"You think that's proof of escalation, wait until you see the Boston one." He noticed her checking her watch and added, "Kasab and a uniformed officer are meeting Keller at the airport." He checked his own watch. "They should be here in about an hour if his flight's on time."
An hour. In approximately one hour she would be staring into the eyes of a child killer and promising him protection from being killed.
She tried to concentrate on the new Florida case. The body had already been identified as seventy-three-year-old Father Rudolph Lawrence, known to friends and parishioners as Father Rudy. A recent photo sent along with the report showed a short, stocky, white-haired, almost elfish-looking man at a party, with a colorful banner behind him that read: Happy Retirement, Father Rudy! She placed that copy next to the one of his corpse at the crime scene. What was left of the face had bloated beyond recognition. There was a tuft of white hair _ that and the white roman collar stood out in the otherwise mangled and dirty mess that looked more like a pile of rags than a body.
The medical examiner had estimated no less than a week. Other tests were needed for a more accurate time of death. Maggie remembered Adam Bonzado telling her that in a matter of a week maggots could consume a body down to the bone in a moist, hot environment. The Florida panhandle in July seemed to fit that environment, but the corpse had been partially hidden with debris and dirt thrown on top, which would have slowed down the process.
Maggie stood in front of the map Pakula had just finished tacking up. "Why try to hide him when he's already in the middle of what looks like several acres of thick woods."
"Wetlands," Pakula said. "They call them wetlands and you're right __ it is thick with trees, scrub grass and some kind of vining crap, not to mention the mosquitoes and the no-see-ums."
"You sound like a fan of the area."
"Oh, I love it. Sugar-white beaches and emerald green water. But a lot of places inland aren't developed. A lot of it is owned by the government. I can't think what they call it," Pakula said. "Oh, I know, historic preservation. It's along the gulf coast where the early explorers landed. In fact, Pensacola would have had the oldest settlement if it hadn't been washed away by a hurricane."
"Do you usually learn this much about your crime scenes?" Maggie asked, smiling.
"No, I've got friends who live down there. I've already been in contact with them. Since they're Catholics I'm hoping, they might be able to dig up some dirt for me on this Father Rudolph."
"Father Rudy," she corrected him.
"Yeah, right."
"The single stab wound to the chest is consistent with our guy, but this is definitely not a public area."
"Actually, it is." It was Pakula's turn to correct her. "It's part of a public campground. Friends claim the old priest lived about a mile away. He took walks down to the boat ramp, using, of course, the road that runs alongside this wetland area."
"Okay, so it's a public area, but why not slice him on the road and leave him in the ditch? The killer would have had to coax him into the trees and then kill him or kill him on the road and drag him into the trees. Why bother? He's left all the other bodies out in the open. He seemed to have gone to great lengths to hide this one."
"I don't know. You're the profiler, you tell me." Pakula shrugged and smiled.
"This one feels different," she said, stopping at the table's edge to glance over the other reports.
"Wait until you see the Boston one."
"You already said that."
"Yeah, well, it's pretty freaky," Pakula said just as Carmichael came waltzing in.
"You've got to be talking about this one," Carmichael said, dropping the copies in the middle of the table. 'This guy's either lost it or else this isn't our guy."
Maggie and Pakula came up on either side of Carmichael to take a look. Maggie grabbed the top page, staring at the first crime scene photo with yet another decapitated head sitting on a church altar. Maggie couldn't believe it. This one resembled the D.C. killer more than their priest killer.
"Boston detective I talked to said the killer practically ripped the head off," Carmichael told them
"I hate to tell both of you this," Maggie said and Pakula and Carmichael stopped to look at her. "I think we've got more than one killer."
CHAPTER 70
Omaha Police Department
Omaha, Nebraska
Tommy Pakula couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What the hell do you mean we've got more than one killer?"
"I was working on a serial killer case back in D.C. before I came out here. All the victims have been decapitated," O'Dell started to explain.
"But they've been all women so far, haven't they?" Pakula remembered seeing bits and pieces on TV.
"Yes, as far as we know."
"And in the D.C. area. Not Boston."
"Look," O'Dell said, "I'm not sure about this, but I don't think a killer who hides a victim in the Florida wetlands would turn around a week later and decapitate another, displaying that victim's head on a church altar."
"Isn't it possible he's starting to lose it?" Carmichael asked, taking several steps back as if to get out from between Pakula and O'Dell.
"Anything's possible," O'Dell said, but she didn't sound as if she meant it. "I'm just saying there's usually a pattern with this type of killer even when he starts to accelerate."
"But yesterday you told me never to underestimate who's capable of murder." Pakula was losing his patience. Today they seemed even farther away from finding a suspect. Now O'Dell was telling him she couldn't even come up with a profile.
"And yesterday you told me you weren't convinced one killer could pull off all these murders. That was when we had three instead of five," she reminded him.
"You're right," Pakula said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I'll play along. Let's say there're two killers. Makes sense that one might be taking the Midwest and another takes the East and Southeast. But how are they working together?"
Pakula shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall as O'Dell started to pace again. He sensed a nervous energy to her today that was a bit unsettling. Was it that she had no answers or could it be her anticipation in making this deal with Keller? Either way, he hoped that by hunkering down and not moving around he might be able to calm her down. Carmichael wasn't any help. She was pacing along the length of the room on the other side.
"They might have something set up over the Internet," O'Dell offered.
"Next you're gonna tell me it's a couple of teenagers playing Dungeons and Dragons over the Internet."
"You're kidding, right?" Carmichael said, stopping in her tracks and looking from Pakula to O'Dell.
"Agent O'Dell has a theory that the killer… or killers could be teenagers who have been abused by priests. Correct me if I'm not getting this quite right," he said to O'Dell, unable to contain the sarcasm and to his own surprise a little bit of anger. "That they could be taking things into their own hands, spurred on by one of those Internet crusader games that are popular right now."
When Carmichael didn't laugh or roll her eyes Pakula knew he was in trouble. He was the odd man out. He knew it before she even opened her mouth.
"Could be why this Boston one doesn't follow any pattern," Carmichael suggested, adding her own spin. "Teenagers are unpredictable anyway. I imagine that's true when you're dealing with teenage killers, right? A kid might not be able to keep it all together."
There was a knock at the conference-room door and a uniformed officer poked his head in. "Kasab's ready for you. Said to tell you they're at the Embassy Suites. Your special guest refused to come down to the police station."