“I’m not ruling out our guy using a key,” I went on, “but I think we should broaden our thinking. For instance, there are different kinds of keys. Right now one of the Larsons’ cars is in a Santa Monica body shop. I’ll bet their garage-door remote control was left in the car when they dropped it off. Anybody at the repair shop could’ve used that remote to break in. An even simpler possibility is that the Larsons left their house key on the ring. That wouldn’t explain the garage lights being disabled, but it’d be easy enough to check.”
“The Pratts had one of their cars worked on recently, too,” noted Barrello. “Dented fender. I looked up the repair invoice this morning.”
“I’m still not buying this garage entry theory,” Snead said grudgingly, “but the possibility of a house key being at a repair shop is worth pursuing. Nonetheless, I’d like to point out that we’ll have plenty to do without charging off on every wild goose chase that comes up. A dozen good leads have already come in on the hotline.”
Ignoring Snead, Lieutenant Huff walked to the poster-board chart and wrote “Disabled Garage Lights,” “Prior Entry,” and “Car Repair” in the crime-scene columns. Once he’d finished, he picked up a yellow notepad. “Okay, before we go on, who’s investigating sign companies for the plumbing van logo?”
“I’m on that,” one of the Orange County guys replied.
Huff made a notation, then continued. “The car repair-shop angle and the source of any items the killer brought with him have to be looked into as well. Working on the supposition that the killer knew both families, we should also search for a common friend, coworker, or anything else that might link the victims.”
“How about getting some clerical staff up here to computer-categorize the address books and phone records?” suggested Deluca. “If the guy does it again, it’d make correlation a lot easier. We could do the same with the hotline tips.”
“I’ll look into that,” said Snead. “Any other ideas?”
“I think we need to recanvass the neighborhoods,” I offered. “See whether anybody saw a white van in the area, possibly with trade markings. As for the car-repair angle, we might think about searching for someone who’s worked at both repair shops.”
“Good idea,” said Huff. “Anything else?”
“How about putting out the word to the divisions to be on the lookout for unexplained break-ins?” I continued. “Same with the Sheriff’s Department. Assuming our guy enters the victims’ homes at least once before he kills them, maybe we can-”
“That’s your assumption,” objected Snead. “Do you have any idea how many break-ins occur in this city every day?”
“A lot,” I conceded. “But we could narrow the field.”
“How?”
“By only investigating instances where nothing’s been taken and there’s a young, attractive woman living there. We could use the garage entry angle, too.”
“It’s worth a shot,” said Huff, again overriding Snead. “Anything else? No? Okay, before we draw up a duty roster, there’s one more thing to cover. I’ve asked Dr. Sidney Berns from the Department of Psychiatry and Human Behavior at the California College of Medicine to give us his thoughts on the guy we’re looking for. Dr. Berns is a forensic psychiatrist, and on several occasions he’s served as an expert witness for the Orange County District Attorney’s office. What he has to say could be helpful. Sid, you want to come on up?”
As the stranger I had noted earlier made his way forward, a grumbling born of longstanding distrust between the police department and the psychiatric community filtered through the room. Upon reaching an empty desk at the head of the assembly, Dr. Berns arranged a stack of handwritten notes on the gray metal surface, then withdrew a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from his coat. He seemed tired, his pale eyes growing owlish as he donned his glasses. After shuffling through his papers, he tapped a cigarette from a new pack of Marlboros. Ignoring the rule against smoking in Los Angeles public buildings, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
Snead started to object, then apparently changed his mind. A number of detectives shifted impatiently. “This’ll be about as productive as watching birds screw,” I noted.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Berns glanced in my direction. “You have something to say, Detective?”
I shrugged. “No offense, Doc, but-”
“You’re out of line, Kane,” warned Snead.
“No, I want to hear his opinion,” said Berns. “Speak freely, Detective.”
“Freely?” I replied. “Okay. Like I said, no offense, but I’ve been up half the night filling out worthless VICAP forms and assembling material for an FBI profile that won’t do one bit of good, so I find it hard to get too enthusiastic about listening to some guy tell me that the murderer lives in a brick house, or that he has problems with his self-image, or that he hated his mom and butchered two families because God told him to. What’s the point of excusing this guy’s actions with a load of psychological bull? I don’t give a damn about his personal problems, and I already know why he’s doing it. He’s doing it because he likes it. And he’ll keep doing it till we find him. Period.”
From the expressions of most present, it appeared a majority of detectives there agreed with me. Berns took another drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in a paper coffee cup. “You’re not the only one who didn’t get much sleep last night, Detective,” he said. “I was up till three going over the crime-scene reports, and despite your opinion, I think I have something to add. You are right about one thing, though. Most of what I’m about to say is conjecture. It’s based on well established principles and experience with other psychopathic personality inventories, but it’s conjecture nevertheless.” Berns looked directly at me. “Let me ask you something, Detective. Have you ever investigated a serial killing?”
I shook my head. “Just peripherally.”
“Has anyone here?”
Silence.
“Unfortunately, I’ve been intimately involved in two such cases,” said Berns. “One years back in Seattle, and another more recently in San Diego. I say unfortunately because on both occasions the killer was never caught.”
“Not much of a track record,” Barrello remarked.
“No. But I learned some things. One is that it can take years to apprehend a repeat killer, if he’s captured at all. And then-no offense, Detective Kane-when he is caught, it’s often pure dumb luck. You’re up against a murderer who’s smart, organized, and killing strangers with no motive other than sexual gratification. Do you think you’ll find him with what you’ve got so far?”
“No,” I admitted. “We’ll probably need to see him do it again. Maybe more than once.”
“You’ll get your chance, of that I’m certain,” promised Berns. “So if anything I have to say-even one small thing-can help in your investigation, isn’t it worth a listen?”
“You’ve made your point,” I conceded. “Go ahead.”
“Good. I’ll try to make it quick,” said Berns dryly. “And not mention any brick houses.”
I smiled. “Fair enough.”
Berns lit another Marlboro. “First, I want to cover some background on the type of man for whom you’re searching, then move on to particulars. To begin, what you’re up against isn’t new. There have been more than 150 documented cases of serial killers since the eighteen hundreds, and the FBI currently estimates there are thirty to fifty serial killers now active in the United States. The number may actually be even higher than that. Of the twenty thousand homicides reported yearly, over five thousand go unsolved-more than enough for a host of serial killers to slip through the cracks.
“With few exceptions, FBI statistics show that most serial killers are white males in their late twenties to early forties. Typically they act alone and rarely cross racial boundaries in their choice of victims. Despite what you see in the movies, sexual gratification is almost always their motive, and because they usually prey on low-profile, forgotten segments of the population like runaway kids, drug addicts, and prostitutes, few are ever caught. These men typically come from abusive family backgrounds. Usually there’s one dominant and one passive parent, with incidents of cruel discipline, either substantive or perceived, along with physical and sexual abuse, rejection, and isolation.”
Noting my look of impatience, Berns added, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to excuse your killer’s actions. Many in my field would disagree, but in my opinion these types of monsters are born, not made-with environmental factors simply bringing out traits already present.”
