Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

His penis had been cut off and stuffed in his mouth.

His hands were cuffed behind him.

A sheet of white paper was attached to his chest by the large safety pin run through his right nipple. It was encased in a clear plastic sheet and looked like ordinary printer paper, with large typed letters in a single paragraph.

Both Will and Dodds were slipping on latex gloves.

Dodds bent forward and read aloud:

“Detective Borders, meet Noah Smith. I had planned to kill him along with the women, but things didn’t work out. It spoiled what would have been a masterpiece. I couldn’t let the police give him credit for my art, now could I? Kristen was easier, but the result was beautiful. I cut them where they get their pleasure and I watched them die. Don’t think I’m bragging. I have a lot to learn. But you probably won’t hear from me again. Serial killers don’t know when to stop. My deathscapes are rare and executed with discipline, like all great art. I wish we could have spent time together, detective. On my terms, of course. I’ve seen how you struggle to walk, how your affliction keeps you up all night. But I know you would fight and it would be beautiful. I think about this temptation…”

Dodds turned back and faced Will. “Looks like you’re still on the case.”

“Okay, Devil, advocate.”

It was one of their procedures when they were partners and Will happily took the cue.

“He’s a copycat claiming credit for all the other murders.”

“Nope,” Dodds said. “He said he ‘cut them where they get their pleasure.’ The genital mutilation is information we held back and they also held back in Butler County.”

“Maybe the killer is law enforcement.”

“That can’t be ruled out.”

“These are still separate murders. The same subject who did the two nursing students killed Noah Smith. But Gruber is separate, another murderer. This killer is claiming credit for her.”

Dodds thought about it. “You’ve got the same problem with him knowing that Kristen was mutilated. Lucky guess? Maybe. The scenes weren’t exactly the same. The two female nursing students’ clothes weren’t neatly folded, like with Smith and Gruber. Their purses and wallets were still there. Their panties were gone. Unlike Gruber, he took the handcuffs off the bodies.”

Will leaned against another gravestone. It was as tall as he was and green with moss. He tried to choreograph it. “So the killer is watching the three of them get it on…”

“How come I didn’t have a college life like that?” Dodds complained.

“I hear you, but stick with me. They’re screwing and making out. It’s arousing the killer, enraging him. One of the girls said she thought someone was watching. At some point, when they’re mellow from the Ecstasy, he comes behind Noah and hits him with something, knocks him out. He threatens the girls with the knife.”

“Why don’t they try to outrun him?”

“Maybe they’re worried about Noah. Maybe he’s got a gun, too. But they submit. They’re scared. They want to live. Happens all the time in rape cases. ‘I’m only going to rape you. So if you want to live, go along with me.’ Or, ‘go along or I’ll kill your friend.’ So they do, until it becomes clear he’s a killer and the one girl makes a break for it, he runs her down and stabs her. It’s also pretty isolated up there where these killings took place. So that would add to their terror. Anyway, either the girl trying to escape or even something else, like car headlights or somebody walking nearby, threw off his timetable for arranging things.”

“Why did he take the handcuffs?”

Will thought about it and had no good answer. “We’ll have to ask him.”

“Consistency is the hobgoblin of little criminal minds.” Dodds shrugged. “So keep going. Argue me out of the logical conclusion.”

“It’s more than one person, a gang, claiming to be a single serial killer.”

“Could be,” Dodds said. “That would explain how a trained police officer was overpowered and how the three students were successfully attacked up at Miami. It would make it more likely that one would turn on the other.” He sighed. “But my golden gut says it’s one guy. Strong as hell, too. Try again.”

“Smith killed himself,” Will said. “He killed Kristen. Oxford already liked him for the murder of the nursing students. He was driven crazy by remorse, so decides to off himself.”

“Cold-blooded, man,” Dodds said, admiringly. “But when you think about it: you’ve cut your own dick off, so what do you have to live for? Case closed. But you’d have to be one disciplined dude to pull it off. I couldn’t cut my own dick off if I’d killed everybody above the rank of sergeant, and don’t think I haven’t thought more than once about doing it.”

“The problem is no knife,” Will said. “And no confessing suicide note.” He limped over to the clothes: blue jeans and a cotton short-sleeve shirt, and examined them. “His wallet and keys and underwear are gone. Trophies. I think the guy who wrote the note is the real deal.” He returned to his trusty headstone and again rested against it. “I think he’s the one who stuck the key in the door at Kristen’s condo the other night. Fuck, we were that close!”

The sunlight gleamed off Dodds’ immaculately shaved dark-brown head. He indicated blood spatter with a gloved finger. One long strand of dark red reached under the angel’s wing. “It happened here. The vic wasn’t killed elsewhere.”

Will took it in and agreed. Birdsong and wind through the trees were the only sounds. They had caught a break: All the media were covering Kristen’s funeral.

“How’d he overpower a well-built young man?” Will asked.

Dodds stood, the three medals of valor on his dress uniform jangling. “I would have carried a gun. Ordered him to disrobe, get on the ground, and handcuff himself. Maybe I’d make him think I only wanted to scare him or suck his dick, whatever. Then get out my blade and take care of business.”

“Okay, so you’re the vic. Why wouldn’t you run if you knew you were going to die anyway? Why would you handcuff yourself and take away your last chance to escape or fight?”

“Nobody knows how they’re going to react on the business end of a gun,” Dodds said. “Anyway, look.” He leaned back and yelled for the sergeant. “Did you folks make this?”

“No, detective.” She was huffy about it.

The grass was pulled up a few feet from the body, with fresh dirt exposed. Next to it were indentations on the grass.

“Maybe he did try to fight.”

“Quiet part of a quiet cemetery,” Will said, halfway to himself. “A fight or calls for help wouldn’t be heard. Killer could have gagged him at first. Actually, you can probably get a lot of noise from the trains at Queensgate Yard, especially in the middle of the night. Maybe you can build on the respectful relationship you’ve started with the sergeant and get some unis canvassing the houses across on Winton Road, see if anybody heard anything. We should talk to the groundskeepers, see what kind of security they have here. Looks like a place where anybody can jump the wall and be easily hidden.”

“Smell that?” Will said.

“Bleach.” Dodds pointed to the gore of Smith’s groin. “He poured it down there.”

“Exactly like with Gruber,” Will said. “When I first heard about that I thought the killer might have thought he would mess up the DNA analysis, that he had left semen inside her. But this tells me…”

Dodds completed his thought: “He did it to torture them. Let it burn in the wounds as they died.”

They looked over the scene silently for several minutes.