me.”
Baldwin felt a thrill in his chest, his heartbeat picked up. “Familiar how?”
“Familiar in that I thought I’d seen it before. And I was right.”
“Wait, you said an old case file. You’ve seen notes from this killer before?”
“I can’t say that with absolute certainty. I brought in another colleague to double-check my findings, and he agrees with me. We’re working on the assumption that this is the handwriting of your killer. Without seeing him actually write on paper in front of me, I can’t prove that it’s him. But yes, I’ve seen it before. Ready for some notes?”
“You bet. Let’s hear it.”
“In 1995, I was working on a case in North Carolina. A woman who had Munchausen’s by proxy, or so we thought. She had a history, hurt everyone around her, her kids, her husband, her friends. She eventually killed her husband, that’s when they finally had enough to send her away. She had a short trial, and was sentenced to life in prison. For her sentencing hearing, her middle son wrote a letter to the court, asking for leniency. He was only fourteen at the time. Obviously, leniency was granted-they could have given her the death penalty. She went away, and the kid was suddenly alone in the world. Got placed into the foster system, then in a group home. He started acting out, violently, then went off the radar.”
“He wrote a letter to the court,” Baldwin said.
“Yes,” Wendy replied. “And in my professional opinion, the handwriting is the same as the letter you gave me.”
Baldwin knew some about graphology, but only the basics: that it’s the study of all graphic movement, can be used to gain insight into the mind of a person. Handwriting, doodles, drawings, sculpture and paintings, all can be examined for indicative personality traits, and, in the hands of a trained professional, it can be incredibly accurate.
He asked Wendy to give him a refresher course in some of the specifics. She was more than happy to oblige. The good news had them both giddy. Whether he would be able to close the Pretender down with the information was yet to be seen, but this felt like the first real step they’d taken toward finding out his true identity. He’d finally made a mistake they could capitalize on.
Wendy was a good lecturer, succinct and clear. “So here’s the deal. We can determine both fixed traits, like IQ, aptitude, temperament and identity, and gain insight into ability, attitude, moods, beliefs, motivational levels and physical condition. With a proper sample, there’s very little we can’t tell about a person. Handwriting is as unique as fingerprints and teeth. We’re guided by three basic principles: physical, mental and emotional, and all three of these are readily apparent in our handwriting. But I digress. The reason I recognized the handwriting from the letter in the old case was because it was the first time I’d seen a real, live example of the maniac D.”
“Maniac D. Charles Manson had that, if I remember correctly. It’s when the stem of the lower case d leans really far to the right, correct?”
“That’s right. Manson and the Zodiac Killer, hell, even O. J. Simpson has it. It’s almost exclusive to psychopaths and murderers. Certainly violent offenders, the most dangerous people. So this letter had the maniac D, but that wasn’t all. It was written with what we call an unstable slant. Most people’s writing leans in certain directions-they slant right, slant left or write straight up and down, with variations of all three. It all depends on mood, personality and whether the writer is left-or right-handed, but it’s generally consistent. His was all over the place. There was no acknowledgment of the rules-though the letter was written on regular notebook paper, the lines were ignored, the margins deviated. We call that left margin the line of society, and he disregarded it completely. The letters were narrow and the pressure on the page so intense that it tore in spots. It didn’t take a lot of analysis to see that the writer was tremendously disturbed.
“Highly intelligent, too-the vocabulary was sophisticated, the argument cogent. But the incoherent baseline told me I was dealing with someone who was deranged. I let the judge know, basically banged every drum I could find, but graphology didn’t have the cache it does now.” She laughed softly. “And that’s still damn little. I had a hard time getting them to pay attention to me. The case originated in a very small town in the foothills of North Carolina. He was fourteen, abused and alone. There weren’t a lot of programs in place to help troubled children, much less the antisocial son of a murderer. His trail goes cold after his early placements in foster care and the group home. There’s nothing else in the file. And now you have everything I have.”
“Oh, Wendy. You’re just teasing me now.”
She laughed, and agreed. “I am. I know you want his name.”
“You better believe it.”
“Ewan Copeland.”
“Ewan Copeland. Ewan Copeland. Why does that sound so familiar?”
“His dad was Roger Copeland. Minor league ballplayer, spent the vast majority of his career in the minors, but got called up to the majors for a year. Played for the Atlanta Braves.”
“Son of a bitch. I remember this now. Roger Copeland was murdered right after the season ended. They thought his wife did it. This is the same case?”
“That’s the case. For what it’s worth, Betty Copeland did kill him. She’s clinically insane. I’m honestly surprised she wasn’t put into permanent long-term psychiatric care. Terrible lawyer. He could have gotten her off on an incompetency plea. Instead she’s serving a hundred and twenty up in Atlanta. She committed the murder, and there was no talking the judge out of the facts.”
“Is she alive?”
“I don’t know. The last time I looked, yes, she was alive and still incarcerated. No parole hearings for Betty. I’ve included all of her information in the material I’ve sent you.”
“And you’re telling me, with a high degree of certainty, that the man who wrote the letter we found in the trailer is the same one who wrote a letter begging for clemency for his mother after she murdered his father?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Wendy, I honestly don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.”
“I’m sure I’ll need a favor someday. I’ve taken the liberty of overnighting copies of everything I have on this to your home address. You’ll have it first thing in the morning. I hope it helps.
“More than you can possibly imagine, Wendy. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I’ll figure something out. Dr. Baldwin, just one last thing. This boy was completely dysfunctional after the murder. The rest of his family was dead. He was totally alone. If he’s your killer, he’s obviously grown into something we couldn’t imagine. I’d just like to warn you to be on your guard. He’s a volatile guy.”
“ That I already knew. We’ve been trying to profile him for a while now, and the profile keeps changing.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He had no anchor back then, and obviously never found one.”
“Thank you, Wendy. Again, I can’t begin to tell you-”
“I know. Good luck.”
Baldwin hung up the phone and opened a map of North Carolina on his laptop. It only took a few moments to locate the place-Forest City was just southeast of Asheville, a little more than an hour’s drive from the mountain town. Now that they had the North Carolina connection explained, things were starting to make sense. Copeland leaving Fitz’s eye an hour from his hometown-was he looking to be caught? Had he grown tired of the game, and engineered the slaughter in Nags Head to lead them to his true identity? It stood to reason; even if it was a subconscious ploy, he would eventually want them to know that Ewan Copeland had grown into the Pretender.
Baldwin calculated, it was only six hours to Forest City. In the time it would take to arrange for the plane to come to Nashville and fly them there, they could drive. As appealing as snatching the plane again sounded, Baldwin’s boss, Garrett Woods, was only one man. He couldn’t keep diverting the company jet for a suspended agent. Driving was their best option. If they left now, they could be there before dawn.
But he had to wait for the material Wendy was sending. Damn.
He started to pace, toyed with the idea of going anyway, then made the smarter decision. A good night’s sleep wouldn’t hurt. The line had just gotten a whole lot straighter, and he knew in his heart that they were about to get to the bottom of things at last.
He went to call Taylor, and couldn’t contain the smile on his face.
