Lucky Thirteen (13 page)

15

Profiling a Killer

“I
agree,” commented Agent Journey. “Let’s look back at your victims, Ray. All of them had their throats cut by a very sharp instrument, maybe the same scalpel as Baker’s number four. Access to a scalpel indicates someone in the medical or scientific community.” He grimaced. “Every woman had her blood drained. We could be looking at a blood sacrifice of some kind.”

“Sacrifice?” asked Ray.

“Yeah. Don’t interrupt.”Journey held up his hand. His assertive response was the second step in proving to the cynical detective he was not a nerd. “All of them were dressed in a white dress that could be used as a wedding dress. None of them were married, and none of them were sexually assaulted.

“Each one was placed reverently in the cemetery
. That indicates a respect for the victims.”

Ray snorted.
“Respect?”

“Reverence even,” the profiler asserted.
“The bizarre aspect is the painting on the shaved pubic area. The drawings are strange. Chris, I saw you with one of these on your computer screen when we arrived. What have you found out about these drawings?”

“Well, some of them have an obvious relationship to the date of death
: Thanksgiving—a cornucopia; New Year’s—an hour glass; Groundhog Day—a hedgehog; Easter—an up-side-down cross, although it was early this year and fell in March; May Day—a maypole; Independence Day—a flag. I don’t have a clue what the others are,” she responded.

“Obviously,” continued Journey, “the dates are significant
.” He tapped the documents in front of him with the pen he held, and then chewed the end of his pen, grating Ray’s nerves. The detective let out a long impatient sigh.

Journey looked up
. Ray spread his hands in question.

“Oh, sorry,” Journey said as he realized all eyes were on him.
“Holidays?” The word sounded like a question.

“
I had that thought, too,” said Ray. “What holiday is celebrated on August 1
st
?
”

“Ask Jeeves,” quipped Baker.

“What?”
asked Ray.

“My kids use the computer to find answers like that
,” replied Baker. “Go to askjeeves.com and type in your question.”

Ray jumped from his chair and ran to his computer
. He was redirected to ask.com. He zipped back across the hall fifteen minutes later with a printout. “
Fooyay
! August 1
st
is called Lammas. It’s a Wiccan sabbat as are all the others we didn’t know. February 2
nd
and May 1
st
are also Wiccan sabbats, Imbolc and Beltane. We have the spring and fall equinoxes and the summer and winter solstices. I would never have realized the significance of these dates.” The detective gripped the papers and shook them slightly as he looked around the room. “December 15
th
is Yule. It’s the pagan holiday for which the Catholic Church more or less established Christmas so pagans would convert.”

“Great
!” Journey’s cry sounded like a cheer. “Now we have something to work with. Some of the other dates are significant, too. April 15
th
is tax day.” He snorted slightly. “Warped sense of humor to take the little rich girl on tax day, and September 1
st
was Labor Day this year as well as Easter falling on March 23
rd
. You’ve got a real sicko on your hands, Ray.” He leaned back and steepled his fingers, putting the tips of his index fingers to his lips. “I’m going to say the first part because it’s the norm. Your killer is
probably
a white male between twenty-five and forty-five. That’s the profile of most serial killers, but it is
not
written in stone.”

The agent leaned forward onto his elbows resting on his thighs.
“Your guy is way above average intelligence, probably well educated. He’s very religious and was most likely raised Catholic. Somewhere along the line he became disillusioned with the church and explored alternative religion. He apparently appreciates Wiccan beliefs and probably dabbles in the occult—maybe
more
than dabbles. He’s very patriotic. There’s a good chance he’s former military.” He lowered his hands. “I say that because of the choice of weapons on his accomplices, a garrote and an ice pick, as well as a high-powered hand gun on the drug dealer. Has the slug been traced to any particular gun?”

Baker shook his head negatively.

Journey pushed against his thighs, bringing himself up straight. “He’s very strong. He has moved bodies alone and delivered a death blow with one lick. And he’s charismatic. He can get these men to help him.” Journey’s thin eyebrows disappeared behind his glasses as he thought. “Hmmm?”

