Nelson continued. "I don't know anything about Ms. Davenport's family, of course. But let's just say she had a younger brother who was the family clown, the funny one, a little irresponsible maybe, but he could always make people laugh, and that gave him some security, a sense of who he was.
"My point is that we all take these things for granted-by the time we can verbalize who we are, we already have a sense of it from the way other people relate to us, and the way we relate to them.
"But for the person who goes on to become a serial offender, this is not the case. He is lacking a basic sense of who he is, and consequently has a sense at times of being nobody at all. He feels impotent and powerless. So he creates a fantasy world that is that exact reverse of what he perceives to be reality: a world in which he is omnipotent, is all powerful, and has total control over others. This control most often involves violent sexual fantasies-again, the exact reverse of what he perceives on another level as reality: total rejection of him by women (or men, if he is homosexual).
"Jeffrey Dahmer cut off his victims' heads and put them in his freezer so they wouldn't leave him. That level of desperation is directly related to the level of rage these criminals express against their victims-who are often substitutes for people in their lives who did in fact harm them. So, for example, a vicious killer of women could be acting out rage toward his emotionally abusive mother."
Nelson looked out over the room of upturned faces. "What's the difference between a killer's signature and his MO?" Nelson inquired, leaning back on his heels. "Yes, Ms. Davenport?"
"The MO is short for modus operandi-the way a killer usually operates-but it can change. The signature refers to the repetitive ritualistic acts, often unnecessary for the commission of the crime, but which are necessary to the killer in order for him to receive emotional or sexual satisfaction from his crime."
"What might constitute a signature, for example?"
The skinny blond boy with the raspy voice shot up a hand.
"Yes?"
"Things like postmortem mutilation or the way the body is posed-those could be signatures, for example."
"Right again." Nelson smiled. "A signature is deeply significant to the killer-and to the criminal profiler-because it arises out of some unconscious drive or obsession, and does not change in its basic essence, though it may evolve."
A dark-haired boy in the front row raised his hand. "Evolve? What do you mean by that?"
"Well, for example, the posing of the body may become more elaborate, more detailed-the Boston Strangler's, the Green River Killer's, and Jack the Ripper's victims all had certain similarities, but in all these cases the rituals escalated and become more ornate as time went on. This represents the killer becoming more at ease with what he does-he feels freer to act out his fantasy in increasing detail. Or, in a mentally ill, disorganized killer, it can represent the increasing pressure of his mental illness."
Nelson glanced at his watch. "Okay, that's it. Don't forget to do the reading I've assigned for our next class."
As the students filed out, Lee walked up the side aisle to where Nelson stood gathering his notes and slides. When Nelsen looked up and saw his friend, he smiled, but his smile faded when he saw Lee's expression.
"Oh no," he said. "There's been another one?"
"I'm afraid so. Chuck wanted me to ask-do you think you could-"
"He wants me to consult?" Nelson sounded as though he was trying to hide his pleasure at being asked to join the investigation.
"If you're not too busy."
"Of course not." He paused and studied Lee, his freckled face serious. "How do you feel about my coming on board?"
"I'd be honored. And I have a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get."
Chapter Twenty-five
Detective Leonard Butts looked around Chuck Morton's office as though he had found himself in the den of a small and rather dirty burrowing animal. He studied the chair nearest him as if calculating the number and severity of diseases he might contract by sitting in it, then lowered himself into it with an air of resignation. Lee glanced at Chuck to see if he noticed Butts's attitude, but if he did, he didn't react. Morton walked over to his desk and perched on the edge of it, his muscular arms folded. Nelson sat in a chair in the corner, a paper cup of coffee held between his freckled fingers. Detective Florette sat in the opposite corner, looking like he had stepped straight off the cover of GQ-blue striped Brooks Brothers shirt with French cuffs, black Givenchy loafers polished to a glossy sheen. They had all been waiting, somewhat uncomfortably, for Butts to appear.
"Well?" Nelson said. "What have you got?"
Morton picked up a manila envelope from his desk and tossed it to Nelson, who caught it with his left hand.
"Brooklyn," Morton said, rubbing his eyes. "She was found Saturday. Same MO-strangulation, mutilation, left on the altar."
Nelson raised his left eyebrow, which could signal anything from surprise to disgust. Nelson looked at the photos in the file and then turned to Lee.
"You went to the crime scene?"
"Yes. There was a difference this time: there was evidence of a struggle-a lot of it."
Chuck rubbed his forehead wearily. "This time the pathologist said the wounds were ante-mortem."
Nelson raised an eyebrow. "So now he's torturing them before he kills."
"Yeah."
"That means either he's restraining them physically or chemically," Nelson mused. "Is the tox screen in yet?"
"Nope," said Detective Butts.
Nelson stared at him.
"Detective Butts is the primary on this case," Morton said, "since the first vic turned up in his precinct. I'll be overseeing the investigation from here, but for day-to-day details go to him."
Detective Butts shifted in his chair, a look of satisfaction on his broad, pockmarked face.
"Mmm," Nelson said, placing the photos on Chuck's desk. "What do we know about the victims?"
"The first one we know for sure was his was Marie Kelleher," Butts replied with a glance at Lee. "A sophomore at Fordham. Nice Catholic girl, religion major, steady boyfriend, no known enemies."
"Yeah, right," Nelson muttered. He looked down at the stack of photographs. "What about this girl?"
Detective Florette held up the crime scene report. "Annie O'Donnell, twenty-one years old, a senior at Brooklyn College, philosophy major. Ditto with the nice Catholic girl. Boyfriend-not so steady, but seems like a nice kid."
"So he goes for nice girls," Nelson remarked, staring out of the grimy windows at the gray February sky. "If this Jane Doe Number Five-"
"Pamela," Lee said.
"Right. If she's his too, she's probably a nice girl as well."
"Okay," said Morton to Lee. "What can you tell us so far?"
"Well, first of all," Lee said, "these fantasies have been in place for a long time-way before he committed his first murder."
Detective Butts stared at him. "So now you're a mind reader?"
"Okay, Detective, that's enough," Chuck snapped. He turned to Lee. "How do you know that?"
"In part because it's usually true of serial killers, but here in particular the crime is very specific, very ritualized. There's been a lot of forethought and planning-it's not in any way an impulse killing." He glanced over at Nelson, who nodded his approval.
"Okay," said Morton. "What else?"
"He's likely to have a history of arson, abuse of animals, maybe a few arrests for Peeping Tom type activities-maybe even stalking. On the other hand, he may have no criminal record at all."
"That's not much of a help," Butts muttered.
"We can infer a lot from the way he leaves the victims. He displays them in a very specific way-"