Body Count by P.D. Martin Page B

right. If he has come to D.C. for the thrill of killing under the Bureau’s nose, he’ll step things up once he knows we’re involved.
    â€œWe need to get to know Jean a little better,” I say.
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    An hour later we’ve reread the victimologies for both girls, analyzed every crime-scene photo and double-checked the coroner’s reports and all the police reports. We both sit at the table.
    â€œSo what do you think?” Sam plays with her empty wineglass.
    â€œHe hasn’t left us much.”
    â€œTime to pull a rabbit out of a hat.” Sam laughs.
    â€œThis is a science,” I say, playing along. Since its inception nearly twenty years ago, the unit has been struggling with the notion that profiling is all subjectivemumbo jumbo. It’s really a sensible combination of psychology and the profiler’s ability to walk in the killers’ and victims’ shoes. To give your mind over to them—their lives, their habits, their actions and responses.
    â€œOkay. So the second victim, Teresa Somers,” Sam says. “She was abducted in the parking lot of her apartment building. Her car keys were found on the ground and we’re assuming she struggled.”
    My mind replays my dream of a girl walking to her car, but the girl in my dream was a redhead and Teresa’s a brunette—not the same girl. I push the image aside.
    Sam puts the photo of Teresa, alive, on the top of the pile. “She was strong and fit. She put up a good fight.”
    â€œBesides the keys, anything else to indicate a struggle?”
    â€œShe was already decomposing when we found her, but the coroner noted a cracked rib.”
    â€œFrom the struggle?”
    Sam looks at the photos of Teresa’s body. “Possibly. The perp may have got more than he bargained for.”
    â€œThis guy likes a challenge. For the moment, let’s assume he’s chosen D.C. for a reason. For us. He’s pushing his ‘skills’ to the limit.” I stand up and start pacing, on a roll. “He doesn’t go for the easy targets. He chooses a woman, a professional woman, and stalks her, waiting for his opportunity. He gets to know her routine. So I think he knew Teresa worked out every day. That she’d done self-defense classes. That she was a strong woman.” I stop in front of Sam and lean closer to her. “I mean, for God’s sake, she was a high-level manager at CIBC Bank. And that’s what turned him on. She was smart, educated, self-sufficient. Yet he could still get her.”
    â€œThat would fit in with Jean, too. Professional. Hardworking. Only difference is that she was at the start of her career rather than the pinnacle.”
    â€œWell, she was five years younger.”
    â€œDid you notice they look the same age, though. Teresa was thirty-five, but she looked about thirty, thirty-one,” Sam says, selecting the two photos of our victims when they were alive.
    I look at the photos again. “Yeah. I think our guy’s in his late twenties or early thirties.”
    â€œAnd he’s been killing for a while. If he’s like most serial killers, he probably started between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, so he’s probably been killing for quite a few years.”
    â€œSo, how would Teresa have reacted?” I say out aloud, verbally going through the process I usually go through in my head.
    â€œShe would have fought. All the way. She was hard. Tough. In business and pleasure, by all accounts.”
    â€œYes, but she would also have tried to negotiate. She was a businesswoman. It’s one of the things she did best,” I say, sitting back down.
    â€œSo she was tied up to a table or something, being sliced, yet she was still trying to bring the dynamic around.” Sam keeps pacing. “The fucker would have thought it was amusing. He wouldn’t have been threatened.”
    I nod. “He’s experienced. He’s