And, finally, they had that singular detail of the clerical clothing. It might be a priest. It might be a minister. It might be anybody pretending to be a clergyman. But it was interesting.
It also added fuel to Tully’s special, perhaps personal, pique over this case. Bonner and Freel, according to witnesses, had gone off with the killer without the slightest hesitation, even though they were very experienced women. Why not? Doubtless they had been surprised to find a clergyman John. Either or both may have served clergymen in the past. But it must have been a surprise nonetheless; it would have to be rare in any case that a cleric would be wearing his religious garb when he propositioned the women.
These thoughts ran through Tully’s mind as he sat across the desk from Koznicki, who was studying reports of yesterday’s new cases. He had been spending considerable time on the file of Nancy Freel.
“So,” Koznicki looked up, “we were wrong about Louise Bonner.”
“I was wrong,” Tully countered.
“It was, indeed, your theory—in which I concurred completely. But, no mind; now we are on the right track.”
“Yeah. One week late, but we’re on the road.”
“I presume you want to stay on this case even though we no longer assume that there was an association because the deceased was one of your sources.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah, Walt, I want this guy. He’s the same guy I was lookin’ for last week. If anything, I want him more now than I did then.”
“All right; the case is yours. Within reason, use as many in your squad as you need. This matter is now being treated as a media event. With all the attention focused on what we now know are serial murders, we had better conclude this as quickly as possible.” Koznicki paused. Concern was evident in his expression as he returned his attention to the Freel report. “I think I do not have to tell you, it troubles me deeply that the killer is masquerading as a priest.”
Tully was taken aback. But only his eyes betrayed his surprise.
Masquerade? Who said anything about a masquerade? Possible of course, but certainly not a lead-pipe cinch. Why would Walt Koznicki assume that the killer was masquerading as a clergyman? Especially a seasoned officer like the inspector? He’d been around more than long enough to know that anything is possible, even a priest killer. Yeah, even a priest who mutilates as well as kills.
It became immediately apparent to Tully that this might very well become a serious obstacle in the investigation. There might very well be a reluctance on the part of investigating officers to admit the possibility that the killer could be a clergyman. And wherever that bias existed, the investigation would be crippled: Any such investigator would have excluded, without good cause, one distinctly possible solution to the crimes.
Tully resolved that once he formed his task force his first order of business would be to insist that everyone was going into this with eyes wide open, and no closed minds. They must follow the case wherever it might lead—to skid row or to a rectory. Puzzles were not solved by anyone whose mind was not open to every possibility.
But he didn’t have to address Walt Koznicki’s mental block immediately. Tully, not Koznicki, would be in charge of the active investigation. If the killer turned out not to be a clergyman, then Koznicki’s assumption of a masquerade would be borne out. If the inspector’s prejudgment was incorrect and the killer was a clergyman . . . well, time enough then for him to see the light.
As quickly as he reasonably could, Tully excused himself from Koznicki’s office and commenced the brief, frigid walk to the medical examiner’s office.
Tully was convinced that, in many ways, Dr. Moellmann held a vital key in this case. It was up to the M.E.’s department to confirm—or not—the conclusion tentatively reached by the police yesterday that the two prostitutes were, indeed, killed by one and the same person. Granting that, Moellmann could determine whether the killer had changed his method of murder to any extent.
It is an often erroneous belief that people who commit a series of murders are repetitious in every detail. In reality, such killers often change their methods in gradual stages, sometimes refining a technique that may improve with practice.
But in almost all cases, there is sufficient likeness that the mark of the serial killer can be recognized. And this is so because the killer wants his work to be recognized and accurately attributed. However, the change in m.o. does not always favor the criminal. Sometimes an initial carefulness deteriorates.
That very point was now being made by Dr. Wilhelm Moellmann.
“It seems our friend here has made a couple of mistakes,” the medical examiner observed as he continued his measurements on the mutilated corpse before him.
“Freel?”
“No, the one who did this to . . . what’s her name? . . . Nancy Freel.”
“What? What mistakes?” Tully suddenly had a nervous stomach. Was it possible that Moellmann had found significant differences in the murders of the two prostitutes?
Moellmann half turned to Tully. Mildly surprised at the lieutenant’s reaction, Moellmann peered over his glasses. “I refer only to this morning’s papers. You did read them. You might almost have written them. This killer, he must have not been thinking, to let someone get so close to him. So close to him and yet live, that is.”
It had not occurred to Tully that the murderer might be expected to kill Ruby because she had seen him at close range. Tully had not thought of this possibility because not once had he considered that he might be dealing with a mass murderer, like a Mark Essex, who killed indiscriminately from the roof of a Howard Johnson motel . . . or Charles Whitman, who did the same from the University of Texas tower.
Originally, Tully had assumed he was dealing with someone from his past who was killing a snitch in reprisal. Now it seemed clear that the killer was neither a personal enemy nor a random mass killer, but a serial murderer.
Albert De Salvo, the “Boston Strangler,” preyed on defenseless women in apartments. David Berkowitz, the “Son of Sam,” stalked women in parked cars.
Tully was after someone who was killing prostitutes—but apparently not indiscriminately. He was not driving down Cass or Eight Mile or Woodward at Six Mile and mowing down hookers with a machine gun . . . though God knows there were specific times of day when that could be possible.
On the contrary, he seemed to be rather carefully selecting his prey and not only killing one after another, but, with the mutilation and branding, sending some sort of message.
No; Moellmann’s suggestion that Ruby was in proximate danger because she happened to stumble across him probably was unfounded. In any case, there was no point in discussing that facet of the case with Moellmann.
“Yeah,” Tully said simply, “that was his mistake. A major league blunder.”
“Look at this! Come see this, Lieutenant.” Moellmann, studying with a magnifying glass the bruises on the neck of the deceased, beckoned to Tully.
Tully’s head was almost touching Moellmann’s as the two inspected the markings.
“See . . .” Moellmann pointed under the magnifying glass to the ruler that he was using to measure the width of the neck bruises. “. . . just one and seven-eighths inches. Significantly wider than the average man’s belt. And exactly the width of the one used last week on what’s her name . . . Bonner.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then, see the incision . . .”
Tully never failed to wonder at the almost childlike enthusiasm Moellmann was able to derive from an autopsy. Particularly one with absolutely bizarre details such as these hooker murders.
“See?” Moellmann traced the incision with his index finger. “It is almost a perfect repetition of the one on the Bonner woman.” There was just a touch of what might pass for admiration in his voice. Somewhat like the appreciation one surgeon might have for the work of another.