Connection Dots

CHAPTER 12 �" Connecting Dots

The murder board was starting to fill out nicely. We knew that the dresses were custom and would be unique to the woman. We also knew that we would be expecting at least three more victims, unless we stopped him first. I'm not sure which is worse: that he actually had a plan to kill five women, or if he didn't have a plan to begin with then things would go from bad to worse rather quickly. With a plan, he'd stop eventually. Well, maybe. I called Tori Garcia, telling her to call me if he showed up for more gowns. I doubted it, but it was with the weirdos you can never be sure. He was careful, but had made mistakes. Buying all the dresses at the same time for instance. The second was putting a name that could be traced on the paperwork.

“Nothing, I am finding exactly zip on William Reaper! This guy's a ghost!” Quinn pushed away from the computer in frustration.

The sensation of being hit in the head with a brick is an accurate description of what I felt. It suddenly hit me, the name! I spun away from the murder board and looked straight at Quinn. He looked confused and asked me what I was thinking.

“The name... he's being clever. William Reaper? Get it?” I was bouncing.

Quinn looked at the name on the board and then back at me, confused. He shook his head.

“William Reaper? Wilhelm? Grim Reaper?” Quinn finally caught it, “He's telling us that Wilhelm Grimm ordered those dresses.”

“Man, I thought we had a whack job before. There's a literary twist and he's pretending to be a dead writer?” He shook his head. “What kind of a case did we pull, Sammie?”

“I don't know, but we have to stop him. I don't want Garcia's full collection laid out in the lab and morgue.”

“What do we do to catch him? He's ahead of us, Sam, way ahead.”

He was right, this guy was already hunting, if he hadn't found his next victim. We had to get not only ahead of this guy, but behind him. I needed his past to predict part of his future. Now I'm no profiler, but I'm good at telling stories. I blame my biological father. He was an investigative reporter before he was killed. Anyway, from him, I learned how to tell a good story, especially a true one.

“So, Sam, what are you thinking?” Quinn leaned back in his chair, he loves it when I do this.

“'Happily ever after shouldn't be taken away'. That keeps sticking in my head. He's so far taken two stories from the Brothers Grimm that he's twisted. In the ends of both stories, the girl lives happily ever after and the bad guy, wolf or witch or whoever, gets what's coming to them. There is something about the Grimm's tales that he's holding onto. What triggered him? What set this guy off?” I was pacing, talking more to myself than to Quinn, telling the story. I glanced at the murder board and paused. “The women. They all look the same. Height, weight, hair and eye colour? All similar. Why her? What is it that makes her special?”

“Unrequited love?” Quinn suggested.

“I don't know, I'm getting more of a romantic attachment vibe. Maybe these women aren't the same as the woman he loved, a surrogate?”

“If that's true, then why kill her? Wouldn't he want to replace her?”

“Of course,” I said calmly, “but she isn't the woman he lost, she's too much or not enough. She'll never be the woman he loved so he kills them. And because his happily ever after was twisted...”

“He does the same to these women?”

I nodded, “I think so. It makes a sort of messed up sense, if you happen to be a psycho. We'll need a psychologist to confirm, but it fits.”

Quinn stood and stretched. “You get to make that call. I'm calling it a night and heading to bed.”

With that, Quinn did just as he said. He hates talking to shrinks as much as I do, but he also knows that I'm the lead detective on the case. That meant all the crappy jobs would go to me first, unless I delegated it to him. Every precinct has a psychologist that is on call 24/7 for cops. Some even take up the offer! Technically, the psychologist is available to any and all police officers, detectives, whoever for mental and emotional support because lets face it, our jobs are stressful and taking a life takes a piece out of you. Most of the officers that see the psychologist are forced to go before they can return to active duty.

I gave the number in my Rolodex a ring, sort of hoping that she wouldn't answer. She did of course. On the second ring!

“Hello?”

“What's up, Doc?” I asked, being funny.

“Samantha. You know how I dislike you calling me that.” Doctor Wendy Cole was a nice enough woman, when she wasn't being all shrink-y with me.

“And I hate that you call me Samantha, I deal with yours if you deal with mine. Hey, I have a theory I want to run past you.”

There was a pause on the line. “I'm not a walking diagnosis machine nor am I profiler!”

I waited a moment for her to think. Its an old interrogation trick. People love to fill the silence with sound and its usually their own voice. I heard her clicking a pen, thinking how to respond.

“Its late,” she said. I agreed with her. “Have you even eaten yet, or are you just working a case that requires a profiler? Of which I am not.”

“No, I've not eaten. Yes, I'm working a case.”

“Fine. I'll come and I'm bringing food and you are going to eat it. I don't care if you like it or not.”

