Steven James - Opening Moves

Before leaving my apartment, I taped up my hands to protect the sores from being torn open by the holds, some of which were pretty sketchy. Then I took off.

Because of my unusual work hours, Reinhold had given me a key to the gym and now I parked, went in the back entrance, and had the place to myself. Climbers have their own jargon and, while most people might talk about pulling themselves up a climb when they’re making moves, we talk about pulling them down. So, after warming up and working past the pain in my hands, that’s what I did on some of the stoutest climbs in the bouldering cave.

Counterintuitively, it often seems that stepping away from a case and letting that curious, secret part of my brain work on it is the best way to get a fresh perspective.

Often it’s in the moments of quiet that the tiny threads of a case imperceptibly intertwine. I guess it’s human nature, though. We gather facts, try to process them, but don’t often tie them together until we’re in the shower or on the golf course or waking up in the middle of the night. Just ask any novelist, any artist, any scientist.

And sometimes we think of them when we’re upside down in a bouldering cave.

Sometimes.

Like today.

Halfway through one of the hardest climbs in the cave, a V9 problem that I’d never been able to send, it struck me.

Indiana.

He passed through Indiana.

All sixteen missing persons, as well as the homicide victims we knew about, came from Ohio, Illinois, and Wisconsin. Why did the offender-or offenders-skip over the state of Indiana?

The questions from the article that I’d read last night from Dr. Werjonic flashed through my mind:

(1) What does the choice of the crime’s location tell us about the offender and the victim?

(2) What purpose do these locations serve for him? Expediency? Opportunity? Isolation?

(3) What do the locations of the crimes tell us about how he’s choosing his victims?

(4) What led him to this specific victim, and location? How and when did his life intersect with the victim’s to create the encounter that precipitated this crime?

The conclusion about why he skipped over Indiana: he wasn’t familiar with the state.

His awareness space didn’t include it.

We needed to find people who’d lived, worked, or attended college in the three states in question-but not in Indiana. Specifically, the metro areas of Milwaukee, Champaign, and Cincinnati. Looking more closely at the tip list and suspect list would be the place to start.

I dropped from the climb and landed on my feet on the bouldering pads beneath the route. I wanted to get right at it, start looking into that, but Taci and I had apparently hit some sort of snag in our relationship, and I needed to iron that out first.

Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.

In truth, I was somewhat anxious about what we might be discussing, but I assured myself that whatever was on her mind was something we’d be able to settle without too much hassle.

As soon as I’d showered and changed, I gathered my things and walked down the street to Anthony’s Cafe.

The cafe was cheery and busy this morning, with people chatting, sipping lattes, or in some cases, working their way through a muffin or croissant while perusing today’s edition of the Milwaukee Journal -which, I noticed, had a front-page article about the crimes last night. Photos of Gein and Dahmer appeared in the right-hand column.

Great.

Well, you’re the one who suggested going to the media.

Obviously, this was not the kind of private setting Taci had been intimating she wanted to meet in. However, there was a corner by the fireplace with a few empty tables. I stowed my things at one of them and when I went back to the counter, I saw Taci striding through the front door.

She smiled. “Hey.”

“Morning.”

Her eyes went immediately to my hands, which I’d retaped since my shower, then to the rips in my leather jacket. “Pat, what happened?”

“Fencing.”

“Fencing? You were fencing?”

“In a sense.” Somewhat awkwardly, I slipped my hands into my pocket. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Always, when?”

“You get hurt.”

“I don’t get hurt. That much.”

A half smile, hands on her hips, but it wasn’t a real reprimand. “How many times have you gotten injured while doing something on the city’s payroll?”

“That’s not even a fair-”

“How many times?”

“A couple. Maybe. Over the years.”

“Mm-hm.” She took my arm. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

So. Good signs so far. She was in a pleasant mood. I was in a pleasant mood. I began to relax.

She ordered a feta cheese and spinach bagel sandwich; I grabbed two chocolate muffins and two bananas so the health factor would even itself out.

She had coffee. I had tea.

Honestly, neither of us was good at chitchat, but we made our way through the obligatory small talk you’re supposed to have when you’re a couple catching up-she told me about her rounds at the hospital, I told her about driving to Fort Atkinson and back yesterday afternoon.

“So you were the one who found her in the boxcar? You and the FBI agent?”

I guessed where she’d heard it. “The news?”

She nodded toward someone nearby who was reading the paper. “I glanced at the headlines on the rack outside.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“The public relations officers said you guys arrived just in time to save her. They’re praising you.”

“You learned that from glancing at the headlines?”

“Okay, maybe it was a little more than a glance.”

“At a little more than the headlines?”

I saw the flicker of a smile. “Possibly.”

“I’m just glad we got there when we did.” But as I said the words, I couldn’t help but think of the conversation I’d had with Ralph last night in which I’d said almost the same thing, and of course the second part of that conversation too: “But angry we didn’t get there soon enough to save Hendrich.”

Taci sighed softly, then gave a small head-shake of exasperation. “Do you ever wonder, Pat, how these people, how they come to do these things?”

“Sometimes, yes, I do.”

“What he was going to do is just unthinkable,” she said. “How could you get someone to even consider maiming someone like that?”

Actually, the answer wasn’t all that mysterious or elusive. “Make it seem natural, reasonable. Unavoidable. The only conceivable choice at that particular time.”

She had a curious look in her eyes. It might have been concern.

“Radar once told me,” I explained, “that no one does the unthinkable, because to them, in that moment, it seems like the most natural and logical thing to do-the inevitable thing. I think he’s right.”

“But how could you make something like that inevitable?”

“When people kill, when rapists rape, when people torture each other, they’re doing what seems perfectly reasonable to them in that moment. Nobody ever does something that, in his own mind, as he’s doing it, is unthinkable.”

“So, they rationalize it?”

That seemed like too mild a way to put it.

I thought for a moment. “I’d just say that behind every unspeakable act is a person who is, in his own mind, completely justified in carrying it out.”

She sipped at her coffee and let my words settle in.

“So, how are you doing through all this, Pat?”

“I’m okay.”

“They said he was going to cut off her hands, her feet.”

“Taci, I can’t really talk about the case. You know that.”