Brian Haig - PrivateSector

He kicked a clod of dirt with his foot. We actually get instruction on this at law schools; how to piss people off. Miss Morrow, I suspected, got very good grades.

He was frustrated and said, “Don’t you get it? There’s been two more murders since your sister. We don’t get this asshole off the street, there’s gonna be more.” He gave her a probing look and added, “Come on. You know somethin’, don’t ya? Tell me.”

“Like what?”

“Ah, fuck.”

So we stood like this, Spinelli, Janet, and I for thirty more seconds with nobody saying a word. An acorn fell from a tree and landed at our feet. A plane left a long contrail in the sky.

Janet finally said, “The same guy, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, same friggin’guy.” He added, “We timed her death at around nine last night. Like your sister and Cuthburt.”

I said, “And you think the killer was the one who called NBC and CBS?”

“That’s what we think.”

Janet said, “So he’s deliberately turning up the heat on you. He chose Fiorio because she’s a celebrity. He’s drawing his own publicity to force you to publicly acknowledge that there’s a monster on the streets.”

He did not need to answer this, and he didn’t.

“But why?” Janet wondered. She stared at the black limo and answered her own question. “Because he wants to sow panic.”

Spinelli pointed a finger at the gaggle of reporters. “It’s coming.”

“What else?” Janet asked as I stared at her in astonishment. She now had Spinelli answering the questions. She said, “Come on, Danny, what have you not told us about?”

“The prick disclosed all kinds of shit to the press, so you’ll hear about it anyway. Numbers were inked in on the victim’s palms. Your sister was one slash ten, Cuthburt was two slash ten, and Fiorio is three slash ten.”

She crossed her arms and asked, “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

He shrugged, but to be clear on this point, I asked, “He’s numbering them?”

“Yeah. Also, he’s whackin’ the donkey on them.”

Janet gave Spinelli a stern look and asked, “On Lisa, too?”

“On yer sister’s trouser leg, we found sperm. But we got a big problem… and you won’t be hearin’ this one on the news.”

“Go on.”

“The DNA’s different.”

“Different?… explain different. ”

“Hey, I know. Weird.” He added, “The sperm on Captain Morrow don’t match the sperm on Cuthburt. And there’s sperm on Fiorio’s leg, too. We’ll know by tomorrow whether it matches the sperm on yer sister or Cuthburt. But right now, we’re assuming we got a pair of idiots.”

Janet pondered this a moment, then said, “That doesn’t make sense, Danny. The profiles for serial sex killers point to loners and social misfits. They regard these events as very intimate.”

“I read the trade manuals. But it is what is.”

She asked, “Any pubic hair at either scene?”

“Only the victim’s.”

She was shaking her head. “That doesn’t make sense either.”

“Tell me about it.”

I suggested, “Unless the killers, you know, shave.”

Spinelli gave me a startled look. “Yeah. We hadn’t thought of that, you know, guys shaving down there. I mean, what kind of guy… ?”

I walked around a moment, trying to think about this newest development. I said to both of them, “So the killer knew Fiorio had this big event last night, like maybe it was publicized ahead of time?” Spinelli confirmed this with a nod, so I continued, “He probably tracked Fiorio for a few days and learned that she used a limo service. He waited outside her studio until the limo pulled up.”

Spinelli pointed at a spot between his eyes and informed us, “Martinez got there about thirty minutes ahead of schedule, called his dispatcher, and waited a block or two from the studio. Our guess is the killer walked right up to the car window, like he needed directions or a light, and Martinez, not knowing any better, opened it. Probably the gun was silenced. The powder burns on Martinez’s forehead indicate it was fired about three inches away. The barrel was pointed downward, like Martinez was looking up, and the killer wanted the bullet to go straight down the throat and into his chest cavity, but not exit, you know, so it didn’t leave a big mess Fiorio might notice when she got in. He even slapped a piece of electric tape over the hole, to keep blood from seeping out.”

“The type of pistol?”

“From the hole under the tape, we’re estimating a forty-five.”

“At point-blank range, directed straight down?”

“Right.”

“Expert technique and expert choice of weapon. The slow velocity and large caliber assures catastrophic damage. Probably used a soft bullet, so it didn’t ricochet off any bones, exit his body, and create a big mess.” He nodded as I added, “He probably held the door as she got in the car.” I asked, “Time of death, around nine, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And we saw what they did during their two hours together.”

Janet considered this, then suggested, “He apparently likes to get to know his victim. Or he likes his victim to get to know him.”

Spinelli said, “Different things.”

“Yes, they are… and I’d guess the latter,” Janet replied. “That he ejaculates afterward indicates… what?” She considered her own question, then said, “Cuthburt and Fiorio were bound and tortured. God knows what he intended for Lisa, probably some variation of that treatment. He breaks their necks because it’s manual, personal

… the final domination. The climax must come right after he kills them. He never got to torture Lisa, and he still ejaculated.”

“You keep saying he,” Spinelli noted. “You doubt there’s two of them?”

“I definitely do doubt it.”

“Explain the DNA difference.”

“I can’t. But the whole act fits the silhouette and pattern of a killer who operates alone. The domination, time spent with the victim, the sexual release afterward, everything.”

He said, “Maybe two assholes formed some kind of bond. They coordinate, but act separately.”

She was shaking her head. “What are the odds of two of these maniacs getting together?”

He said, “Well, the FBI’s got a coupla their profilers studying this thing. We’ll have an assessment from the pros tonight.”

I said to Spinelli, “Anything else?”

He regarded us closely, apparently concluded we were lost causes, yet could not resist one more shot. He said, “Yeah. If either one of you’s holdin’ back on me, I swear I’ll fry your balls.”

I nodded, then escorted Janet back to my car. Oddly enough, my respect for Spinelli was growing. Respect; not affection. Cops are trained to analyze the facts and reach conclusions. But the really good ones have a nose for the invisible and a sort of intuition about people, and Spinelli was right-Janet was withholding something.

But not only from him. And I’d had enough.

He fingered the photograph of Anne Elizabeth Carrol even as he maintained a studious ear on the television coverage of Carolyn Fiorio’s gruesome murder.

The coverage was pleasingly pervasive: constant chatter on the news channels; a jarring succession of those pesky special reports everywhere else. Cold shock was the general mood. Every station made note of the awful irony that mere minutes before her appalling death Fiorio had taken a bold stand against the death penalty. Two stations promised instantaneous documentaries that night on her life and many impressive accomplishments. The one at 9:00 P.M. sounded more intriguing and he made a mental note to catch it. He had been using the remote to switch back and forth. His thumb eventually got so damned tired that he settled on CNN for its fifteen-minute updates.