“Pretty much,” Selina said, so grateful for the caffeine she wanted to weep. “Delta got some goods out of him, and now she’s updating us on the profile.”
“Our guy’s got vampire snobbery down to a killing science.” Jack rubbed the nape of his neck, sipped the hot brew, and looked at Delta.
She shook her head, drinking her coffee with an appreciative sigh. “No, this is more than snobbery. This guy feels wronged by the disclosure of Magickal knowledge. Perhaps he told someone and it ended in that person’s death. Perhaps he wanted to turn someone, was denied, and he lost the person. This isn’t just about prejudice, this is personal.”
“So if he was denied, we’re looking for someone who had a beef three decades ago with a corrupt Vampire Conclave.” Selina felt her shoulders slump as hopelessness swamped her. They had so much information, it was almost too much to weed through. “That’s going to narrow it down for us.”
“Yes, since I’m one of those people, and I’m guessing you are, too, and even Gregor. No one worked for them that long or lived in that city back then without despising that Conclave. But your killer also might have a history of violence that precedes his beef with them.” The blond vampire tapped the picture of their youngest victim. A twelve-year-old who’d set her dad up with her Normal math teacher. They’d been on their honeymoon when she was murdered. “You don’t jump straight into this without some buildup. He might have tortured animals as a child, displayed obsessive behavior, had outbursts of uncontrollable anger. He might have a rap sheet prior to his first murder.”
“But considering how well he’s avoided detection, he might not,” Selina pointed out. Or he might actually know his victims, integrate himself into their lives. She’d never figured out how, but he’d learned about these people and their relations to Normals somehow. He had to be constantly researching, looking for potential targets. Like Bess.
“True.” Delta propped her shoulder against the wall and folded her arms. “So, you’re looking for someone of above-average intelligence, someone who stalks his victims, plans with care, and probably fantasizes about each killing for weeks or even months in advance. The murders are very physical and very personal—he feels like he knows them by the time he kills them, and he wants to watch them while they die.”
“And know he’s the one with the power now,” Peyton interjected, chugging his coffee.
“Exactly,” the vampire replied. “He doesn’t bother to hide the bodies or do anything to cover them or even close their eyes after they’re dead. He’s not ashamed of what he’s done. He feels completely justified, righteous, and he wants whoever finds the victims to know that, to see it.”
Pacing in front of the whiteboard filled with the victims’ stats, Jack threw a hand in Delta’s direction. “I thought a lot of serial killers attempted to contact police or the media, injecting themselves into the investigation. We haven’t seen any of that.”
“That’s true, but not all of them do.” The vampire shrugged. “He may think he’s made enough of a statement with the murder itself. It’s not just about getting away with it, it’s about living out his greatest fantasy over and over again, punishing those who have what he wanted.”
“He’s a real sweetheart.” Jack grunted.
“Yeah.” Delta straightened away from the wall. “I’m having our guys pull files for vampires who might fit the bill. Gregor is not one of them.”
“Okay, tell us why not.” Peyton crossed his legs at the ankle.
“I never rule anyone out completely. That’s just foolishness.” She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and let them drop. “Gregor is a pain in the ass, and I’m not saying he’s not involved. He was there and he has no good excuse for being there. He’s usually up to his eyeballs in guilt, but Gregor does what he does for money. It doesn’t jive with the serial killer mentality.”
Jack took a swig of coffee. “Just playing devil’s advocate, but that sounds like a good cover story to me. Kill enough people to mask the ones that are recreational.”
Delta picked up Gregor’s thick folder of misdeeds. “This is Gregor’s file. He’s a mercenary. He gets paid to protect people, to kill people, to basically make people’s lives easier if they pay him enough. He is cold, calculating, and methodical. He seems to have no moral qualms about what he does.”
“He’s also impossible to pin anything on,” Selina added wryly. She should know—she’d tried more than once. She’d gone a couple of rounds with him when Merek was her partner. Those crimes were still listed as unsolved, even though she was certain Gregor was the culprit. She just couldn’t prove it.
Delta nodded and sighed. “He’s suspected of doing a lot of illegal things. He—or his influential employers—have managed to wiggle out of anything more serious than a slap on the wrist from the All-Magickal Council. There have never been formal charges, there has never been a trial. And, despite whatever else he’s done, he’s got no record of meddling in black magic. Seriously, he’s got a list of suspected priors as long as my leg, but the kind of shit your killer has done? It’s not his style. He may feed from his victims, but he doesn’t play with his food.”
Disgusting, but well-put. Gregor talked a good game, but from what Selina had seen, his kills tended to be quick, clean, and efficient.
“His associates describe him as affable and easy to get along with. As long as you’re paying him well, he’s your best friend,” Delta continued, heavy sarcasm in her voice. No doubt she disagreed with his colleagues’ assessment. “What you’re dealing with is a lot of rage, and a compulsion that can’t be controlled. The frequency of the attacks is escalating. Your killer is losing his grip. So, what I’m saying is ... Gregor isn’t a nice man—I’m not arguing that—but he doesn’t fit the profile. Is it impossible that it’s him? No. But I also don’t think it’s likely. He has an established pattern, and this isn’t it.”
Jack nodded. “Thanks, Dubois. Pull those files on likely suspects for us. We appreciate everything you’ve done tonight, especially with loosening Gregor’s tongue a bit. I’ll ask Cavalli to lean on the Vampire Conclave to see if we can get information on who might have a grudge against the local Conclave in New Orleans.”
“Good luck with that. As Grayson pointed out, the list is pretty long. That Conclave liked to have people disappear for getting in their business. A lot of folks don’t take kindly to that, and we have long memories in the South.” Delta glided toward the door, silent in a way that only vampires could manage.
Her information gave them a little more to go on, but at this point, they knew just enough to know they didn’t know enough. Peyton growled, his fangs flashing, and Selina could feel his frustration. All of them were tense. The case grew worse by the day.
Selina finished her java and tossed the cup in the trash can in the corner. She glanced at the werewolf, whose fangs were still protruding from his gums. She checked her watch. It was a lot later than she’d thought. Or earlier, depending on one’s definition. “It’s not yet morning, but the full moon officially rises in, what, eighteen hours?”
“I know.” He stood abruptly. “I should check in with the pack. Make arrangements for tonight.”
“Is Tess going with you?”
“No. She hasn’t rampaged with the stuff Dr. Standish has her on.” His hands clenched and unclenched, unable to settle, a subtle reminder of the horrible cost of lycanthropy. “But just to be safe, she stays at the hospital for observation like all the others in the clinical trial.”