She was over about a half hour later gracing my desk in the delicious smell of Chen Rizzo, an amazing Chinese Italian fusion joint. They have take-away till midnight! Pizza with General Po chicken, chow mien with Alfredo sauce... you'd think it wouldn't work, but it did and it was delicious. She handed me some traditional chow mien with a fork. I reached for the chopsticks. Chinese should be eaten with a pair of chopsticks and never a fork. I thanked Wendy for the late dinner and enjoyed the taste and warmth of a decent meal.

“I wasn't sure if you liked Chen Rizzo...”

“Are you kidding?” I said with a full mouth. “I've known those guys forever, they grew up in my neighbourhood. I've been going there since they opened.”

“I didn't know.”

I shrugged, “you didn't ask either. No worries, Doc.. tor Cole.”

She shook her head slightly, “Nice save, but I think I'm just going to have to get used to everyone calling me 'Doc'. So, what was so important, why did you call me down here?”

“You don't have a soft stomach do you? Don't need to waste your dinner.” She shook her head, telling me she's seen quite a bit of the grotesque in her like of work. I thought for a moment then stood and turned the murder board over. I'd flipped it so she wouldn't see it when she first walked in. There was a sharp breath as the 8x11 glossies came into view. Two women killed in brutal fashion with another pair of photo's showing their smiling faces. The pair displayed so close to each other was a bit unnerving, even for the most seasoned of cops.

“My god, what happened to them?” She asked. I explained the case so far and my theory about the killer. “He redresses them? He wants them to fit a certain ideal. A princess?”

“Yep. Its like a Walt Disney nightmare.”

“How long before anyone notices that these women have gone missing?” She asked, putting down her meal.

“Kate Rockberry was gone a week before her husband noticed. She was supposed to be visiting family, family thought she changed her mind about coming. Talk about your lack of communication. Eliza Grey was missing twenty-four hours. She was found dead two days later.”

She nodded. “How long had Mrs Rockberry been dead when she was found?”

I glanced over her file. “Rocky says she was murdered twenty-four to thirty-six hours before she was found.”

Her forehead furrowed in thought. “Then why...? Oh! Wow, I think you're onto something. He holds the women for a time to see if they will be whoever he is wanting them to replace. And when they don't...”

“We end up with a messed up fairy tale. I think the pattern is accelerating, though. He kept Rockberry alive for five or six days before he killed her, but Grey? Only two. Why?”

“Something happened. I think he wants to keep them longer, but something happened with Eliza. I think she fought him tooth and nail. She was definitely not his type of woman, so he got rid of her quickly. Though... You know, I think he's aware that none of the women he kidnaps will be good enough. He's a classic narcissist, everything must be his way on his terms. He wants what he wants and anything less is useless. And you're right, he is escalating.”

We grew silent for a moment, taking in the carnage the photos displayed. I shook my head, I wasn't agreeing with her diagnosis.

“I don't think he's self centred, Wendy. Rocky's reports say that these two women were well treated until they were murdered that is. Fed decently, given enough to drink. Right up until he kills them, he seems to be a regular prince charming.”

“I think you might be right, Detective. Something must have triggered him to start killing people, women. He is definitely trying to replace a woman that he lost or was taken from him. Have you looked into recent deaths of women matching the description of these victims?”

“Of course, but do you have any idea how many brunettes with blue eyes and average height have gone missing or have died in just in the past year? Too many, far too many... and that is just in the City itself. I haven't checked to the surrounding counties. With a stack almost a foot high on my desk, this case will be closed before I get a chance to go through those files.”

Wendy looked me over for a long moment, appraising me in the way that shrinks do. I didn't like the weight of her gaze. I focused myself on the murder board again, trying in a subtle way to make her follow instead of try to dissect me. It wasn't working.

“Have you slept?” She looked worried.

I rolled my eyes, “Yes, I have.” It may have been a few days before and on the futon in my parents' attic, but it was sleep.

“You need to rest, Detective. You're also not eating well. You wolfed down that meal as if you'd never seen food and --”

“Stop, Doc, okay? I've not been given orders to have you in my head.”

“You're working too hard, you're taking on too much, and your chasing a killer who is stuck in a fairy tale. You need to take a break, you need--”

“I need to catch a psycho before he adds to his collection. You do realize that he had five of these made?!” I pointed to the dresses, “he won't stop until he's either made to or finished.”

“Sammie, you cannot blame yourself for this. Its not your fault.”

I shot her a look. “Of course it isn't, I'm not the one creating my own Princess House of Horrors. I called you down here because I trust your judgement, not to get inside my head.”

She smiled the way Any does when I allow her to care. “I'm honoured.”

“Honoured?” I asked.

“You trust my judgement, I'm honoured that you feel that way. If you want my professional opinion of this unidentified subject, he's dangerous. He's going to keep going until someone stops him.”

I nodded, she was right. Quinn and I had discussed that already. Some crazies? Only way to stop them was with a .45 to the brain. I really hoped it wouldn't come to that because, lets face it, just means far too much paperwork.