Totally different from the others,' Gino growled. 'This bastard was into the fear angle. That's what gets him off. None of the others did that.'
Chelsea said, 'They all kill very differently. Take Cleveland, which was fast and obviously fueled by rage; then the Austin stabbing, where the wet work was excessive and slow, suggesting prolonged pleasure; then the Seattle shooting, completely hands-off…'
The Bureau's had these films for a while,' Gino interrupted. 'Didn't they already figure that out? I mean, I'm just a ham-and-eggs homicide cop, but it was pretty damn obvious to me.'
'Look at it from where they started. All they had was a couple of films, then a couple more. There are hundreds of homicides in this country every day. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that certain killers would start showing their home movies on the Web just like everybody else. We didn't know they were connected until Monkeewrench found all the pre-posts written in the same format.'
Magozzi stood and started pacing. 'Okay, so now we're pretty sure we've got multiple killers. And they're all religiously pre-posting details of their up-and-coming murders - location, method, and victim descriptions. Same pattern. So what does that mean? Are they communicating?'
Chelsea nodded. 'Maybe… in a way. The formatting of the pre-posts is like their secret code. If you're on these sites they're using and see the pattern, you know you're getting the real thing'
'So are they an organized group, or are these just a bunch of sickos copycatting each other?' Gino asked.
'Could be either, or a combination.'
Magozzi stopped pacing and scolded his shoes with a head shake. 'All these victims were preselected. The killer knew where they were going to be, what they were wearing in some cases, and how they would die. The pre-posts prove that.'
Gino shrugged. 'So they picked out easy kills, chased them around for a few days, advertised their intentions, and did the deed. Doesn't mean they knew them, or wanted them dead for some particular reason.'
Magozzi looked at his partner. 'Or maybe they were targeted for a reason. We gotta look at that; we gotta pray for a connection between the victims; because if this is just a series of unrelated homicides, we're screwed, and we're never going to catch these people.'
Gino said, 'We could have Tommy plug the vic names into the Monkeewrench software. That program is tailor- made for this kind of thing'
'What program?' Chelsea asked.
'It sorts through mountains of information and finds patterns. And it works a hell of a lot faster than any cops ever could.' He shrugged. 'It's worth a shot.'
After Chelsea left, Gino and Magozzi went back to their desks to pull together victim names for Tommy.
'Well, that totally sucked,' Gino grumbled, rummaging in his desk for a pen that didn't leave big blobs of ink on the paper. 'But on the bright side, that Chelsea Thomas is a looker.'
Magozzi ignored him.
'You do know she's smitten with you, don't you?'
'Stop it, Gino.'
'I'm serious. And you know how I could tell? Because she was flipping her hair. Women always do that when they're hunting. It's classic body language. I saw it on TV. You got the name of the Cleveland kill? He's the only one I'm missing'
Magozzi paged through the file Chelsea had given them on her way out, pulled out a piece of paper and frowned. You remember that guy up in Ely, ten, fifteen years ago…?'
'I was a mere child fifteen years ago.'
Magozzi snorted. 'He was the prime suspect in that kiddy kidnap and abuse case that turned the state on its ear for months…'
Gino slapped a hand to his forehead. 'Jesus, yes I remember. That slimebag perv was guilty as sin, and one stinkin' juror voted to let him walk. After O.J., worst miscarriage of justice on the planet.'
What was his name?'
Gino scratched his chin. 'Something weird. Elmer? No, Elmore. Elmore Sweet, may he rot in hell.'
Magozzi nodded. 'Elmore Sweet was the Cleveland vic's name. Wonder if it's the same guy.'
Gino's eyebrows lifted to happy-face position. 'Oh, man, if it's true, I'm sending a copy of the Cleveland film to that kid's parents. Tommy'll find out for us.'
Magozzi noticed a neonorange Post-it note on Gino's desk with 'Judge Jim' scrawled in huge letters. 'What's with Judge Jim?'
'Oh, shit! I forgot about that.'
'What?'
'We need to pay him a visit sometime today.'
Magozzi frowned. 'Why?'
'After I hung up with Ole, an Officer Rondestvedt gave me a call. Turns out our friend was drunk down by the river again last night with a gun and a scope.'
'Was it loaded?'
Gino shook his head. 'Nah. But he told Rondestvedt that he was working with us on the river killing, and we sent him down there. We need to tell him to can the name-dropping, and I have a feeling a phone call just ain't gonna cut it with that guy. Hey, you free for dinner?'
Magozzi was hopeful - usually any mention of dinner from Gino meant an invitation to join his family and eat some wickedly delicious concoction from Angela's family recipe stash. 'Absolutely I'm free for dinner. I'd stand up my own mother for Angela's home cooking'
'Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a big, fat hunk of cow at that place on Washington.'
Magozzi frowned. You're not going home for dinner?'
Gino scowled. 'Hell, no. I'm not going anywhere near my house until ten-oh-five tonight.'
'Why not?'
'Because Angela's throwing a bridal shower for her niece, and it ends at ten. And you know what she's serving? Cucumbers. Cucumbers on little pieces of bread with the crusts cut off. And, worse yet, she got a case of wine and a big bag of 'novelty' gifts, and you and I both know what that means.'
'We do?'
'Yeah. It's gonna be ugly. So I figure we go over some of this paper on these cases, punch out for an early steak, then hit the judge on our way home.'
'Okay. But it ain't Angela's lasagna.'
'No, indeed. But a cowboy ribeye and a martini runs a close second in my book.'
Chapter Eighteen
Magozzi and Gino stepped into the impressive lobby of Wild Jim's condo complex and checked in with the receptionist. She maintained her white, Chiclet-toothed smile up until the moment they showed her their shields and stated their business, at which point her lacquered lips closed like a stage curtain over the blinding veneers.
'The judge is up in the penthouse. I'll call and let him know you're on the way up.' She hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, 'He isn't in trouble again, is he?'
'No trouble,' Magozzi reassured her, even though he wasn't in the mood to assuage the anxiety of some drunk's groupie. There was just something so earnest about her concern. In fact, Wild Jim seemed to have groupies everywhere, and a lot of them were apparently on the force, continually cutting him slack that just wasn't acceptable in his opinion. Drunk or not, the guy obviously had charisma.
Once they were inside the posh, mahogany-paneled elevator, Gino crossed his arms over his chest and took in the limited scenery. 'Huh. The penthouse. So, the judge is still doing okay, considering he's been unemployed for a while. From what I hear, an average, one-bedroom schlep unit in this joint goes for almost a mil, and he's living large in the clouds.'
