabbed hold of the paisley patterned velour couch and pulled it away from the long living room wall. “To answer your question, I’d say absolutely he did. No one heard anything. No signs of a struggle, no evidence of a forceful break-in.”

“So whatever method he used to gain entry, it was smart-and effective.”

“Judging by the results, it appears so.”

Burden followed an electrical cord along the length of the wall to a clock on the side table. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to build the offender profile.”

“And?”

“And I’ll let you know what I think as soon as I have something intelligent to say.”

“So that could be…never?”

Vail swung to face Burden. “Ooh. Good one. I think I’m gonna like you.” Then she walked into the kitchen where multiple appliances stared back at her. “Any marks on the wrist?”

Burden followed her in and shifted the blender aside. “Restraints were used, if that’s what you’re getting at. Figured it was part of the torture ritual.”

Just torture? More like sexual torture. But Vail absorbed that fact, and assumption, without comment. After a moment’s thought, she said, “First thoughts here…but it looks like we’re looking for a sexual sadist.”

“So,” Burden said, “that would be the first intelligent thing you’ve said?”

Boy, this guy’s good. He’s definitely got game. “Yeah,” Vail said. “That’d be it.”

“And you’re saying he’s a sexual sadist because of the torture?”

“Because of the sexual torture. The scumbag’s inflicting physical or emotional pain-to elicit a response from the victim. It’s a response he finds sexually gratifying. Now you can have torture without sexual gratification, but a sexual sadist, by definition, has to have a living victim. Make sense?”

Burden’s face was contorted. “So he did this to her while she was alive?” He shivered, as if he had bitten into a lemon rind. “Honestly, none of this shit ‘makes sense’ to me.”

I know how you feel. “The husband,” Vail said. “You said he’s an attorney. I assume he’s got no criminal record.”

“I’m sure there’s some crude joke here about lawyers, but no, Mr. Anderson’s got a clean sheet. Like I said, we’ve got an APB out on him.”