“What does ‘hmmm’ mean?’” asked Ray.

“I had a fleeting thought this case could involve a woman.”

“Why?”
Ray asked, pinching his temples with a finger and thumb.
No headache, please.

“Well, to get these men to follow…”
Journey began.

“The promise of drugs, healing,” Ray argued.

“Could be, but let’s not rule out a woman as unusual as that is. Remember that there was no sexual assault. Whatever is going on here, it’s not about power. Rape is about power. The way the bodies were treated after death shows great respect, even admiration, for the female victims. On the other hand, your killer hates men. Their corpses were treated with disdain.” Journey sat up very straight. “The lack of sexual assault could indicate a woman or a homosexual or somebody that just can’t get it up. Too, Wicca is what modern day witches are called. It’s a recognized religion and actually celebrates Nature. However, most of the people I’ve met that really hold to Wiccan beliefs are female.” He held up one hand to preclude Ray’s argument. “There are some men, but it really seems to appeal to women, maybe because they see Nature as a goddess. Nonetheless, the killings of the women are ritualistic, a religious sacrifice. So, this person has totally perverted
all
the religions involved. Your killer is a Wiccan wannabe because if he or
she
really was serious about the craft, he or she wouldn’t be killing anybody.” He let out a low whistle.

“My biggest dilemma is determining how the female victims were chosen.
” He scratched his head. “All the males had a need or illness that could be used and manipulated. The promise of healing or a home, as you said, Ray, is a big incentive. Your killer chose men that society holds in low esteem, men nobody would miss.”

Journey scrunched his face in thought. He reached into his coat pocket
, pulled out a black ponytail holder, and gathered his long hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Okay. So he’s brilliant.
Ray raised an eyebrow. “What else is on your mind, Steve?”

“I’m thinking.
” He rubbed his hand across his lips several times. “There’s some correlation in having suffered or sacrificed something. Several of the women worked in a service-related capacity. Look here.”

The profiler pointed to several names. “The first woman must have suffered greatly after the car accident that left her scarred. The nun’s heart must have been broken after being jilted at the altar.”

He wagged his head. “The Waters woman sacrificed for her country. The social worker helped people. Even your latest victim, the missing woman, had a really rough childhood, and she’s a teacher, which is service oriented.” He emitted a low growl. “Damn! It’s so disconnected.”

Ray grunted, “That’s what I’ve been saying for months.”

Journey shrugged. “Your notes indicate some of the women weren’t very hospitable, like your reporter. I don’t know, Ray.” The profiler grimaced. “The good news is that your Larkin Sloan has until Halloween.” He closed the file with authority. “That’s the biggest Wiccan holiday of all. It’s the Celtic New Year. If this has some link to the occult, your killer might have figured she has a gift that might make connecting with the spirit world more profound.”

“She sings,” Ray said. “But I couldn’t find a ‘talent’ for any of the others.”

“Not that kind of gift,” Journey clarified. “Something that would make her ‘spiritually’ special. Wiccans believe this holiday coming up is when the veil between this world and the other world is thin. Your missing woman has until Halloween.”

“
Eleven days,” mused Ray. “God, I hope we find her before that, and I have a good idea who the other male victim will be.” He looked at Chris again. She gave him an encouraging nod.

He nodded back and said, “Gentlemen, I have another unbelievable story to tell you.”

16

The Man in the Mirror

L
arki
n
stretched and yawned as her eyes opened slowly. She actually felt rested. Looking around briefly, she realized it must be afternoon as the shadows were already long. She sat up. “Ray!”

“Huh?” he asked groggily

“Wake up!” she said frantically.

“What’s wrong?”
Blue eyes stretched open, wide awake.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Oh, my God!” Ray shouted as he looked at his watch he had taken when he went home. “How could I have slept so long?”

