The person who’d killed Bruce Hendrich was still at large. We didn’t know yet if he was also the man who’d abducted Adele Westin and Colleen Hayes. Additionally, the man who’d killed the women in Ohio and Illinois was still at large. We didn’t know whether he was the same man either. One man, or two, or three, we still didn’t know.
After reviewing the notes Calvin had given me last night, as well as the last three pages of the stack he’d provided earlier, I realized I didn’t have the mathematical background to do the geographic-profiling calculations in any reasonable amount of time. I would definitely need a computer and his software to analyze this data properly.
At the pub he’d said to call him at eight, just ten minutes from now. We could set up a time to go over the numbers then.
Last night I’d stayed up late, going through the Oswald video footage and case files, and there were papers strewn all across my living room floor.
But Radar was on my mind and, instead of picking up the papers, I phoned Reverend Padilla, the police chaplain. “I think maybe you should talk with Radar.”
“About the shooting?”
“Yes. He seemed, well…I’m a little worried about how it might be affecting him.”
“I’ll give him a call.”
Then I got in touch with Thorne. He had no problem with us consulting with Calvin about the case.
“Just fill out the paperwork when you get to the department,” he told me.
“Great.”
At last I scooped up the papers and popped the video out of the VCR.
By a fluke, WISN Channel 12 News had a cameraman stationed in the area during the Oswalds’ apprehension. The station had gotten the dispatch call and sent out a camera crew since they thought it was going to be a hostage situation.
As it turned out, the cameraman had gotten live footage of the Oswalds driving through a police barricade, trying to escape, and then crashing into a tree. I remembered seeing a minute or two of the footage back in 1994 after their arrest-it was played repeatedly for the next few weeks as the daily news reports followed the story.
But last night I’d watched the complete footage, as well as parts of the news shows, and now I gathered together the notes I’d jotted down:
• Van: Blue. Stolen from 46-year-old Judy Opat. They made her drive it when they abducted her. After she jumped out, they tried to escape but within thirty seconds crashed into a tree.
• SWAT surrounded them, but they refused to throw their guns out of the van. The standoff lasted three hours (thankfully the footage didn’t).
• Earlier that morning, the Oswalds had robbed a bank in Wales at 9:30. At 9:36 a.m., the officers received a call and dispatched vehicles to apprehend the suspects.
• The chase ensued from the corner of 18 and 83.
• As they fled, they were approached by Captain James Lutz on Meadowbrook Road. They shot him six times, fatally wounding him.
• After Lutz’s murder, the chase re-ensued at the intersection of SS and G near the Rocky Point subdivision on the west side of Pewaukee Lake. The shoot-out occurred when the suspects were hemmed in by a roadblock on the corner of SS and Oak Street.
• Other injuries from the shoot-out-Judy was hit by a bullet that entered her right shoulder and exited her armpit, two other officers were shot and treated, one suffered minor abrasions. The officers, hostage, and subsequently, the suspects, were all treated at Waukesha Memorial Hospital.
After cleaning up the living room, I called Calvin and told him he was in as a consultant.
“Splendid. Then I think there are some things we should discuss this morning.”
We agreed to meet at eight forty-five at Marquette in the Criminology and Law Studies grad office where he was heading to prepare his lecture for this afternoon’s seminar. “I’ll bring my computer,” he offered. “Then we can plug in the data, try to find out where our offender might actually live.”
That gave me just under half an hour before I needed to leave.
Figuring I’d make the best of it, I set about reviewing Werjonic’s algorithms so I could at least try to understand what we would be discussing at eight forty-five.
72
8:25 a.m.
8 hours until the gloaming
The words seemed almost audible to Joshua, who tried to tune them out, tried to bury them beneath the memory of killing Petey Schwartz last Friday, the man whose funeral he was going to attend today at noon.
He chose a tie and slung it around his neck.
Attending the funeral of a man you’ve killed contains a sad and tragic irony. Perhaps even a touch of sadism. But killing Petey had not been something Joshua had been planning to do at all. They both just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Still, when the moment came, when the homeless man came at him, Joshua had, without hesitation, plunged the necrotome into his belly just the way his father had taught him to do in the barn when he was a boy.
And he had moved it back and forth.
Just like his father had taught him.
Petey had looked at him strangely as Joshua hugged him closer, held him until the man had no more strength to stand on his own. Then he helped him to the ground so he could finish bleeding to death on the sidewalk.
After he had, Joshua stared at the body.
But eating Petey Schwartz’s diseased, unbathed flesh was not something Joshua was ready to do. He’d learned long ago, when his father was still alive, that you have to use discernment. You have to exhibit self- control.
He finished with the tie.
The city paid to bury vagrants, but the West Reagan Street Mission was the one to arrange memorial services for the homeless people in the neighborhood who died.
There was no way they could afford a service at an actual funeral home and there was no practical way for the homeless people who would be attending to get there anyway, so the service would be held right there at the mission, just three blocks from the train yards.
As Joshua headed out the door, he ran through his plan for the day one last time. He would head to work for a few hours, attend Petey Schwartz’s funeral at noon, then stop by Kohl’s department store to get the box he would be sending the police officer.
Then he could pick up the children, deliver the package, and wait for the cop to die.
Finally, this evening when it was all said and done, he would meet the man who’d called him earlier this morning. The man who was going to become his partner.
73
I parked on Wells Street, walked from there, and found Calvin in the graduate office, bent over the highest- end laptop computer I’d ever seen, meticulously entering data.
