Dream Man

Chief Champlin had clearly hoped they would come up with something; his disappointment that afternoon wasn’t pleasant. But he was also a cop, and he had looked at the files. The same man had done both women. The very lack of forensic evidence was as much an indicator as if they had found the same fingerprints at both scenes. This was a smart bastard, and they needed help.

“All right,” he said. “Call the Bureau. I’ll tell the mayor.”

Bonness made the call, and briefly explained the situation. The local Bureau guys knew big stuff when they heard it, and said they would like to go over the files immediately.

“Hollister and Trammell, get the files and go,” Bonness said.

Dane saw Trammell check his watch, a sure sign that he had something else to do. “Why not send someone from each case?” he suggested. “They may have questions about Jackie Sheets that Trammell and I can’t answer.”

“Okay,” Bonness agreed. “Freddie? Worley? Which one of you wants to go?”

Worley grimaced. He clearly wanted to go, but he, too, checked his watch. “It’s my mother-in-law’s birthday. If I’m late for the party, my wife won’t speak to me for a year.”

“I’m free,” Freddie said. “Which one of you guys is going?”

“I am,” Dane said, and Trammell flashed him a grateful smile.

FBI Agent Dennis Lowery was waiting for them. Lowery had that Ichabod Crane look to him: thin, long-legged, stoop-shouldered, his clothes always flapping about him as if they were too large. His eyes were deep-set, his nose was beaky. But he was a calm, intelligent man who was more diplomatic than some when it came to dealing with local law enforcement agencies. Dane had dealt with him before, and liked him well enough.

A second agent, Sam DiLeonardo, was a young fart barely out of training, all spit and polish. Dane wasn’t as inclined to like him, because he looked like the type who would insist on going by the book even when everything was falling apart around him, but the kid redeemed himself by taking one look at Freddie and immediately falling in lust. He went absolutely still, his eyes widening a little as he stared at her. A slight blush darkened his cheeks. Freddie was always kind and could be very ladylike when she chose, so she pretended not to notice the kid’s fascination. Dane and Lowery exchanged wry glances as they sat down at a long conference table.

“So what do you have?” Lowery asked, pulling a legal pad toward him and uncapping a pen.

Freddie gave copies of the files to both agents, who silently leafed through them. DiLeonardo forgot his preoccupation with the plain but remarkably fetching Detective Freddie Brown, his expression turning grim as he stared at the stark photos of the bodies, in both color and black and white.

“He probably stalks them before acting,” Dane said. “He knows if they’re alone or not. In both cases, we think it’s possible that he was in the house for some time before they knew it, hiding out in the spare bedroom. In the Vinick case, he was probably waiting for her husband to go to work. With Jackie Sheets, we don’t know why he waited.”

“Maybe for the neighbors to go to bed,” DiLeonardo said absently, still studying the notes.

“They would be less likely to hear anything if they were still up, with the television on. At any rate, none of the neighbors heard any screams.”

Lowery’s face was impassive as he looked at the photos. “You’d think, the way these women were butchered, that they would have been screaming bloody murder, but a lot of times it doesn’t work that way. He chased them, didn’t he? They were terrified, breathless, already traumatized by being raped. It’s difficult to scream, really scream, under those conditions. The throat tightens up, restricts sound. Probably they didn’t make all that much noise.”

He tossed the files onto the table and rubbed his jaw. “Just two cases? That doesn’t give us much to work on, but I agree, it looks like the same guy. What’s the link?”

“We haven’t been able to find one,” Dane said. “Not looks, life-style, friends, neighborhood, anything. We compared canceled checks and credit card receipts, and except for shopping at some of the same department stores, which applies to everyone else in town, their paths never crossed. They never met each other.”

“They did something to attract this guy’s attention, though. Did they both buy something from the same store within, say, the last month?”

“Not that we can find. It’s hard to say, because the Vinicks evidently paid cash for a lot of things.” Dane wasn’t irritated by Lowery’s questions, though some people would have been, taking it as a suggestion that the local cops hadn’t done a good job. The same questions were bound to come up over and over again, as different people grappled with the problem. There had been a lot of times when he had doggedly gone over the same file time and again, until something clicked and he saw a detail that had been there all along, but just hadn’t registered.

“I’ll get this up to Quantico,” Lowery said. “Two murders in a week isn’t a good sign. If he’s escalating that fast, he’s out of control.”

“I’m hoping it was unusual for him to kill two so close together. Maybe Jackie Sheets was an easy opportunity that he couldn’t resist.”

“Maybe. But if he liked it, he won’t wait long before doing it again.”

“Oh, he likes it,” Dane said bitterly. “He takes his time, plays with them. The son of a bitch loves his work.”