Max Collins - Fate of the Union

“Why not?” Reeder asked offhandedly. “Agent Rogers says the other victims were all professionals.”

Now both of the behaviorist’s eyebrows went up. “You’re calling this person a professional?”

Reeder shrugged. “Did they pay her for what she did? And the comments at the Les Girls website are very favorable. She was a pro.”

“In the broadest definition.”

Reeder allowed himself a smile. “I hope that wasn’t a pun, Agent Ivanek.”

“No pun intended, or disrespect either. But also no apparent connection to previous victims, other than mode of death.”

“Mode of death,” Reeder said, “or mode of execution? The other person who’s a pro here — besides Karma Sabich and the other victims — would seem to be the killer. You can call this a serial killing if you like... and it’s useful labeling in that it allows the FBI to look into these crimes... but these are almost certainly contract killings.”

“A series of them,” Ivanek said, almost bristling.

“A series grouped close enough in time,” Reeder said, “to indicate a connection between victims.”

Rogers said, “A connection that we haven’t made yet. So let’s go over it again.”

The agents arranged their materials in front of them, ranging from field notes and printouts to tablets or laptops. No one bitched about going back to square one — that was common in any big case — but the team seemed especially alert, game faces on, perhaps because the celebrated Joe Reeder was present. Or maybe it was the additional victim, which seemed to say more bodies would be coming if they couldn’t stop this.

Whatever “this” was.

Bohannon was first to speak. “Still no ballistics match on the rounds. If one shooter is responsible for all these kills, he’s using a different gun each time.”

Reeder said, “I understood that these were all .45 double-taps.”

“They are,” Bohannon confirmed, “but from different weapons apparently.”

“Changing out the barrel maybe?”

“One possibility. A pro might do that routinely.”

Wade asked, “How about multiple shooters?”

Bohannon shrugged. “We have five known victims now. Do we think we have five killers, each using the same two-slugs-in-back-of-the-head MO? That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

Nichols asked, “What about a gang initiation? Five new members, five random victims?”

Wade said, “Bullet pattern is so closely placed, feels like one guy.”

Reeder asked, “Any shells found at the scenes?”

“Nope,” Bohannon said with a disgusted smirk. “He collects his brass.”

“So,” Rogers said, “most likely one shooter.”

“One very careful shooter.”

Still at Rogers’s side, Reeder said, “Let’s say this isn’t a professional assassin. For the sake of argument. Let’s say it’s a serial killer who saw a movie or a TV show with the double-tap thing and thought, wow, that’s cool. Now he’s randomly assassinating people.”

Ivanek leaned forward a little. “Random isn’t part of the serial killer playbook. There’s always a pattern.”

Pleasantly, Reeder said, “Random can’t be a pattern?”

“I couldn’t give you an example of one, Mr. Reeder.”

“Make it ‘Joe’... Trevor, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ivanek said. “And I’m the guy who should be able to give you that pattern, but so far — unlike our killer — I’m shooting blanks. The victims don’t work in the same fields, they don’t live near each other, they’re not close in income, they’re not one race or gender. We just don’t have a bead yet.”

“ Sounds random, anyway,” Reeder said.

The behaviorist said, “‘Natural selection is anything but random.’”

“You know your Richard Dawkins,” Reeder said with the slightest smile. “You think this is some kind of screwed-up social Darwinism?”

“No, but it’s not random. We just haven’t seen the pattern yet. Maybe as we accrue information on the new victim, it’ll finally become clear.”

“Okay,” Reeder said. “So we go back to contract killings.”

“In some respects,” Ivanek said, “that does make sense. In others, it doesn’t.”

“How so?”

“All the victims, prior to the transvestite, were good citizens, squeaky clean, no gang ties, no organized crime ties, no loan sharks in the mix, just plain nothing. And Karma Sabich or DeShawn Davis...”

“Rose by any other name,” Hardesy muttered.

“... may well have been a solid citizen, too, in the context of her, or his, world.”

Rogers said, “Trevor, take us through them one at a time, will you?”

All eyes returned to the faces on the big monitor.

Ivanek said, “Victim number one, September 12 of last year — Michael Balsin, congressional aide. Thirty-four years old, shot to death in his apartment, lived alone. No sign of struggle.”

Reeder asked, “Aide for...?”

“Congressman Silas Denton from New Jersey.”

“Liberal.”

“Yes.”

“Michael have a significant other?”

“No. Nor did he have much of a social life. A very work-driven individual. Representative Denton was extremely upset about the murder, said the young man was going places.”

Wade said glumly, “Which he did.”

“Victim number two is no liberal,” Ivanek said. “Harvey Carroll, CPA, Springfield resident, had his own small business in Fairfax Station. Killed at home, no struggle — October 7. Divorced, father of one girl, who lives with her mom. Conservative voter, churchgoer. A good guy, by all accounts.”

Reeder asked, “A good guy, but was he the accountant for somebody bad?”

“Not that we’ve found,” Ivanek said. “Mostly, he worked for Christian charities and a few small companies. He did very little work for individuals. We haven’t found anybody who’s had a bad word to say about him — well, except his ex-wife.”

Anticipating Reeder’s next question, Rogers said, “And the ex-wife’s bad words are limited to how boring ol’ Work-Work-Work Harvey had been. Not exactly the kind of complaints that lead to two bullets in the back of the head.”

Reeder’s eyebrows made a little shrug. “You should talk to my ex before you make that assumption.”

That got a few chuckles.

Ivanek picked up: “Victim number three — a reference librarian from Burke. Carolina Uribe worked at the Burke Centre Library, lived alone, killed November 15.”

Reeder asked, “The only female victim?”

Hardesy said, “Depends on how you count this Karma character.”

Rogers said, “Luke, let’s not spoil our new friendly relationship by you making inappropriate cracks about one of the victims, whose murder we’re trying to solve.”

All heads turned to the ex-military man, anticipating flying fur. None flew.

He held up his hands. “My bad, kids. My only question is whether we refer to this vic as Karma or DeShawn, her or him. Not bein’ snide, boss — just practical.”

Rogers thought about that. “Legal name is DeShawn, and gender on the autopsy is male. We’ll go with DeShawn and ‘he.’”

Nobody disagreed with that assessment.

Hardesy did say, “I understand this individual preferred to be referred to as female. But we’ll make it up to the vic by bringing in his goddamn killer.”

Nods and even some applause.

Ivanek resumed his rundown. “Victim number four, William Robertson. Floor supervisor at Dunnelin Machine in Bowie, Maryland. Married with two kids, only vic — including DeShawn Davis — not killed at home. December 17.”

Reeder asked, “Where did the shooting go down?”

“Men’s room of the shop where he worked.”