Abandoned

“Weird,” I say. “Not exactly a foolproof diversion. How would he know when or if those particular cars would be driven again?”

“He wouldn’t,” James says. “It’s irrational. This is a subject who apparently operates with great care and planning. The accidents are not only unreliable as a diversion, they are unnecessary. Taking the women in the parking lots is similarly risky. Why not take them at home? Illogic is a form of insanity, small or large. Why would he take this kind of risk?”

“Because he needs it,” I say. “Not professionally but personally.”

It’s the only answer that fits, and it’s a behavior we see in serial offenders all the time. Serial killers collect trophies, even though they know, if they get caught, those same trophies will assist in convicting them. They can’t help themselves. They need little Cassie’s Barbie doll (with the blood drops on it) or Grandma Barbara’s wedding ring (kept on a necklace around her neck since her husband died, until the killer ripped it off her body).

“What’s he need?” Alan asks. “Car crashes?”

“It’s called symphorophilia, dear,” Callie says. “Someone who is sexually aroused by accidents or catastrophes.”

“Seriously? That actually gets someone’s motor running?”

“It’s a factual paraphilia,” James confirms. “It’s just a hypothesis, of course, but I think it’s worth exploring. He seems to be a meticulous and careful planner in every other way. Why do something so illogical unless some personal aberration was involved?”

“Fine,” I agree. “We’ll throw it into the mix. So let’s examine this guy further. What do we know?” I count off on my fingers. “One: He’s highly organized and effective. Other than the possible—what did you call it?”

“Symphorophilia,” James says.

“Right. Other than that, he exhibits no signs of being a disorganized offender. Two: His motivations, based on Douglas’s testimony, appear to be financial.”

“Money as the motive would explain the way in which he selects his targets,” James offers. “In Hollister’s case, the perpetrator didn’t choose Heather—the husband did. There’s no evidence of any personal ties, and I doubt we’ll find any.”

“Impersonal fits with what we know so far about how he treats them too,” Alan says. “Granted, we’ve only heard from Heather, but I think we can take her at her word. The way she talked about him whipping her for punishment, it didn’t sound like he was getting off on it.”

“As the doctor said—workmanlike,” Callie says.

I nod. “That’s a good tag for this line of thinking.” I go over and write it on the whiteboard. “So, organized, methodical, everything he does he does for a purpose. That’s our current theory. The overriding purpose, for now, appears to be money. But is money just his excuse?” I shake my head. “What about keeping them in darkness and housing them for at least seven years. Is it sadistic?”

“I don’t think so,” James says. “I—” He stops, pondering. “I think that was a good word,” he murmurs, staring at the whiteboard. “Workmanlike. Maybe that’s everything to him. Pragmatism. No wasted motion. Waste is the thing you don’t forgive.” He looks at me. “Darkness enforces compliance over time by making the prisoner insane. It’s incredibly efficient. It saves on electricity, it eliminates the need for assistance from others, and it breaks down the ability to resist. Heather Hollister said that he told her to exercise daily. Why? Because he knew he needed to keep her alive. Why? Because of the possibility Douglas Hollister might renege on their agreement.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s about sadism. I think it’s about maximum return on minimum effort.”

“Heather said he didn’t even bother to speak to her when he punished her,” I allow, though I’m still cautious. “He took her, whipped her, told her it would be worse the next time, and stuck her back in her room. Where’s the enjoyment in that?”

“There isn’t any,” James says. “Probably because it is a business, and she was just a commodity.”

“Maybe,” I mutter. Something else occurs to me. “Why does he need to keep them alive as insurance against the husbands? If it’s all about efficiency, isn’t killing them more efficient than all the work involved in keeping them alive?”

“I considered that,” James says. “I still think it fits. The whole point of releasing the victims, going with the financial theory, would be to punish the husbands. To draw attention back to them as suspects, similar to what just happened with Douglas Hollister. That being true, it’s a much safer hedge on his bets to keep the victims alive until he collects his money. It keeps doors of possibility open, in terms of exposure or threat of exposure, that would be permanently shut if he killed them.”

“Could make sense,” Alan agrees. “If you think about it, the usual assumption would be that the victims were already dead, right?”

“Of course,” I say.

When a female is abducted and never shows up again, the odds are that she’s been killed. This holds true in almost every case, from simple kidnapping to rape attacks.

“So, if their corpses turn up seven years or eight down the road, it’s a surprise, and it’ll get the gears of investigation turning, but it fits with the existing expectations. Showing up alive?” He raises his eyebrows. “That gets attention.”

“It fits,” I say, “but I think there’s something else here. Exposure may be a part of the reason he keeps them alive, but it just doesn’t feel like the whole. I’m not sure why.”

James nods. “I agree.”

I mark all this surmise down in abbreviated form, including the question mark that stands for the thing James and I both sense but can’t prove. These are things we feel, not things we know, but that’s the way of it.

“Why lobotomize them?” Callie asks.

I cock my head, considering. “Could be pragmatism, again,” I say, continuing James’s theory of our perpetrator’s mind-set. I’m still reluctant, but I can’t deny that it’s making more and more sense. “A lobotomized victim can’t be a witness.”

Alan frowns. “But how does that guarantee the husbands get punished for not paying? They can’t talk about their abductor, but that means they can’t point the finger at their spouses either. Doesn’t seem to fit with the whole more-doors-left-open idea.”

“We need more data on the prior victims he’s left for discovery,” Callie says, making a note. “My guess would be that he arranged the husbands’ downfall in some fashion. It’s not the kind of thing he’d leave to chance.”

“What about Heather?” I ask. “I realize I’m the one who put up the idea, but if the whole point of the lobotomies is to leave no witnesses, why’d he let her walk whole? Conversely, why do it to Dana? Up to this point, so far as we know, he hasn’t engaged in any collateral damage.”

“‘So far as we know’ is a key phrase there,” Alan points out. “Also, maybe Dana wasn’t collateral damage. Maybe she was in on it.” I think about that and nod. “Possible.”

“He might just think he has nothing to fear,” Alan continues. “Look, he had Heather for eight years, and what does she remember about him? Nothing. That might change if she ever gets back into her right mind, but I doubt it.”

“Doubt isn’t certainty, though,” James observes, “and that doesn’t fit with the profile we hypothesized. That kind of pragmatism wouldn’t allow for any risk of discovery at all.”

“Perhaps it does,” Callie demurs. “Pragmatism and logic should allow for an evolving paradigm.”

James frowns. “So?”

“Assuming the motive is financial, our boy would be constantly examining his existing paradigm, with particular attention to risk and reward.”

“Again, I ask: so?”

“So, sweet James, letting someone rip you off is a high-risk, zero return endeavor. It breeds future rebellion and thus lowers income. He’s apparently dealt with this kind of defiance before, yet here it is again, in the form of Douglas Hollister. He could have taken stock and decided a different approach was needed.”

“Such as?”

“Heather is free. Whatever state she’s in, she’s no longer imprisoned. Douglas, in the meantime, is heading for jail. Think about that. These men are driven by their hatred of these women. What