Kathleen Creighton - Danger Signals

"Urinates on it." Wade said grimly. "As you said, it's the final act of desecration." She nodded. He looked at her for a long moment, and in her shimmering eyes he saw what it must have cost her to feel what she'd felt, and speak of it so calmly.

He rose and nodded to the CSI, who went back to methodically measuring and photographing and cataloging while he took Tierney's arm and turned her away from the pitiful remains of Officer Alicia Williams's uniform.

"There's nothing more we can do here," he said in a hard voice as Ed fell into step with him. "Just let the techs and science people do their jobs. We need to move on this uniform angle. And fast. The bastard's killed twice in two days. What I want to know is, why didn't we find his burn site at the other crime scenes?"

Ed shrugged. "Didn't canvas wide enough? Maybe he had to go a ways to find a safe place. Here, he had this whole complex pretty much to himself. And maybe the other vies weren't wearing the uniform when they were killed, who knows?"

"They were," Tierney said, the rapid pace making her voice bumpy. "It's part of what makes him… I don't know what you call it-"

"It's the trigger," Wade said grimly. "Ed, get back to the squad. I want everybody available looking for some kind of uniform link for the other vics."

"The last one was a docent at the art museum," Ed reminded him. "Don't they wear uniforms?"

Wade nodded. "That's two. Work the others. If you find a connection, then start working on a profile for our killer. I'm thinking we're looking at a victim of abuse, here. Most likely at the hands of a woman. A woman in uniform. Could be his mother, could be-"

"It's not his mother," Tierney said, then threw him a look of apology. "At least, I don't think so. I don't get that kind of feeling from him. I think it may have been some kind of institution. A school…or an orphanage…"

"I don't think they even have orphanages anymore, do they?" Ed said doubtfully.

"I don't know." Wade said, "but we need to find out."

"If you're still thinking you could have done anything to prevent this latest killing, you need to quit." Wade growled after they'd driven half of the way back to Tierney's apartment in silence.

Tierney stirred and looked over at him. "I'm not."

"It was a good lead. Now we know what the victims have in common-at least the last two. and I'm going out on a limb, here, and saying odds are the others will, too. We know what the trigger is. We're beginning to know who we're dealing with and how we might be able to start looking for him. That's huge."

She gave a small sigh. "I was just thinking about… him. Who he is, what made him what he is."

She didn't tell the hard-edged cop she was beginning to feel some sympathy for the man she knew he must think of as a vicious animal. It was one of the hazards of being an empath, and she'd learned to keep those feelings to herself. But she understood now that the person they were trying so desperately to find was a victim himself, that like so many who are driven to kill, he'd been shaped- warped-by unspeakable cruelty at the hands of someone who should have been his protector.

'"So," said Wade, "let's hear it."

She looked away, smiling. "You're asking me to be a profiler?"

He hitched one shoulder. "Why not? I have an idea a lot of profilers-the best ones, anyway-probably have some of what you've got. Empathy-the ability to get inside a person's skin. Seems to me it's just a question of to what degree." When she didn't reply but went on smiling, he looked over at her and said. "What?"

"I guess…I'm surprised. I didn't think you were a believer."

She could see the side of his mouth tilted in a grin. "You mean, I can surprise you? I thought you could read me like a book."

She gave a soft huff of laughter. "I'm sure you find that idea distressing, to say the least. May I remind you, I don't read thoughts. Only emotions. And the truth is. you know, you can block me-and you do. Most people can-and do. Not just from me, from everyone. Sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously, but for sure if they know someone like me is tuning in. The reason I can pick up so much from crime scenes is because, for one thing, it's after the fact. The emotions were broadcast at a time when no one was around, so there wasn't any need to block them. And. of course, the emotions are so powerful, so…" Awful. Horrible. Ugly. Violent.

"Yeah," said Wade, as if he'd heard her. He frowned.

"What I don't get. I guess, is how you can pick up these emotions 'after the fact,' as you put it. That's where I part company with believing."

"I'm not sure myself, actually. I don't think there's ever been a scientific study done. I have my own theory, if you care to hear it. As you might imagine, it's a question I get asked a lot."

"Sure, I want to hear it."

She paused, took a preparing breath. "Okay, think about the way you pick up scents…odors. What you're picking up is actually molecules of a substance that are suspended in the air. You take them in along with the air you breathe, your scent receptors pass them along to your brain, which identifies them for you."

"Lovely thought." Wade said dryly, "considering the things I get to smell on a regular basis."

She gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing. "Okay, then there are sound waves. You can't see them, but they travel through the air. your ears pick them up. and all the little thingies inside there do their job and the sounds get transmitted to your brain, which once again identifies them, based on the database of all your stored-up experiences. Now, it's pretty much recognized that thoughts are a form of energy-like electricity. Or maybe it is a form of electricity-I'm not sure. But that energy can travel, and it can remain suspended in the air, and no one knows the limits of how far or for how long. And it can be picked up by someone who's sensitive enough to recognize it."

"People like you."

"Yes," Tierney said, turning to look at him, "but sometimes the sensitivity comes from having a very close relationship. You've heard stories about mothers who somehow know when their child is hurt, or in danger, no matter how far away they are."

'"Yeah, or you think the phone's going to ring, and then it does." Wade snorted. '"What about all the times you think the phone's going to ring and it doesn't? Just the law of averages says you're bound to hit it once in a while."

"True." She let it go at that. She knew from long experience the pointlessness of this discussion.

After a moment Wade said. "So, what about that profile? We are dealing with a male, right?"

"Absolutely."

'"Someone who was abused, probably by a woman-not his mother-wearing a uniform. Right so far?"

"Yes…" She frowned, reluctant to sort through those impressions again, but knowing she must. Bracing herself firmly, she closed her eyes and opened her memory. "He's young, I think-no more than thirty-five. A loner. Parents…dead, I think. Anyway, haven't been around for a long time."

"He's probably been in the system, then." Wade said, nodding. "We'll check that out. What else?"

"He's shy, timid, even. A mouse, afraid of people. Feels threatened by them, especially women. Feels powerless. Probably works at a menial job-whatever it is, he hates it. He fantasizes about-" She couldn't go on. Slammed the door shut with a shudder of revulsion.

"Yeah…it's okay." He sounded distracted. Thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?"

He jerked a look at her, then smiled. "Oh, I think you know."

"I don't need to have a gift to know you must be thinking about your own childhood. Losing your parents at an early age. Going into "the system:"

His smile vanished completely, then returned, though a little crooked now. "Yeah, but I wasn't abused. I was one of the lucky ones, I guess. My brother and I both."