Survival Of The Fittest

“There are some big trees behind the public rest rooms. The most logical scenario is Raymond went to the john and got dragged into a stall. Either killed right there or incapacitated. They never found any of his blood in the john, but he could have been killed cleanly, the blood for the shoes taken later. Whatever happened, no one saw it.”

“None of his blood? Does that mean someone else's?”

“Like I said, it's a drug place, junkies use the stalls to fix. There were blood-specks all over the place. At first they thought it would be a lead, but no match to Raymond. The samples are on file if they ever get a perp but why should the perp have bled? They also dusted for prints, found matches to a few local bums with sheets, but all of them had solid alibis and none of them had a history of pedophilia or sex crimes.”

Thinking of the boy trapped in a fetid stall, I felt my stomach knot up. “What's the theory about how the killer got him out of the park?”

“The parking lot's about thirty feet behind the bathrooms with the trees in between, a nice green barrier. If the asshole's car was nearby, he could have carried Raymond, tossed him in, driven off.”

“What time of day did this take place?”

“Late morning. Between eleven and noon.”

“Broad daylight,” I said. “Same as Irit- so damned brazen… You said Raymond was chubby. How much did he weigh?”

“Hundred and ten or so. But short. Four seven.”

“Heavier than Irit,” I said. “Once again, a strong killer. How's the case classified?”

“Open but very cold, not a single lead the entire year. The main Newton D on the case is an older guy named Alvarado, very good, very methodical. He began the same way we did on Irit: hauled in and interviewed sex offenders. He also grilled all the gang bangers known to hang out at the park. They said they'd never hurt a poor little kid- which is bullshit, they kill poor little kids in drive-bys all the time. But Raymond was actually a popular kid because his older brothers were bangers in Vatos Locos and Dad had been, too. VL rules that area and the family was well-respected.”

“But couldn't that be a possible motive?” I said. “Some internecine gang thing and Raymond was used to get a message across to the Vatos? Had the brothers or the father gotten on anyone's bad side? Were they involved in the drug trade?”

“Alvarado looked into that. The father served some time years ago, but he's straight now- works as an upholsterer downtown- and the brothers are low-status punks, not particularly aggressive. Sure they use, like all their buddies, but they're not kingpins and as far as Alvarado could learn, they hadn't pissed anyone off big-time. Plus, if it had been a gang message, some sort of revenge would have been taken. Alvarado's feeling right from the start was a sex crime because of the park setting, the john, the shoes left at the station. To him that was a taunt- a power-trip sicko trying to show how smart he was at the police's expense. Make sense?”

“It makes a lot of sense,” I said, remembering the business-world adage Dr. Lehmann had quoted this afternoon:

It's not enough that I succeed. You have to fail.

“Yeah, he was brazen, all right,” he said. “Arrogant bastard. To me, sending the clipping also meant he got off on the publicity, was hoping to stir things up.”

“How much publicity did the abduction create?”

“Couple of small articles in the Times, couple of larger ones in El Diario. More than Latvinia Shaver's gotten, by the way. All those media leeches came up with was a thirty-second story on the late news that night, no follow-up.”

“Which raises a question,” I said. “I can see him killing Irit to get publicity, but then why do Latvinia?”

“Exactly. I don't see enough of a match to consider these anything but three separate cases.”

“Did the shoes stir up the case again?”

“Nope. Alvarado never released anything to the press.”

“Why not?”

“To hold something back, in case the asshole ever gets caught. I asked about the DVLL thing and Alvarado said it didn't ring any bells. So that scrap of paper probably was just trash.”

“Three separate cases,” I said.

“You disagree?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet. But the similarities do bear consideration: the choice of retarded teenagers, picking them out of a crowd in Raymond's and Irit's cases and in Latvinia's, from plenty of other girls working the street. I keep picturing the same kind of psychopath for each: smug, meticulous, confident enough to spirit a victim away in broad daylight or leave her in a public place like the schoolyard. Leaving the body out in the open in two instances, and a body-surrogate- bloody shoes- in another. Sneaky, but an exhibitionist. A show-off. Taken with himself. Which isn't profound because every psychopath is self-obsessed. They're like cookies out of a cutter: same power lust, same extreme narcissism, same need for excitement and total disregard for others.”

“Seen one psychopath, seen 'em all?”

“In terms of their inner motivation that happens to be true,” I said. “Psychologically, they're flat, banal, boring. Think of all the creeps you've put away. Any fascinating souls?”

He thought about that. “Not really.”

“Emotional black holes,” I said. “No there, there. Their crime techniques differ because of individual quirks. Not just M.O., because the same killer can change his method if it's not psychologically important to him yet still have a trademark.”

“Yeah, I've seen that. Rapists who'll switch back and forth from a gun or a knife, but always talk to their victims the same way. You see any trademark, here?”

“Just retarded kids with various disabilities,” I said. “I suppose that could indicate some twisted notion of eugenics- culling the herd. Though his basic motive would still be psychosexual. Give me a sheet of paper and your pen.”

Sitting down at the breakfast table, I drew a grid and filled it in as Milo watched over my shoulder.

“The asterisks are matches?” Milo said.

“Yes.”

“Where's the ethnicity match?”

“All three were minorities,” I said.

“A racist killer?” he said.

“It also fits with the eugenics thing. As does the fact that all three were only mildly retarded, functioning very well. Teenagers. Meaning capable of reproduction. He tells himself he's cleansing the gene pool, he's not just some lust killer. Which is why he doesn't assault the victims.”

“Him,” he said. “One killer?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Usually lust killers prey on their own race.”

“The conventional wisdom used to be always until cross-racial serial killers started showing up. And murder and rape have been used for years as part of racial and ethnic warfare.”

He scanned the chart again. “Park and schoolyard.”

“Both are public places where kids congregate. I can't help thinking leaving Latvinia on that yard had some kind of meaning. Maybe to terrify the schoolkids the next morning- expand the violence.”

“Culling.” He shook his head.

“Just presenting another perspective, for argument's sake.”

He picked up the chart and ran his finger down the middle. “Truthfully, Alex, what I see is lots of partials, very little that goes across the board. And one killer operating out of three jurisdictions?”

“What better way to evade notice than by moving around?” I said. “It would lessen the chance of a connection being discovered because how often do detectives from different divisions get together? It could also be part of the thrill: By killing all over the city, he expands his sphere of influence. Rules the city, so to speak.”

“The Killer King of L.A.” He frowned. “Okay, let's stick with the one-killer hypothesis for argument's sake. Raymond's abduction was a full year before Irit, Latvinia three months after. You say he's compulsive. Not much even spacing there.”