Larkin
calmed down. “It’s all right.” She looked at her wrist. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

Ray had run an extension cord to the basement from an outdoor outlet and attached a multi-plug to which were hooked a lamp, a coffee pot, a toaster, and a small refrigerator
. Last night he had added a small space heater for the wine cellar was quite chilly. Except for the refrigerator and the lamp, they plugged in the appliances as needed since the wiring in the building was antiquated and potentially hazardous.

Larkin chatted as she made coff
ee. “No offense, Ray, but your coffee is too strong. I’ll make it from now on. Take your meds and come butter some toast.”

Ray was already putting his pills in his mouth
. “I don’t have time to eat. I was supposed to go to Detective Reynolds this morning. It’s already past noon.”

“You’ll go after breakfast
. Sit.”

He joked, “You’ve gotten bossy without your bracelet.”

“I can be worse.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Butter the toast.” Larkin poured two bowls of Rice Krispies and cut strawberries into them. She noticed Ray obediently buttering the toast.

She touched
his shoulder. “Everything will be all right. After we eat, you’ll go to the police just like we discussed. I promise I’ll be right here when you bring Detective Reynolds back with you. We’ll tell him everything we know, and hopefully it’ll be enough for him to put the lunatic away.”

“What if he puts me away, too?” he asked quietly
. It was the first time he had voiced his fear. “I don’t want to go to jail. Or to the nuthouse.”

“I won’t let that happen
. I promise.”

“Latrice made promises, too
.” The architect’s normally steady hands shook as he buttered the toast.

Larkin took the knife from him and laid it on the
folding card table by the door. “I’m not Latrice,” she said as she slipped her arms around her strange captor. He leaned his head on her shoulder, and she could feel his body shake.

Ray whispered, “I’m scared.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Look at me.” She took his face in her hands and noticed the dark circles under his eyes again.
Stress related
. “You can do this,” she encouraged. “I believe in you. God won’t let you down in this. We prayed about it last night. You have to have faith.”

He stood up straight and nodded
. “Don’t pour milk on my cereal. I can’t eat right now. I need to go ahead and go. You really won’t leave, will you?”

She shook her head
. “As God is my witness, I’ll be right here when you get back.”

He changed into a pair of khakis, a sof
t yellow button-down shirt, and brown loafers, but he did not take time to shave, leaving himself with a heavy shadow. After a look back at Larkin for assurance, he left.

♣♣♣

The
local reporter who had grabbed the detective’s arm and finally gotten an admission of a serial killer sat in his car across the street from the police station as he did every day waiting for a break in the biggest story of his career. He had seen three strange men earlier. He glanced up from texting to his employer and wondered how he had missed Detective Reynolds leaving the building, but he was entering again. “Strange,” the man said to himself.

Ray Gautier nervously approached the dispatcher’s desk
. The chubby bottled-blonde woman looked up. He said, “I need to see Detective Reynolds.”

“Very funny,” replied the woman.

“Why is that funny?”

The woman cackled.
“I’ll play along. All the way down the hall. Turn right. Last door on the right.”

“Thank you.”
He waited a moment for the woman to buzz the door open.

♣♣♣

Raiford Gautier hea
rd voices in the room on the left, and he smelled the pizza. It was past lunch time, so it was logical people were eating. Ray heard, “Eleven days. God, I hope we find her before that, and I have a good idea who the other male victim will be.” There was a brief paused before he heard the same voice, which sounded like the voice from his dream, say, “Gentlemen, I have another unbelievable story to tell you.”

He knocked on the door frame to a room where five men and a woman sat with open pizza boxes and stacks of files
. The three men facing the open door stared at him, mouths agape. Chris Milovich glanced over her shoulder and tapped the dark haired man, who also had on a soft yellow button-down shirt and khaki pants, beside her just as the man in the doorway said, “I’m looking for Detective Reynolds.”

Detective Raiford Reynolds stood and turned around.

Raiford Gautier gripped both sides of the doorway as the room began to spin.

