Book of Shadows by Alexandra Sokoloff Page B

report, and added, almost as an afterthought, “The three young men ultimately pled ‘no contest’ to the rape and murder charges and were sentenced to twenty-six years to life in prison.”
    Frazer put aside his notes, stacking them neatly. “You can see from these examples that so-called satanic murders are committed by dabblers, either ‘self-styled Satanists’—who are lone occult practitioners; usually adults; or ‘youth subculture Satanists’—teenagers involved in a group exploration with the occult. Both types of perpetrators have some foundation in satanic practices but are in actuality simply using the surface details of satanism and the occult to satisfy their own sadistic fantasies.” He glanced at Garrett. “Detective Garrett is right that the killer will in all likelihood own reading material that details rituals, specifically satanic rituals,and quite possibly ritualistic pornography; killers like these use print and other media images to fuel their fantasies. Adult serial killers overwhelmingly choose vulnerable victims such as homeless runaways and prostitutes. They troll neighborhoods frequented by these types and choose their victims opportunistically. And such a killer will often attempt to insert him or herself into the police investigation.
    “In the ‘youth subculture’ model, the behavioral pattern will include a young white male or males from a middle- or upper middle-class background with an above-average IQ, though it’s likely the killer’s grades will not be good. There will be a history of drug abuse, particularly the use of hallucinogens, and indications of cruelty to animals or animal killings. The perpetrator will have participated in satanic activity as part of a peer group rather than as a lone practitioner, and will likely choose a victim he knows personally and harbors a sexual interest in . . .”
    The psychiatrist continued, but Garrett no longer heard him. His head was buzzing; he was off in a world of his own.
    This is it. A perfect case. My ticket to anywhere.

Chapter Eight

    Morning light glimmered around the edges of the buildings outside the glass corridor as Garrett and Landauer headed back from the conference room to the detectives’ room to catch up on their reports. They were both gravel-eyed and snappish from overdoses of coffee and sleeplessness . . . but they were also in hyperdrive. They were close. So close . . . and well within that golden forty-eight-hour window, when it was most likely that a crime would be solved.
    Lack of sleep be damned, they were going to have to get back up to Amherst right away, this time with a warrant, as soon as Carolyn could get back with it, to search Jason’s room and Erin Carmody’s room and question Erin’s roommate and boyfriend and other kids in the dorm and teachers and whoever the hell they could get to talk about Erin and Jason Moncrief.
    In the work pod opposite Garrett, Landauer was positively gleeful, despite his stubble, despite the adrenaline crash, despite his bitten arm. “For once it looks like that cream puff Frazer might actually earn his keep. Didja hear all that? Satanic books, satanic music, praying to Satan to make the band successful . . . we are home free, homes. Slam-fucking-dunk,” he exulted.
    It did seem like a dream come true, a perfect solve.
    But now that they were out of the conference room Garrett was feeling alarm bells going off all over the fucking place.
    Something wasn’t right.
    The kid was seriously wrong, that was a fact. Violent
and
weird and into drugs that were off the charts even for a seasoned junkie. Opportunity and means, check. Into the occult, check. The numbers added up, and the number was 333: Current 333, to be precise, whatever the hell that was. But . . .
    But.
    Jason Moncrief might be a nutcase, but he was nineteen years old. Nineteen. For a moment Garrett recalled the look in Jason’s eyes as the guard led him away.
    A kid. A terrified kid.
    For all