The Beholder, a Maddie Richards Mystery (17 page)

“My city’s freaking,” Maddie told him. “Did you see anything here or at Stowe’s apartment that can help flesh out a picture of this bastard?”

“We can make a few educated guesses along with some reliable assumptions. First, I’m not convinced you’re dealing with a serial killer. The frequency between the killings is untypically close for a rookie.”

“Maybe he started somewhere else,” Maddie proposed, “and then brought his act to my town?”

“Could be, but they don’t often change their M.O. when they relocate. I ran a trace in our computer bank before leaving Quantico, and didn’t find anything that supported this guy having previously worked in another town. If the killer is a serialist, his quick recidivism can only mean he fought down his urges for a very long time before surrendering to his perversion. The other argument is the one you mentioned at lunch. This could be one devious murder and a copycat throwaway to make us think serially. If that’s it, he’ll need more victims to keep the serial theory alive.”

“You agree it’s a man?”

“Oh, it’s a man alright, and I think we can tighten your age range a mite. Art critics say you can know the painter from his paintings. As you know, that’s where we start. His mayhem is his signature, and the more specific the details, the clearer the picture.”

Maddie wondered how Linc could keep his level dealing with such horror day in and day out. She doubted she could.

“What puzzles me,” he went on, “is the serialist who kills hookers usually works hookers exclusively or perhaps other disadvantaged people; the key is their projecting a lack of power. Wealth implies power. To go after an Abigail Knight requires a different set of balls.”

“What’s your guess about the change in the profile of his victims?”

“Ah, that’s one of the long guesses. The guy used the hooker as a test run. His agenda isn’t racial. His first victim was black, the second white. Stowe was single. Knight married. There appears to be no pattern. Stowe was likely his try out performance. I wouldn’t recommend telling the poor woman of the city that they’re safe, but if I’m right, his future victims will be successful women.”

“Why does the woman’s success matter? I’ve been zeroing in on the beauty and promiscuity angles, not success.”

“You’re right about the beauty. It’s important to this fellow. However, I doubt the women’s promiscuity is important beyond perhaps making it easier for him to get them alone. My guess is that after Abigail Knight, he liked the media coverage. The energy and attention Knight brought which he didn’t get after killing Folami Stowe. The media coverage fed his ego, made him feel powerful. He lusts to control not just his victim, but the entire city.”

“Any chance this is over?” Maddie asked.

“None. You’ll have more. He’ll keep going until you put him down, lock him up, or he moves on to someone else’s town. The more I roll this thing around in my head the more certain I am you don’t have a target murder coupled with a throwaway. This guy enjoyed it. He has long nurtured a strong passion for the macabre. One thing in your favor is that with each new victim you’ll get a fresh crime scene.”

“That’s gruesome.”

“Yes it is. It’s also true.”

“What’s your take on his stealing their breasts?”

“From what I’ve seen and what you’ve said about the work of your M.E. and evidence techs, he doesn’t experience an orgasm at the scene. He’s not afraid. He’s in no hurry. It’s just not private enough. Now, another guess, for him bringing home the breasts is like bringing home a porno movie or magazine to use later when he’s alone and he can craft the mood and ambience.”

Maddie shook off the image that came to her mind. “On the night of the murder, when we first arrived at the Knights, the upstairs bedroom was very cold. The thermostat had been set at sixty-six.”

“It’s not likely your scantily dressed victim would have set it that low.” Linc ran his tongue across his lower lip. “Don’t know. Odd element. Possibly when Mrs. Knight came home the house was really hot. She cranked it down and then the killer showed up. Or maybe the killer liked it cold. Prints?”

Maddie shook her head. “The thermostat was clean.”

“Sounds like the killer then. Somebody had to wipe the thermostat clean. Hang onto that tidbit. It’ll likely mean something at some point. I’m afraid I’ve got no other ideas.”

“Well I’ve got one,” Maddie said. “We’ve got to meet sometime without grotesque murders being our reason.”

His grin told her the idea appealed to him. “What have you got on for tonight?”

