The Stranger You Seek - By Amanda Kyle Williams Page 0,24
“People really eat this stuff?” I would have preferred a bag of Krispy Kremes. “Freaks,” I muttered, and reported to Neil that the basket was a gift from Margaret Haze’s office.
“That’s why you’re the detective,” he said grumpily.
It was going to be one of those days with him, I thought. Neil could be, well, a bit of a moody little bastard at times. But then I’d always been drawn to little bastards.
I sat down at my desk, picked up the phone, and heard the pulsating dial tone. My voice mail was full when I checked for messages. Neil doesn’t take messages. He simply transfers the ones that hold no interest for him to my mailbox.
I listened to a batch of messages, client stuff, most of it, and then I heard Rauser’s voice, stretched so tight it seemed about to snap, and realized I’d let the charge on my cell phone run down. I called him immediately.
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution had received a copy of the first letter from the killer, the one describing the Lei Koto murder, and they had decided to run it nearly in its entirety. Rauser was furious for the loved ones who might read this cold account of the killing, and he was afraid, too, that the publicity would only motivate the killer further and damage the investigation. “And the mayor and the chief are so far up my ass it hurts,” he complained, enraged.
When would the second letter show up in print, the one about David? Rauser told me he had tried to get APD onboard with releasing the second letter to the press, but Chief Connor and the mayor had flat-out refused. They said they would all be eaten alive if APD wasn’t able to find David after being handed a set of clues.
I retrieved the morning paper, slid it out of the plastic sleeve, and unrolled it on my desk. Wishbone Killer Taunts Police.
It was front-page stuff. The papers had given him a name, something grisly to live up to.
The last sound she heard above her own whimper was the click of my shutter and the tiny crack of her neck, like a wishbone snapped in half.
A chill started between my shoulder blades and snaked down my back. No wonder Rauser was going nuts. The pressure from his superiors would increase now. He’d have to work with them second-guessing his every move. He’d take the heat when the killer struck again. And the killer would strike again. Right now he was probably imagining himself on the minds and lips of the city, of the country. Celebrity is an aphrodisiac to someone seeking it.
Would he write again, to taunt, to display his superiority? This one likes the game, I thought, and the more it’s played, the greater the likelihood he’ll screw up.
I pulled a fresh legal pad from my drawer and began a list.
1. Precautionary acts, surveillance, schedule research … Victims alone.
2. Daylight attacks. Risk taking to obtain victim.
3. Locations—1st vic school dorm, three victims’ homes, first floor.
4. Method of approach: con. No forced entry. No witnesses. Chooses time of day with fewest people. Disguise? Someone familiar? Mail carrier, landscaper …
Note: Arrange access to autopsy photographs, crime scene sketches, videos, detectives’ interviews & lab reports from all scenes.
I was sure APD had already checked all shared services—electric, gas, mail, cable, anything that might connect the victims in some way. Rauser had pulled teams of detectives off everything that wasn’t a priority. Had they also checked photography supply houses, camera and electronic stores? If the killer’s taking pictures, he’s probably using a digital, something small and high res. Is he printing out hard copies? Yes, of course he is. He’d need the freedom of hard copies. Photo-quality printers, electronic and photography stores. He’s probably arranging stills in some sequence that is meaningful, masturbating, reliving, but why settle for stills when all he needs is a decent camera phone for video? It was a small thing, but one of those head-slapping moments nonetheless. I knew I’d just moved a tiny bit closer to understanding something about the interior life of this killer. And a phone would be so easy. On the train, in the office. I thought about this. I didn’t like it. It gave the killer the ability to keep the fantasy charged up. He could watch anywhere, anytime, without special equipment.