Detective Reynolds sprang across the room to support the other man who was on the verge of losing consciousness
. With Ray Gautier’s arm draped over his shoulder, Ray Reynolds whispered, “Everything will be fine. There’s a lot to explain, but everything will be fine.” He led the man he had been looking for all morning across the hall to his office and shut the door. Excited voices next door became muffled. Chris’s voice took charge, and the detective knew his partner had the situation under control.
She’ll offer Baker and the FBI sufficient explanation until I get back to them.

Detective Reynolds steered his charge to the chair beside his desk
. He grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator on the other side of his desk, opened it, and handed it to his mirror image. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Ray Gautier stammered, “I
…I…I have finally…gone completely…insane.”

“No, you haven’t
. I thought the same thing a week ago. Take a swig and try to stay calm. There’s much to tell. Let’s start this way. Hello, Raiford Gautier. I’m Raiford Reynolds, your twin brother.”

The look on the unsuspecting twin’s face said it all.

“Something stronger, maybe?” suggested the detective as he opened his drawer and retrieved a bottle of tequila.

“I don’t drink,” replied Ray Gautier.

“Of course…your medication. I do sometimes. Right now, I need a shot.” Detective Reynolds poured a shot into a glass he pulled from the drawer and knocked it back. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Your name and my face?”

The detective laughed. “I knew I’d like you. Sit right back and I’ll tell you a tale.” He leaned back in his chair and began a discourse.

“
Thirty years ago our birth mother, Audrey van Zandt, had a pair of twins. We were adopted by two different sets of parents who by some
ironic
stoke of fortune named us both Raiford. Are you following me so far? You did know you were adopted, didn’t you?”

Gautier nodded
. “Go on.”

“All right
. I didn’t know about you either until a few days ago. You apparently had something to do with the disappearance of Miss Larkin Sloan, although I, personally, don’t think you were acting of your own volition at the time.”

“She’s fine,” Gautier rushed to say
. “That’s why I came—to take you to her so we can figure out what to do.” He made as if to stand.

“I gathered that,” remarked Detective Reynolds
, indicating the man should stay seated with a hand wave.

Gautier ventured, “Are you going to arrest me?”

“No, I think you’re as much a victim as Larkin.”

A
sigh of relief was followed by, “I thought for certain I’d be behind bars about now.”

“Then, why did you come in person
? Why didn’t you just call? It took a great deal of courage to come in here, especially not knowing a thing about me.” Matching blue eyes connected in an unexplainable bond.

“Walter tried to tell me last night.”

“Yes, he told me. He called and told me to expect you. He’s a good friend. You can rely on him.”

“I know
.” Gautier took a long draught of water. “Well, where do we go from here? It’ll be difficult to have two Rays. Do your friends call you Ray?”

“Yes, they do
. Would you believe we both had sisters we called Ronnie? Yours was actually Rhonda and mine was Veronica. This is the anniversary of both their deaths. My sister was older and not adopted. Yours, younger and adopted, but it’s still strange. It gets stranger. We are both Delts—you at Tulane while I was at LSU. You graduated Magna Cum Laude while I barely scraped Cum Laude. I thought briefly that you might be a little smarter than I am, but then I decided not.” A smirk played about the detective’s lips. “You probably did better because you studied while I played. Now, let’s talk strange.” He leaned forward and pointed from himself to his brother. “Look at what we’re wearing.”

Ray Gautier still seemed a little confused as he stared at his reflection
. “I’ve dreamed about you, and I thought I was crazy,” he said.

“And I’ve dreamed about you
. Neither of us is crazy, but you’re right. We need to do something about our names, or it’ll be just like somebody yelling ‘Momma’ in a mall.”

Gautier found himself laughing
. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be called Raif. Raif Gautier sounds like an architect’s name, doesn’t it? It’s a little more exotic than Ray. Now that I have no family to offend, I could do that.”

“If you want, have at it,” said Ray.

“Yes, I want.” He bumped both arm rests on the chair with the palms of his hands. “From this moment on, I am Raif Gautier, architect. We still have a lot to talk about though. Our first priority is Larkin.”

“Agreed,” affirmed Ray.