“Nothing I can’t get out of.” She smiled, recognizing the double entendre.

He sat back deep into the chair. “We could have dinner. You name the time and place. And there’ll be no discussion of death. Just life and hope and pleasure.”

That sounded just right to Maddie. She was due. Overdue.

“You’re on,” Maddie said, “eight-thirty will give me time to get Bradley settled in for the night or at least ready for bed.”

“Deal. My hotel’s in Scottsdale. There’s lots of restaurants close by. Pick the one you prefer.”

She nodded. “I need to go back to the case for a minute. Why didn’t the Beholder have sex with his victims, pre or post mortem?”

His grin was ever broader now. “Did I ever tell you that you were one of the best and brightest ever to take my FBI class?”

“I was?”

“You was.”

Maddie could feel herself blush. “I’ll bet you tell that to all the girls.”

“No. I don’t,” he replied. “And I think you know it. But back to your question, in a case like this, I’d look for a domineering beautiful mother whose major preoccupation was her own appearance. Maybe even her sexual appetites. To the Beholder she would have seemed distant and desirable, but unapproachable. I’d say his father was not at home or that the mother also dominated him, perhaps using her body to manipulate him. According to your medical examiner, no sexual activity took place. But the stripping of the victims’ breasts has a definite sexual connotation. He could have just mutilated the breasts, as he did the faces. What we’ve got is a mixed bag. Taking the breasts was about delayed gratification, while destroying the faces symbolizes anger and immediate punishment. Lust and hate are a dangerous combination.”

Maddie walked over to the window and looked out at the Knights’s pool. “So, this is really about domination, manipulation, and control.”

“As I said, the best and the brightest. Most of these killers feel they are losers even though, to all outward appearances, they might have made some success of their lives. They feel that life has screwed them. This Beholder is bright and not intimidated by people with wealth, so my guess is he does okay financially and has a job that includes some authority over others. Still, he’s never been able to shake himself free from his childhood abuse. Now, it’s payback time. He wants to dominate and punish the females he has picked as surrogates for a mother who manipulated and controlled him.”

“The M.E. tells me that the amputation of their breasts came before death, with the skinning of their faces being done after they were dead,” Maddie said, leaning closer to Linc. “What do you read from that?”

“Eventually the victim bleeds to death, but, more importantly for him, the woman bleeds to death knowing he has robbed them of their femininity. If my theory about his mother is correct, he wants his mother to see herself losing her beauty, her womanhood. The postmortem skinning sates his still unspent anger through depersonalization. The amputations are likely fetishistic. In his mind he is taking the affection his mother denied him, while punishing her at the same time.”

An hour later they had finished revising and extending the Beholder’s profile:

Sex
-- male

Race
-- white

Age
-- 35-45

Physical Traits
-- strong enough to carry dead weight

Childhood habits
-- the homicidal triad: bed wetting/fire starting/cruelty to animals

Marital status
-- never married

Father
-- passive or gone

Mother
-- domineering, beautiful, narcissistic

Military
-- none or maybe as a medic

Intelligence
-- high IQ, college probably or self-educated

Occupation
-- an authoritative position of some sort

Vehicle
-- dark, full-sized, probably a four door

Criminal record
-- none or minor

Personality
-- ok with men, shy around pretty woman unless he has an edge.

“Remember,” Maddie said after they got back to the car, “tonight, no death and no serial killers.”

Chapter 24

Maddie stood just inside the door of Bandera’s, a trendy Scottsdale restaurant. Her gaze found Lincoln Rogers sitting in a window booth along the side street. He started to get up; she waved him back down. He had on a blue shirt and he wore it well. She felt his eyes on her as she moved toward him.

You’d better notice, she thought. I shaved my legs and underarms, and, thank God, my pubic arrow has fully grown out.

Maddie seldom wore high heels, but she did tonight. Men were correct; heels highlighted a woman’s legs. Her wraparound, above-the-knee green dress covered a black, shelf bra and a matching thong. Nights like this were the payoffs for all the jogging that kept her tush and tummy tight.

