think you can take this to the bank.”
“All right, listen up, Frank, because you’re not going to hear this often: Thank you.”
Before Del Monaco could come back with a sharp retort, she disconnected the call and shoved the BlackBerry in its holster. She rejoined the group, related the information, and explained the implications of the new research. “I’m thinking this changes our focus. Or at least my assessment. It seems that MacNally could very well be exhibiting psychopathic-type behaviors.”
“So you think he’s our guy?” Friedberg asked.
Vail hesitated. “Could be, Robert. It’s not a definite. But I’m fairly certain he’s involved. Is he the offender? He fits the profile. I would’ve pegged the UNSUB to be a younger guy, no later than his mid-fifties. But given his long history of incarceration and everything that happened to him, the age can be adjusted.”
“Adjusted how?” Carondolet asked.
“First of all, incarceration retards social growth, so even though we’re looking at a seventy-nine year old, given that he spent almost twenty years in prison, that takes us down to the late fifties. And if we consider that the first murder we might attribute to him occurred in ’82, I think we are definitely in the ballpark.”
“Can a seventy-nine year old do the murders we’ve seen?” Dixon asked.
“Depends on the person,” Burden said. “Some guys that old are frail, others are fit and pretty freaking spry. Done right, he can control the victim with a gun or a knife or even his words. The only question would be the way he’s gotten the males tied to the columns and poles. But the rope and pulley setup he used could explain that.”
“And he could’ve had help,” Yeung said.
“Karen,” Dixon said, “you mentioned Scheer could be his son. If so-”
“Negatory on that,” Carondolet said. “I kept reading the file on the way back here. His son was placed in an orphanage in ’59, committed suicide in ’63. Jumped from a suspension bridge in upstate New York.”
Friedberg said, “Another son, then? A nephew? Maybe on his wife’s side of the family. Or he had a son by another woman and he didn’t find out till later in life.”
“See what you can find out,” Burden said.
Friedberg conferred with an intern, who began tapping away on the inspector’s keyboard.
Forty minutes later, they informed the others that there was no record of other children fathered by Walton MacNally. “At least, none in the available databases that can be traced to MacNally.”
“So we’re back to our two suspects, MacNally and Scheer,” Burden said.
Carondolet’s phone rang. He slid off the worktable and, forcing down a yawn, answered the call. A moment later, he said, “The teams are leaving the island. They just wrapped up their search. It’s clean. Our guy’s not there.”
“No surprise there,” Dixon said. “He killed a federal agent… He’s gotta know the heat’s been jacked up to the max. Why the hell would he stick around?”
“We had to check,” Yeung said. “Now we know for sure.”
“Here we go,” Friedberg said. “Just got an email from the cop I asked to track down the detective who handled Scheer’s case. The sealed juvie record.”
“And?” Burden asked.
“And he was more than pissed we woke him in the middle of the night. But he remembered the case, even though it was thirty-something years ago.” Friedberg scrolled down with the keyboard. “Scheer was sixteen when he raped a girl.” He swung his eyes over to Vail.
“Two teens having a good time and then she said no and he didn’t listen?”
Friedberg read a bit, then said, “Well, the detective didn’t so much as remember the details of the rape as much as what the kid did to him. Guy said Scheer went into a rage when they arrested him, kicked him pretty badly trying to get away, and broke his wrist. Had to get it pinned and was on medical disability for a year before he was able to fire a handgun.”
Dixon poured another cup of coffee, then set the pot down. “I think we’ve got a decent view of who Stephen Scheer was-and is. Between the rape and what his wife told us, he’s not exactly the kind of guy you want to bring home to your mother.”
“But is he the kind of guy who could torture and murder several women and men?” Friedberg asked. “Is he the Bay Killer?”
“We’ve got that video of our UNSUB from the Palace of Fine Arts,” Burden said. “Now that we’ve narrowed our suspect pool, how about we take another look at the tape?”
Fifteen minutes later, Friedberg had called up the footage on his PC and was scrolling slowly through the dark and grainy image of their hooded offender. Carondolet and Burden felt it could be Scheer; Yeung, Vail, and Dixon thought it was impossible to reach a conclusive determination. The others either shrugged or walked away without rendering an opinion. Friedberg kept looping the excerpt. Finally, ten minutes later, he pressed Stop and buried his face on his desk.
THEY SPENT ANOTHER TWO HOURS reviewing the files, discussing the timeline and the victimologies. With the morning sun hiding behind thick, low-hanging fog, and the first support personnel beginning to filter into the office, Vail pulled her feet off the worktable and sat up straight. She felt like crap, and thought she probably looked like it, too.
Just as she was entertaining the thought that they had not heard from the offender-nor had they been able to find any trace of Stephen Scheer or Walton MacNally-her phone began vibrating. Vail yawned and reached for the BlackBerry at the same moment. But what she saw on the screen nearly knocked her back into the chair.
“Hartman’s phone.” She looked at Dixon, then brought it to her ear. “Vail.”
But she realized it was a text, and instantly pulled it away from her face. Jesus. I really need some sleep.
did you miss me
oh yes you did
because im still doing my thing
“That’s it?” Vail stared at the screen. “What the hell do we do with that?”
Burden, Friedberg, Carondolet, and Yeung had joined Dixon at Vail’s side. The phone began trembling yet again.
time has come to purge the evil
meet me where the devil still resides
“Devil’s Island,” Friedberg said. “A nickname for The Rock. What else could he mean?”
“He who,” Burden said. “Gotta be Scheer. Hartman’s phone was missing when we found him tied to the smokestack, and Scheer was the one who left that note for Karen-”
“But if we’re convinced it’s Scheer,” Yeung said, “what’s his connection to MacNally?”
