he goes, or perhaps a work facility of some type.”
“So the brand is part of his MO, like the enucleation?” Detective Olson asked. “Any idea behind the reasons for those things?”
“Those are actually signatures,” Zach said. “While the killer might refine his MO if he determines something else works better, he will almost certainly not change his signature. The signature is part of the killer’s fantasy and it serves a deep emotional or psychological need. Fantasies develop slowly over time and begin long before the first killing.”
“What sort of fantasies might surround the removal of eyeballs?” Ransom asked, reaching forward and plucking one of the donuts from the box in the middle of the table and demolishing half of it in one bite.
Zach uncrossed his arms and put his hands down on the desk behind him. “Well, it’s more than that, though, right? Do you have a photograph of one of the enucleated victims? We should have as many visuals as possible up on the board.”
“I do,” Reed said, opening the case folder in front of him and handing a large eight by ten to Zach. Zach walked around the desk and attached the photo to the board. They all took in the gruesome photograph of Steven Sadowski’s eyeless face, black paint pooling in the sockets and dripping down his cheeks.
“Jesus,” Detective Olson muttered.
“This killer’s fantasy not only involves removal of the eyes.” Zach tapped on the photo. “This black paint signifies something important to him too.”
“Black tears,” Detective Olsen murmured.
Zach looked over at him. “Maybe. Whatever the case, this paint means something vital to this person. He’s telling you a story. You have to figure out what that story is.”
The room was silent for a few beats as they absorbed that. “This is definitely a man we’re looking for?” Detective Pagett asked, looking between Lieutenant Copeland, Reed, and Ransom.
“Almost certainly,” Reed said. “The strength necessary to strangle two grown men from behind would have to be considerable. While Sadowski was not a large man, Toby Resnick was. And with the addition of adrenalin, he would have been even stronger. Plus, both men were placed in specific locations, different than wherever they were murdered and enucleated. That would mean that the suspect had to carry or maneuver their deceased body at least some distance.”
“So he’s a big motherfucker,” Ransom noted.
Zach smiled. “I don’t mean you’re looking for Sasquatch. I just mean that if you came face to face with him, you’d be well-matched, Detective Carlyle.”
Ransom grinned, holding up one arm to showcase his biceps.
“Any more questions for me while I’m here?” There were a few murmurs but no one spoke up. “Okay. If you think of anything, feel free to contact me. I’m happy to brainstorm.”
They all thanked Zach, and Reed stood, walking him to the door. “Thanks a lot for making time to come down here,” he said, holding out his hand.
Zach took it, wrapping both hands around his as he smiled. “Anytime. I’m always available.”
“I appreciate it. More than you know.” He nodded at Zach and Zach turned, heading out the door.
“Are we saying anything to the media about this yet?” Olson asked as Reed walked back to the front of the room.
“Not yet,” Reed said. “We’re hoping we don’t have to, but if we do, we’d like to be able to give the public something more solid.”
“In terms of?” Olson asked as the door opened in the back and their sergeant walked in the room.
“In terms of what to look out for, who this guy is targeting, etcetera.”
“Unfortunately,” Sergeant Valenti said, as he moved quickly to the front of the room, “we may have to go public with this sooner rather than later.” He looked at Reed. “We just got a call. Another dead body in a parking garage downtown, same MO as the two dead men on that board.”
“Shit,” Ransom said, standing, placing his notebook under his arm, and grabbing a napkin and two donuts. “I was really hoping I’d never have to look at another DOA fitting those descriptions again.”
“No such luck, my friend,” the sergeant said, his expression grim. “No such fucking luck.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The deceased was sitting upright against the concrete wall in a corner of the parking garage, black eye sockets trained straight toward Reed and Ransom.
“Goddamn,” Ransom muttered. “I’m getting real fucking sick of this shit.”
“I’m sure this guy shares your sentiment, Detective,” Lewis said, sparing a glance up at Ransom.
Reed and Ransom squatted down next to the criminalist.