She bent forward and slid into the booth across from Linc, her dress revealing the ample, but not girls-gone-wild cleavage she had tested for in her bathroom mirror.

True to their agreement, they mentioned neither the Beholder case nor serial killers in general. Linc had told her earlier that he would be leaving in the morning, but had promised to be available if she needed him as the case developed.

There were so many men like Dink, Brackett, and her ex-husband that Maddie sometimes wondered why she bothered with men at all, but she knew why. There were adequate substitutes on the market, but men packed the real deal. Besides, she had already decided that Linc might have more to offer than just hard heat.

Tonight would be their night, and Maddie knew that if anything came of their relationship later, it would, well, come later. They skipped appetizers, chatted through dinner and then headed for his hotel.

Inside his suite, Linc took her in his arms and kissed her.

The phenomenon called spontaneous human combustion held that sometimes people internally burst into flames without explanation. There was no evidence of this phenomenon, but after Linc touched her nipple, Maddie thought she might just prove the theory.

Afterwards, they got the pony bottle of champagne and the package of Milano chocolate cookies from the mini bar and climbed into the suite’s private hot tub.

“You must be an important guy for the FBI to pick up the tab on this place?” she said, standing in front of him, the hot bubbles lapping at her thighs.

“They would’ve put me up at the Marriott downtown,” he told her. “The difference is mine.”

“So it was your plan all along to bring me back here, eh, stud?” She cupped the hot water in her hands and poured the warmth over her breasts.

“That’s a bit too presumptive. Hoped? Yes. Definitely hoped. Fantasized, too.”

“Am I measuring up to that fantasy, Mr. Rogers?”

“You blew away the fantasy little lady as soon as you walked into the restaurant wearing that dress and leaned into the booth.” He reached out and pressed his fingers against the scar just below her right breast. “Is this from when you got the nickname, Annie Oakley?”

“You know about that?” she asked, tossing a handful of water in his face.

“I know a lot about you, Madeline Richards, but fill in the details.”

“There’s not much to tell. One night after work I stopped at a supermarket to discover I had walked into the middle of a holdup. There were two of them. I put a round into the one with the shotgun, but while I was concentrating on him the other one with a handgun got me right there.”

“The way I heard it, you shot the first guy in the forehead and the second one in his shoulder.” He grinned, “A couple of John Wayne shots.”

“Both shots were intended for the middle of their bodies. They just went where they went.”

He laughed. “That’s probably how most legends happen. I always wondered what Babe Ruth was really doing when his legend claimed he pointed to the outfield fence before hitting a home run on his next swing.”

“Enough about the job.” She pushed his knees apart, turned, and scooted in against him, bringing his hands around to cup her breasts. “Who knows when we’ll be together again?”

Three hours later the alarm Maddie had Linc set for four-thirty, went off. She wanted to be home when Bradley got up for school.

“You’ve got a case to solve,” Linc said, holding her tight, “no need to see me off at the airport. Someday I want us to spend more time together, Maddie. I’d like to find a way to be around you more often.” He ran the soft pads of his fingers down her cheek. “I put a tape in a small padded envelope next to your purse. Forget where you got it. One just like it will be delivered anonymously to your Chief Layton before eight this morning. You need to listen to it before you get to the station.”

“What’s it about?” she asked, clearly puzzled by his abrupt change of subject. If he had wanted to put her back into work mode, this certainly had done it.

“Just listen,” he said. “You’ll understand. And, like I said, listen before you get to the station.”

Chapter 25

“This tape came in this morning, by courier,” Chief Layton began, again skipping over such niceties as good morning or have a seat. “The service has no record of the sender. I have my ideas on how this tape came into existence, but that’s another matter which I’ll look into myself. I’m going to play it for you. It’s not quite ten minutes. Sit down, Sergeant, and don’t say anything until the end.”

Sit down? Maddie repeated to herself. That’s a first. “Yes, sir,” she said, feigning a look of confusion over what this could be about. Truth was, by then she could have recited the damn tape word for word. She crossed her legs and her arms.