2 in the Hat： A Novel of Suspense - By Raffi Yessayan Page 0,22
great headline,” Alves read from a cut-and-pasted headline, “PROM NIGHT, BLOODY PROM NIGHT!”
“The media were ridiculous. The city was hitting an all-time low in the homicide rate. Good for the average Joe, bad for newspapers. These first murders gave the press a jump start. They made the killer out to be the next Boston Strangler. I think he killed impulsively the first time. Pure luck he didn’t get caught.” Mooney pointed to a gruesome photo of the young lovers, lying in the grass. “Then the newspapers make him out to be this super villain. My theory? They gave him the idea to keep using the same MO. It turned into a game. He takes more victims, only now there’s more work involved. He has to eat enough Chinese takeout to find a good fortune, keep a supply of clothes for his victims, buy some cheap jewelry, stamp the tattoo, transport them to some secluded spot and pose them. Now he’s enjoying it. He’s getting more sophisticated, using the wire.”
Alves remembered the frenzy that summer. At the time he was working last halfs, the midnight shift. Newly married. Between work and court, he barely had time to read the paper. But he remembered the intense media coverage. “So you think the media made this guy a serial killer?”
“They encouraged him. So many details of the first case are coincidental. The victims happen to be dressed up. They’re killed and then staged in the vicinity. I don’t know why he uses the fortunes. But the Tai-ji stamped on the back of Kelly’s neck? He didn’t bring that to the party.” Mooney dropped the photo in front of Alves. “He gets a boatload of attention for his crime. Next thing you know he starts killing and recreating that first scene. Where are the pictures from the second crime scene?”
Alves had separated the photos into stacks. He handed Mooney a tightly packed envelope.
Mooney flipped through the photos till he found one that showed a wide angle of the crime scene. “Daria Markis and David Riley. He left them on the Riverway, not far from the banks of the Muddy River. The scene was hastily put together. Not enough wire. David Riley’s body slumped on its side. We were lucky we found him in the overgrown reeds. Daria was wired to a tree, but slouched forward. The killer was nervous someone would see him. He’s gotten better at staging. He’s gained confidence that he won’t get caught.”
Alves nodded. “Looking at these pictures, I was starting to think we weren’t dealing with the same guy. Last night’s scene looked like it was orchestrated by a pro. Something you’d see at a wax museum. Nothing like Kelly and Eric.”
Another thing Mooney had taught him. Think of the case in terms of the victims, remember their first names, humanize them. All of it helped him focus.
“Where are the pictures from the third scene?” Mooney asked.
“Over there,” Alves nodded toward the two boxes in the corner.
Mooney went over and dug out the bottom box. He removed another envelope and slid out the photos. “Gina Picarelli and Mark Weston. Found in Olmsted Park. The killer was more comfortable, taking his time to get it right, closer to what you saw last night with Courtney and Josh. He used wire to pose Gina more seductively, with her head facing her would-be suitor.”
“Who is spying on her through the bushes, like a game of hide-and-seek. It’s almost as if he’s using the victims to act out his own voyeuristic fantasies. You think he’s into bondage? S and M? That could be why he ties them up,” Alves said.
“They’re never put in bondage poses. And he doesn’t show much sophistication with knots. Always a simple square knot,” Mooney studied the photos. “Anything from Eunice?”
“She did a rape kit. No semen or saliva.”
“He never sexually assaults them,” Mooney said without looking up. “So we have no motive beyond this voyeuristic fantasy.” His voice was low and measured. Alves expected him to pound the table, snap a pen in half, the usual Wayne Mooney anger and frustration response, but this quiet intensity was different.
“Eunice is comparing the wire he used in this case to the wire in the old cases,” Alves said. “Same with the clothes. I’ll check with her in the morning. We don’t know if he’s had this stuff stored someplace or if he buys things when he needs them.” Alves reached across the table and took the last slice of pizza, stiff