With the anticipated fifth flash not yet forthcoming, I slowly lowered my hand and directed my squinting gaze toward my friend.
“What was that?” he questioned again.
“Debbie Schaeffer,” I offered again, this time my voice winning out.
I could still see brightly colored spots dancing against a backdrop of rapidly fading after-images, and it was making me a bit queasy. I blinked hard, trying to will them away. Fortunately, the blur was lessening at a quick pace, and this page of reality was starting to come back into focus.
“What about her?”
“That’s the connection between her and Paige Lawson,” I explained, suddenly as sure of myself as I’d been in months. “This rapist.”
“How do you figure?”
“The lights.”
“This one of those Twilight Zone things or are ya’ just guessin’, Row?” He was interested but not yet convinced.
“At the morgue the other night,” I continued. “When I made the connection with Debbie Schaeffer I kept seeing flashing lights.”
“You didn’t mention anything about flashin’ lights then.”
“I didn’t remember them until now.”
“Row…”
“I’m not just plucking this out of the air, Ben,” I snapped. “You know as well as I do how this works sometimes. Besides, if I’m channeling the memories of someone who was drugged with Rohypnol, then maybe I’m experiencing the effects of the drug as well.”
“Okay, okay,” he held up a hand to stave me off. “Calm down. I wasn’t tryin’ ta’ say you were makin’ it up. I just wanna be sure we’re not chasin’ down a blind alley.”
“Sorry,” I apologized.
“S’alright,” he said. “Now, do ya’ remember anything else besides the flashin’ lights?”
“Yes,” I nodded vigorously, “a popping noise and a high-pitched whine.”
“Popping and whining?” Charlee speculated aloud. “Wonder what that could be?”
“I know exactly what it is,” I answered as I realized I’d heard the sound many times before. Living with a professional photographer, it was hard to avoid. “It’s a photo strobe. He’s taking pictures of them.”
“There’s a thought.” She nodded as understanding overtook her. “It would certainly explain the bright lights, and it’s not unheard of for a rapist to take an item from the victim. A keepsake that gives him a way to relive the act. That could also explain why he keeps them for a while.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “And the smeared makeup too. He may be dressing them up in some way to tie in with his personal fantasy.”
“Well,” she volunteered, “I suppose pictures would be as good as anything else, but I don’t think they’re doing it for him anymore. The frequency of the attacks has been increasing.”
“Whoa, hold on.” Ben was shaking his head. “Back the truck up for a minute you two. I gotta minor problem with this theory.”
“What’s that?” Charlee asked.
“Debbie Schaeffer,” he stated. “I’m willin’ ta’ accept Paige Lawson bein’ an intended rape victim. If we apply a little creativity to the coroner’s report, then we can assume that what we have is this asshole jammin’ ‘er with the stun gun. Zap!” He acted out the motion of pulling the trigger. “Then she falls and cracks ‘er head on the corner of the table. Sicko sees the blood, freaks and runs. That works. I’ve got enough on the physical side ta’ back it up, so in my mind, it’ll fit.
“Now, Debbie Schaeffer, that’s a different story. We’ve got no physical evidence, and the way you’ve played this guy up, he apparently doesn’t want these women harmed. Schaeffer was murdered and dumped in the woods.”
“Are you certain she was murdered?” I asked.
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Well just what the hell would you call it?”
“Maybe her death was an accident too,” I offered.
“Yeah, okay, so what if it was?” he offered. “Even if ‘er death wasn’t deliberate-which I’m not convinced it wasn’t by the way-it’s still murder if it occurred durin’ the commission of a felony. So yes, before ya’ say it, that makes Lawson’s death murder as well. But what sets the two apart is the fact that Schaeffer’s body was dumped in the woods. That indicates ta’ me that whoever did it was tryin’ ta’ cover it up. That’s the part that doesn’t seem ta’ fit with this guy’s established pattern of dropping the victims off at home. So I’m not sayin’ Schaeffer ain’t connected. I just don’t wanna jump ta’ conclusions.”
“Absolutely,” Detective McLaughlin interjected. “But for sake of argument, what if that pattern hadn’t been established yet? What if it is a part of the recent escalation?”
Ben gave her a thoughtful glance then nodded. “Okay…Okay, that’s possible. It might fit. Keep talkin’. What’s the date on the first case you’ve associated with this guy?”
“November. The day after Thanksgiving as a matter of fact,” she said.
“Nothin’ earlier?”
“Not that’s been reported to us.”
“Well, Schaeffer went missin’ late October,” he mused aloud. “So your theory could fit.”
“That puts a month between her disappearance and the first reported rape,” I voiced my observation as I set my mind to the task of filling the blanks-and there were plenty of them, even taking into consideration my latest secular epiphany.
“Okay,” Ben nodded. “That fills in that hole, but it still doesn’t give us anything concrete. Not to mention we still don’t have a suspect either.”
“You’re positive Debbie Schaeffer didn’t have any ex-boyfriends?” I asked.
“None that ‘er parents knew of, why?”
“Well, this is just me speculating, so take it for what it’s worth.” I confessed the thoughts that had only now started to gel in the front of my brain. “But if everything we’ve discussed here actually pans out, then that would make Debbie Schaeffer the first victim, right?”
“Still a big if, but yeah… Go on.”
“Well, what if she’s the impetus for the entire string of rapes?”
“You mean,” Ben looked at Detective McLaughlin then back to me, “like he’s tryin’ ta’ relive rapin’ her through these other women?”
“I suppose, but that’s not exactly what I was thinking.” I shook my head. “I was approaching it more along the line that she was the actual object of his desire, and through whatever course of events transpired he accidentally killed her. So by acting out his fantasy with the other women, he is somehow bringing her back to life. In his mind anyway.”
“Jeez, white man. Now you’re startin’ to sound like my sister.”
I shrugged. “Then maybe she’s who we really need to be talking to.”
“Hello?” Helen Storm’s voice issued from the phone.
We had regrouped in a conference room to allow for less distraction and more privacy. Ben had begun dialing her number almost as soon as the door was shut.
“Helen, it’s Ben,” my friend spoke quickly. “You’re on speaker. I’ve got Detective McLaughlin and Rowan with me. You got a minute?”
“Since you already have me on speaker, I suppose it would be rude of me to say no, would it not?”
“Gimme a break, Sis.”
“Oh, I suppose I can let it go this time,” she laughed musically. “What can I do for you, Benjamin?”
Detective McLaughlin gave me a grin then turned to Ben and mouthed “Benjamin?”
My friend fired back a wordless glance that said in no uncertain terms, “Don’t even go there.”
“First off, everything we discuss here is strictly on the QT, right?”
“Of course. I take it this is work related then?”
“Yeah, it is. We’ve got a situation we’d like ta’ run past ya’ and get your professional opinion on.”
“You understand that forensic psychology is not my primary area of expertise, correct?”
“I know, Helen,” Ben said. “We ain’t that far yet. We just wanna see if the theory’ll fly.”
“Aren’t.”
“What?”
“Aren’t, Benjamin. Or, are not. Definitely not ain’t.” She put an extreme emphasis in her tone when she repeated the colloquial contraction.