“The resulting publicity nearly destroyed the Stones' careers. If you watch the film carefully, the band appears to want something violent to happen during their set. When it does, the Stones are playing ‘Sympathy for the Devil,’ and they continue to play.”
“Goading the violence on?”
“It certainly looks that way on the film. Vincent Canby, the film critic for the New York Times, was so outraged that he called the movie an opportunistic snuff flick.”
“And you think this is what fuels Simon Skell's rages.”
“No. They fuel his rituals,” Linderman said.
“What's the difference?”
“Psychosexual disorders are defined as paraphilias, which are recurrent, intense, and sexually arousing fantasies that involve humiliation or suffering. The partners in these fantasies are often minors or nonconsenting partners.”
“I'm with you so far,” I said.
“The presence of paraphilias in sex crimes generally means highly repetitive and predictable behavior patterns focused on specific sexual acts. The repetitive nature of the paraphilia is the ritual. To become aroused, Skell must engage in the act.”
“And Skell's paraphilia is to listen to the live version of ‘Midnight Rambler’ while torturing his victims,” I said.
“All evidence points to that,” Linderman said. “Gimme Shelter was released in 1970, when Skell was seven years old. That's the age when paraphilias usually develop. My guess is, he saw the film and was sexually stimulated by the song's violence toward women and the film's violence. Over time, the two became linked.”
“And a deviant was born.”
“Precisely. But that's the problem with this case. Based upon everything we know about sexual killers, Skell should have been caught long ago, and with far more evidence than what was presented at his trial.”
I swallowed the rising lump in my throat. The faces of the victims were staring at us, and I could almost feel their shame.
“Did I screw up the investigation?” I asked.
“Far from it,” Linderman said. “If not for you, Skell would still be murdering young women.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“What I'm saying, Jack, is that it's amazing you did catch him.
Most people who engage in sexual rituals cannot change their habits, even when they suspect law-enforcement scrutiny. As a result, they make need-driven mistakes and are their own worst enemies. But this isn't true with Skell. He chose his victims with utmost care and made them disappear in a way that so far has defied detection.”
“Why is Skell different?”
Linderman paused to give me a probing stare.
“That's a good question. You believe that Skell is a pedophile who evolved into a serial killer. I think he's evolved even further. He's used his superior intellect to become organized and ruthlessly efficient. A killing machine, if you like. Only he can't do any killing from behind bars, so he's now orchestrating his own release from prison.”
“You think he's behind this smear campaign against me?”
“Absolutely.”
“What do Leonard Snook and Lorna Sue Mutter stand to gain, besides seeing themselves on TV?”
“A million-dollar movie deal.”
“But that's illegal.”
“Skell can't profit from his crimes, but his wife can, and she's signed a contract with a Hollywood studio,” Linderman said. “According to the FBI's sources, she's cut Snook in on the deal. He's getting a 20 percent cut and is executive producer.”
“Did you tell the police and the DA?”
“I briefed Bobby Russo and the district attorney yesterday,” Linderman said. “They both felt that unless more evidence was found linking Skell to his victims, he'll be released from Starke.”
Linderman was describing my worst nightmare, and I slowly came out of my chair.
“What can I do?”
“Keep digging for evidence,” Linderman said. “You should also be thinking about what you're going to do if Skell is released.”
His words were slow to register.
“Do?” I asked.
“If Skell walks, he'll come after you. You're the person he's most afraid of, as evidenced by the campaign he's waging against you. In order for him to continue to survive and practice his rituals, he'll have to take you out of the picture.”
My office grew deathly still. The silence was so complete that I felt as if I were underwater.
“What about Melinda Peters?” I asked. “Will Skell go after her, too?”
“That would be a logical assumption. Melinda is the object of Skell's murderous fantasies and is responsible for him going to jail. More than likely, she will be his first target.”
“What do you suggest she do?”
“Run.”
That was easy for Linderman to say. Melinda had left home as a teenager, and like so many runaways, she had no place to run to.
Linderman looked at his watch. Then he stood up.
“I'm sorry, but I need to go.”
“Of course,” I said.
Linderman took out his business card and placed it on my desk. He thanked me for the coffee and urged me to stay in touch. Then he walked out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bob Dylan said, “You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”
I sat at my desk and stared into space. Although Linderman had left an hour ago, his presence hung like an odorless cloud. I thought about the timing of his appearance and the fact that our meeting had ended with a warning about my safety. It could mean only one thing: he knew something I didn't.
But what? Before paying me a visit, Linderman had met with Bobby Russo and the DA and shared the same information that he gave me. I had worked with the FBI enough times to know that this sharing didn't come without a price. Linderman got something in return, and I spent the next twenty minutes trying to determine what it was.
Buster crawled out from beneath my desk and stuck his head in my crotch, a cue that he wanted his ears scratched. I obliged him, and when I was done, he wagged his butt, then went to the door and whined. It was the same routine every day. Nap, scratch, pee. If only my own life were so simple.
I put my elbows on my desk and rested my head in my hands. I'd never been good for sitting in one place for very long pondering life's impossibilities. I was better on my feet and moving around. But this situation deserved serious thought, and I played back Linderman's warning.
If Skell walks, he'll come after you.
It wasn't the kind of thing someone in law enforcement would say to a brother-in-arms. Skell was in prison for first-degree murder, and for him to be set free, certain legal steps had to be followed, like his attorney petitioning the court, the judge finding the space on his docket to listen, and then the judge taking the new evidence and weighing it against the evidence presented at trial. The wheels of the legal system moved notoriously slow, and it might be weeks or even months before Skell was released, if the judge decided to swing that way.
So why did Linderman warn me? What disaster was on the horizon that warranted his seeking me out and telling me that Skell might be knocking on my door?
Five minutes later, it hit me.
It wasn't if Skell would be released from jail, it was when. Russo must have told Linderman that the body in Julie Lopez's backyard had been positively identified as Carmella's and that he was going to take the unusual step of asking the judge to release Skell so his department could save face. Learning this, Linderman had sought me out, hoping I might have uncovered additional evidence to keep Skell behind bars. And when he discovered I had none, he warned me.