the date on the first case you’ve associated with this guy?”
“November. The day after Thanksgiving as a matter of fact,” she said.
“Nothin’ earlier?”
“Not that’s been reported to us.”
“Well, Schaeffer went missin’ late October,” he mused aloud. “So your theory could fit.”
“That puts a month between her disappearance and the first reported rape,” I voiced my observation as I set my mind to the task of filling the blanks-and there were plenty of them, even taking into consideration my latest secular epiphany.
“Okay,” Ben nodded. “That fills in that hole, but it still doesn’t give us anything concrete. Not to mention we still don’t have a suspect either.”
“You’re positive Debbie Schaeffer didn’t have any ex-boyfriends?” I asked.
“None that ‘er parents knew of, why?”
“Well, this is just me speculating, so take it for what it’s worth.” I confessed the thoughts that had only now started to gel in the front of my brain. “But if everything we’ve discussed here actually pans out, then that would make Debbie Schaeffer the first victim, right?”
“Still a big if, but yeah… Go on.”
“Well, what if she’s the impetus for the entire string of rapes?”
“You mean,” Ben looked at Detective McLaughlin then back to me, “like he’s tryin’ ta’ relive rapin’ her through these other women?”
“I suppose, but that’s not exactly what I was thinking.” I shook my head. “I was approaching it more along the line that she was the actual object of his desire, and through whatever course of events transpired he accidentally killed her. So by acting out his fantasy with the other women, he is somehow bringing her back to life. In his mind anyway.”
“Jeez, white man. Now you’re startin’ to sound like my sister.”
I shrugged. “Then maybe she’s who we really need to be talking to.”
“Hello?” Helen Storm’s voice issued from the phone.
We had regrouped in a conference room to allow for less distraction and more privacy. Ben had begun dialing her number almost as soon as the door was shut.
“Helen, it’s Ben,” my friend spoke quickly. “You’re on speaker. I’ve got Detective McLaughlin and Rowan with me. You got a minute?”
“Since you already have me on speaker, I suppose it would be rude of me to say no, would it not?”
“Gimme a break, Sis.”
“Oh, I suppose I can let it go this time,” she laughed musically. “What can I do for you, Benjamin?”
Detective McLaughlin gave me a grin then turned to Ben and mouthed “Benjamin?”
My friend fired back a wordless glance that said in no uncertain terms, “Don’t even go there.”
“First off, everything we discuss here is strictly on the QT, right?”
“Of course. I take it this is work related then?”
“Yeah, it is. We’ve got a situation we’d like ta’ run past ya’ and get your professional opinion on.”
“You understand that forensic psychology is not my primary area of expertise, correct?”
“I know, Helen,” Ben said. “We ain’t that far yet. We just wanna see if the theory’ll fly.”
“Aren’t.”
“What?”
“Aren’t, Benjamin. Or, are not. Definitely not ain’t.” She put an extreme emphasis in her tone when she repeated the colloquial contraction.
“Jeezus, Helen… Not now, okay?”
“All right, but your grammar is especially atrocious today. At any rate, I will certainly try to do what I can to help.”
Ben rolled his eyes then proceeded to outline our recent discussion for her, up to and including the theory I had advanced about Debbie Schaeffer. When he finally finished giving her the run down, there was a long pause at the other end.
“Ya’ still there, Helen?” Ben quizzed the phone.
“Yes, Benjamin,” she answered. “I’m still here. Do you have any idea how Debbie Schaeffer died?”
“Nothing conclusive back from the coroner’s office, so no, not yet. Why?”
“It would certainly help to know if her death was in fact an accident or deliberate. Of course, I am sure you already realize that since this one fact is the lynch pin of your entire theory.”
“Yeah, we know. We’re just battin’ things around right now,” Ben said.
“All right then, let us assume that her death was accidental,” she outlined. “Emotional transference is not uncommon, especially if an individual is incapable of retaining a firm grasp on the realities at hand. But one does not necessarily need to be psychotic or possessed of severely diminished faculties for this to occur either. A classic example of this is very simply the proverbial rebound relationship when a couple parts ways.
“However, as with any emotional upset, the severity can have a direct bearing on the outcome. If the individual directly affected by-or even in part responsible for-the upset is already unbalanced, then this could certainly tip the scales in a dangerous direction.”
“So what you’re sayin’ is we could be right?” Ben questioned.
“Perhaps.” There was an almost audible shrug in her voice. “Can you tell me about the disposition of her remains? How was she when she was found?”
“Wrapped in a plastic drop cloth and dumped in the woods.”
“Was she dumped, or was she placed?”
“I dunno. I guess she coulda been placed.”
“You see, that is a factor as well. Was she clothed? Were there any personal items with her? How carefully was she wrapped in the plastic? Was she well hidden or likely to be found? Was this done haphazardly or was there reverence shown for her remains? Each of these things goes toward forming a picture of the person responsible.”
“So now you’re sayin’ we’re probably wrong?”
“No, Benjamin, what I am saying is that there are several other factors which must be weighed in order to reach a truly viable conclusion. As it stands now, the best I can say is that your theory is a definite maybe.”
“Okay,” he huffed out a breath. “I guess that’s better’n a definite no. I appreciate the help, Sis. See ya’ tonight at the house?”
“Of course. Is Rowan still there?”
“I’m here,” I spoke up.
“Good. Would it be possible for me to speak with you for a moment?”
The tenor in her voice left no question that she wanted the conversation to be a private one. Ben picked up the receiver and handed it to me as the phone automatically disengaged the speaker then motioned for Charlee to follow him out.
“We’ll be back at my desk,” he told me, pointing in the appropriate direction.
I gave him a quick nod then waited for the door to shut before pressing the handset to my ear.
“What’s up?” I asked.
I had actually considered for a moment the mental laundry list of items I wanted to speak with Helen about but quickly decided that this was neither the time nor the place. Besides, she had asked to talk to me, not the other way around.
“I simply wanted to see how you were doing,” she returned.
“I’m fine.”
“You are certain?”
“Well, I was until right now,” I said. “Do I have a reason not to be?”
“Only you can answer that, Rowan. When you left after our last session you were still dealing with some very serious issues. I am concerned that those issues may be at the very root of what is compelling you to become so
