other one arrest me, or would he wait to see if my profile showed the proper aptitude for the crime?
'Here's the statement we're releasing to the press.' Coursey handed me another piece of paper. 'Now that we're assigned to the case.'
'We still have jurisdiction.' I let some irritation show. 'No state borders have been crossed.'
'Not yet. Until then, we're just consultants.'
'Simply a tool for you to use.'
'To help make things run smoother.'
There's a laugh for you.
'This' -- Dailey handed me more papers -- 'is a list of reasons why we've pegged the murderer as organized rather than disorganized. You're familiar with the concept of grouping serial criminals as either O or DO?'
I nodded. He went on, paying me no heed. I had a feeling this entire meeting could have been conducted without my presence.
'DO, or disorganized criminals, usually have little or no planning stage. Their crimes are spur of the moment, either lust-or rage-induced. Signs of guilt or remorse can usually be found at the scene, such as something covering the victim's face; an indication the killer doesn't like the accusation of a staring pair of eyes. Clues in the form of physical and circumstantial evidence abound, because the DO type doesn't stop to cover them up, or only does as an afterthought.'
'I'm familiar with the labels.' I stated it, distinctly, precisely.
'The organized type,' he went on. Perhaps I hadn't been clear enough. 'Usually spends a lot of time on the planning stage. The perp may spend days beforehand fantasizing about the murder, plotting out every detail. He won't leave evidence intentionally, and usually the victim bears no sign of savage, uncontrollable violence. The injuries, while they can be sadistic, are more focused and controlled.'
'We've come up with one hundred and fifteen reasons why we believe this killer is the organized type,' Coursey said. 'And we'd like to take an hour or so to go over them with you.'
I was ready to fake a heart attack to get them to leave, when Benedict walked into my office, saving me the trouble.
'Jack, we got a lead on that Seconal. Sixty milliliters were purchased by a Charles Smith on August tenth of this year at the Mercy Hospital pharmacy.'
'Have we found him?'
'He gave a fake address. There are seventeen Charles Smiths in Chicago and twelve more in the rest of Illinois, but it looks like the name is fake too.'
'What about the doctor?'
'That's how we nailed it down. The doctor's name was Reginald Booster.'
The name was familiar.
'The unsolved murder from Palatine a couple months back?'
'That's him. He was killed at his home on August ninth. I had the file faxed to us and I've called his daughter. We're meeting her at the house at one.'
'Let's go.' I stood up and grabbed my jacket, thrilled to be actually doing something on this case.
'We'll go over this when you get back,' Dailey said.
It sounded more like a threat than a promise. I left without acknowledging them, but felt no moral victory in being rude.
They hadn't noticed.
Chapter 7
HE KNOWS WHERE SHE LIVES.
He knows where all of them live, but this one was easier to find than the others. It was just a matter of looking her up in the phone book. T. Metcalf. Did women really think they were fooling anyone by only allowing the first initial of their name to be published? Who else but women did that?
He watches her apartment from his truck. Theresa Metcalf. The second whore to die. He's parked across the street, binoculars aimed at her window, peering through her open blinds. There's movement in the apartment. He knows it's her, getting ready for work.
He has her schedule down better than she does. As usual, she's running late. When she finally hits the street, it will be in a rush. But she never runs, and she never calls a cab. Work is five blocks away. She always walks the same route. Human beings are creatures of habit. He's counting on that.
He looks at his watch again. She's later than normal today. His palms are sweating. It's been a thrilling morning so far; preparing the candy, leaving it for Jack, getting her address. Now comes uncertainty.
The Gingerbread Man leaves very little up to chance, but grabbing a person has too many variables to account for them all. He'd originally intended for Theresa to be the first, but when the day came to snatch her, she'd uncharacteristically walked to work with her roommate.
Potential witnesses, the weather, traffic, and unpredictable human nature all conspire to make an abduction very delicate and tricky. He doesn't know if she carries Mace. He doesn't know if she has a black belt in karate. He doesn't know if she will scream and attract attention. All he can do is plan as best he can, and hope for luck.
He watches the blinds close in the window. Good. She'll be coming down the stairs in a few minutes.
'You open?'
