Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

"And the body count?" Boldt asked. "Is that consistent?"

"It fits well.

Yes. Three deaths that we've uncovered. At a ten-percent failure rate that still adds up to thirty or more."

"Jesus!" Shoswitz said. "This guy's fucking out of his mind!"

"Not necessarily, Lieutenant," she corrected taking him literally. "Christiansen profiled him as bright, charming even active in the community. He sees himself as going a step beyond-going the extra mile-to save lives. He feels perfectly justified in what he's doing. He feels good about it. Empowered by it. We're dealing with a substantial ego here."

"Robin Hood?" Shoswitz asked incredulously. "Are you telling me this guy believes he is performing some kind of civic duty?"

"Absolutely. That's very well put, Lieutenant. That's it exactly."

A uniformed patrolman knocked and opened the office door.

"Lieutenant? We're ready for you."

Fifteen people were gathered in the situation room. J. C. Adams, Butch and Danny-all working surveillance; several nerds from Tech Services, including Watson, who ran it like it was its own department, which it wasn't; two women, Maria Romanello and Trish Leidecher, veteran Sexual Assault detectives currently assigned to Special Operations. Boldt, Lamoia and Shoswitz followed in behind Daphne.

Shoswitz paced the room rubbing his elbow, and spoke in a commanding voice. "Here's where we stand, everybody: Robbery has quite possibly located the laptop computer that was lifted from a van we had under surveillance. A pawn shop on Pine called in serial numbers to a Toshiba laptop yesterday. The timing and the description of both the laptop and the kid who hocked it were a good match. We sent Watson and crew to have a look at it. Subsequently, we've been informed by them that the laptop is password protected. Watson," he said, turning it over to a man with thick glasses and wet, red lips.

He spoke with a slight lisp. "Given the existence of an unknown password, we are unable to retrieve any file on the hard disk in full. We can only grab data a few sectors at a time, and copying in any kind of order is out altogether. We have programs capable of testing sequences of passwords-trying to 'break the code/ if you will-but with this particular hardware/software combination it's a terribly time consuming process."

Shoswitz cut him off. A couple of the wise guys applauded.

Watson sat down. Shoswitz said, "Obviously we need that password. Interestingly enough, a different individual approached this same pawn shop late yesterday afternoon, claiming he had hocked the laptop, which we know is incorrect.

He wanted the laptop back. He was told to return this morning.

This individual fit the description and through in-store video has subsequently been identified as the driver of the van in question. We would not only like the driver of that van under surveillance, we would also appreciate it if he would give us the password so we could have a look-see at the data. I hope you're following this because I'm not going to repeat it. Sergeant Boldt has decided we will not-I — repeat, will not-detain this individual when he returns this morning to claim the laptop. We will place him under surveillance and hope he leads us to bigger fish. Okay? Got it? But we need this friggin' password in order to get at the laptop, and Sergeant Matthews has some ideas on how we might get it. Sergeant …" he said turning it over to her.

Daphne scanned the crowd, making eye contact with each person.

"What we're going to do-all of us-is 'trick' the suspect into volunteering the password. Each of you has some role to act out. You've already been briefed on that. What I'm going to be talking about applies to how you approach that role, how you approach the suspect. "We know what this guy looks like-you've all been shown a photocopy of a shot lifted from the store's video. We'll be fully wired. Watson will be set up in the back of the shop." She studied a report. "I've had the chance to study the in-store video of the suspect. This guy is the nervous and anxious type," she said. "He's cocky. He's used to being in control and is not at all comfortable about his present situation. He wants this laptop. And that's why he plays into our hands so well. He's suspicious, which means he'll respond best to negative reinforcement-reverse psychology. We want to play him like a fish-let him run. We act like we don't give a damn. That's what it amounts to. We're in no hurry to help him out. None whatsoever. If he senses our trying to help him, it'll tip him off. He's looking for us-remember that, too.

Those of you who are going to be on the shop floor as patrons, I want you to put him down at every opportunity. That shouldn't be too tough for most of you." More laughter. "Get in his face. Call him an 'asshole." Call him 'stupid-"

"Just don't call him late to dinner," someone shouted out. "Cute, Meyers. Bet you thought that up all by yourself," she said quickly, stealing the laughter that Meyers had hoped for, boosting her confidence. She looked Boldt in the eye and was gratified to see respect there. "We want to use his insecurity against him. He wants this laptop. You must remember that at all times. He'll do what's necessary to get it back, including giving us the password as long as we make him think of it. It may take us several times. We must be prepared for him to walk. We can't be afraid of that. Let him go; he'll be back." Lots of doubting faces on that one. "This is my territory," she reminded. "Trust me: He'll be back. That is, if that laptop contains the kind of information we think it does and if our surveillance boys don't tip him off to us." She allowed them time to talk among themselves and then interrupted. "We're going to push and pull him. Toy with him. It's essential we make this tough for him."

Boldt interrupted, his confidence apparent. "Once we have the password, we're going to copy files from the laptop's hard disk. That may take a minute …

She reinterrupted, "Which is when he will grow the most suspicious. Those of you acting as patrons-that's your moment to cause the most confusion. We want to make it safe for him to be delayed. If he wants to leave-fine. Once we have the password we don't really care." o Boldt corrected, "But we do care about his catching on to us. The whole reason we're letting him skate is the hope he'll lead us up the ladder. It's like a Narco bust that way-which is exactly why those of you from Narco were assigned here. We need your expertise." Meyers asked, "How do we know this guy ain't the cutter?" Some heads nodded. "We have a profile of the harvester. This guy doesn't fit," Boldt answered. Daphne witnessed the glum faces and felt tempted to defend herself. He glanced at her from the side of the room where he was standing. "We have reason to suspect that the harvester is a veterinarian." They both allowed a few seconds for the resulting chatter that always followed such an announcement. This was the first time anyone had been told this, other than Shoswitz, Lamoia and herself.

Daphne offered, "There's also some physical evidence. We believe the harvester has a harsh voice. Our pawn shop suspect does not. We believe the accomplice wears size thirteen running shoes; the suspect in the pawn shop was wearing large running shoes. "The important thing," Daphne continued, "is to use his impatience against him. To criticize him: his looks, his intelligence, anything to heighten his anger. If we keep him angry, he won't be thinking clearly, he'll stop being observant his focus will be on directing his anger." She asked the two women, "Which one of you is the prostitute?"

That caused all the male heads to spin. Maria Romanello raised her hand. She was a good choice: dark skin, sultry attitude, with an eye-popping figure. But she was a gum-chewer and not at all glamorous. The guys applauded her. Maria flipped them the bird.