Dream Man

“Could he have been a cop?” Bonness asked. “Maybe in the military?”

“Not likely,” Lowery replied. “He wouldn’t deal well with authority of any type, so it isn’t feasible that he would have been able to complete any type of military or police training. He wouldn’t even have been accepted as a candidate.

“He’s white; all of the victims have been white, and serial killers seldom cross racial boundaries. He’s athletic, very strong. He’s an organized killer, very confident, and that’s the worst kind. An unorganized killer is messy, makes mistakes, has no dear plan. This guy has everything planned, down to the last detail. He doesn’t knock the victims out or tie them; he’s confident that he can control the situation, and so far, he has. The weapon he uses is a knife from the victim’s kitchen, which he leaves at the scene. Since there are no fingerprints, the weapon can’t be connected to him. He takes no trophies. ISU thinks he stalks the victims, possibly for weeks beforehand; he enters the house when no one is home, becomes familiar with it. He’s very patient.

“He rapes, but doesn’t use restraints, and that’s a slight aberration. Some women will fight even with a knife at their throat. For some reason, his victims haven’t.”

Because he soothes them, at first, Dane thought violently. He made them think that they wouldn’t be hurt if they just didn’t fight. He was gentle, and he used a rubber. They were paralyzed by the unexpectedness of being attacked in their own homes, and in that first terror, they believed him. But those were details Marlie had given him, so he kept quiet.

“He doesn’t blindfold the victims,” Lowery continued, “doesn’t keep the corpses. Again, those are traits of the organized killer. It was surprising that he cut off Mrs. Vinick’s fingers, because mutilation isn’t one of the traits—”

“We think she scratched him,” Dane interrupted.

Lowery sighed. “If so, that’s even more evidence of his intelligence. He couldn’t risk his skin samples being found under her fingernails. A brutal but effective solution. He doesn’t panic. He thinks on his feet, and isn’t a slave to a rigid plan.

“He likely holds down a full-time job, is outwardly normal. The other murders were all done at roughly the same time for each area. In one area, the murders were committed in the daytime, meaning he was either unemployed or working nights somewhere. I suspect he was working, because there’s nothing about this man that would attract attention. He’s methodical, predatory, and has this down to a science. His car will be several years old, nothing flashy, the kind of car you would see hundreds of in any neighborhood. Middle-class all the way. He could walk into police headquarters and no one would think anything about it, except to ask how they could help him.

“There is the danger that he’s escalating. Until now, he has kept himself under control, spacing out the murders. Killing on two successive weekends could mean that he is beginning to need the thrill of the hunt more often. I know there haven’t been any slashing murders reported this weekend, but it’s possible the victim simply hasn’t been found.”

A quick look passed between Dane, Trammell, and Bonness. They knew there hadn’t been another murder, because Marlie hadn’t had a vision.

“Identification at this point is impossible,” Lowery said. “Unless he makes a mistake and leaves some evidence behind to link him to the crime, he’ll have to be caught in the act.”

It was a grim group that returned to headquarters, though Lowery hadn’t told them much that they hadn’t already known. The killer was a smart son of a bitch, and ordinarily they wouldn’t have had a prayer of catching him. Dane was silent, thinking of Marlie. She was their secret weapon; she would be the one who caught him.

It broke on the news that afternoon. Dane was surprised that the leak had taken that long; for something to remain a secret at city hall for a week was almost unheard-of, particularly something that dramatic. It was the headline story for all the local television and radio news; he caught it on the radio while he was driving home.

“A source in city hall has confirmed that police believe a serial killer is stalking women in the Orlando area,” the announcer intoned solemnly. The plummy voice continued, “Two recent murders appear to have been committed by the same man. Two weeks ago, Nadine Vinick was murdered in her home, and a week later Jacqueline Sheets was found murdered in her home. Chief of Police Rodger Champlin refuses to comment on the cases or say if they have any suspects. He does urge women in the city to take precautions for their safety—”

He snapped off the radio, infuriated by the knowledge that the killer was getting a real rush from this. He had expected the news to break, was prepared for it, but knowing that the bastard was laughing and soaking up all the attention was still hard to take.

Marlie was sitting curled on the couch when he got home. The television was on, though the news program had advanced to the weather portion. He tossed his jacket across a chair and sat down beside her, then lifted her onto his lap. They sat silently, watching the meteorologist point to this high-pressure system and that low one, make sweeping movements of his hand to indicate their projected movement, and finally make his prediction: hot and muggy, the way it had been all day, with the ever-present possibility of thunderstorms.

“Anything interesting happen today?” she asked.

“The local FBI gave us the character profile they had worked up; this guy has probably been moving around the country for the last ten years, leaving a string of victims behind, and nobody has a clue what he looks like, or a shred of evidence that connects to him.” He hugged her to him. “But we’re working on getting a list of new accounts from the utility companies. It’s a long shot, but it’s something.”