report says as much.”
I couldn’t help but nod. “I thought as much. So, no one in the outside world knew about the killings in Afghanistan, beside the obvious?”
“Who knows. Guess it depends who people talk to. The press over here never got wind of it and it was contained, but it would be naive to think the locals at the time never figured out what was going on. Either way, I doubt a killer in the making is suddenly going to take on another’s MO. I’m no psychologist, but I’m sure it doesn’t work like that.”
“It’s called a copycat,” I said.
“Nah.” He sniffled. “Copycats copy famous killers for the fame and prestige. To glorify and give tribute. Why tribute something no one in the real world knows about?”
He made a good point and I had to agree. Cover bands on open mic night never play songs of the unknown. I decided it was hopeless and closed my notepad.
“Well, thanks for your time,” I said. “Miss Ryder thanks you, albeit from the other side of the country.”
The colonel nodded sluggishly and screwed his eyes a little as he thumbed up and down the file. “You say—Kendra Ryder apprehended Lee Lynch?” he said, knowingly. He had the same tone as my high school science teacher, who always asked questions with deeper interest. As if the answer was only a small part of understanding something.
“So she says,” I said as I stood.
“Hmm.” He twisted his mustache again. “Not what it says in the file. The names are carefully blacked out in the court reports. However, they remain somewhat intact for the incident report. It says the arresting agent was a Dale Huntington.”
He showed me the file and tapped his finger on the appropriate line. He was right. But that didn’t necessarily mean the file was. I saw no real reason why Ryder would lie about such a thing. Her name only appeared at the beginning of the file, which listed the intelligence that led to the arrest. I could only assume that someone else had taken the glory, and Ryder let it slide. She always looks back negatively at her career. Perhaps this was why.
The colonel rose from his chair and put his cap back on.
“I don’t suppose I can make a copy of that file?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. He placed the file on the desk. “I’ll be seeing you. I’ll send someone down to show you the way out in, oh, let’s say, two minutes.” He tipped his cap and winked and then left the room.
Within those two minutes, I managed to snap the majority of the pages with my cell phone. I had no idea what for, but I never trusted other people’s interpretation of what’s useful, and neither did Ryder. It would be something to read on the flight home anyway.
9
I was on the 5PM flight home, leaving an overcast Richmond airport as the plane ascended. There was little else to cover and I didn’t want to wait around in Virginia another night. I’d originally booked the flight for Thursday morning, but shelled out an extra couple of hundred for the privilege of being in my own bed. The expenses were on our client anyway, so the hell with it.
There was work to be done, and having phoned Ryder earlier, I was aware that she was making headway on the Cross Cutter by way of the first seven murders. No doubt the FBI had caved in to her request. They usually do. I gave her the short version of my trip and simply told her Lee Lynch had kicked the bucket four years ago, and that any link to him was either coincidence, or stretched beyond reason.
The more I thought about it, though, I was straining towards the latter, and not just because I apparently like the complex. My mind often U-turns when I’ve had a chance to consider things. I recalled Ryder’s earlier words, that the method of killing was hardly unique. I could understand what she meant by it not standing to attention, but it sounded like an excuse now. If you had witnessed something like that firsthand, no matter how long ago, there is no way you
I couldn’t help but nod. “I thought as much. So, no one in the outside world knew about the killings in Afghanistan, beside the obvious?”
“Who knows. Guess it depends who people talk to. The press over here never got wind of it and it was contained, but it would be naive to think the locals at the time never figured out what was going on. Either way, I doubt a killer in the making is suddenly going to take on another’s MO. I’m no psychologist, but I’m sure it doesn’t work like that.”
“It’s called a copycat,” I said.
“Nah.” He sniffled. “Copycats copy famous killers for the fame and prestige. To glorify and give tribute. Why tribute something no one in the real world knows about?”
He made a good point and I had to agree. Cover bands on open mic night never play songs of the unknown. I decided it was hopeless and closed my notepad.
“Well, thanks for your time,” I said. “Miss Ryder thanks you, albeit from the other side of the country.”
The colonel nodded sluggishly and screwed his eyes a little as he thumbed up and down the file. “You say—Kendra Ryder apprehended Lee Lynch?” he said, knowingly. He had the same tone as my high school science teacher, who always asked questions with deeper interest. As if the answer was only a small part of understanding something.
“So she says,” I said as I stood.
“Hmm.” He twisted his mustache again. “Not what it says in the file. The names are carefully blacked out in the court reports. However, they remain somewhat intact for the incident report. It says the arresting agent was a Dale Huntington.”
He showed me the file and tapped his finger on the appropriate line. He was right. But that didn’t necessarily mean the file was. I saw no real reason why Ryder would lie about such a thing. Her name only appeared at the beginning of the file, which listed the intelligence that led to the arrest. I could only assume that someone else had taken the glory, and Ryder let it slide. She always looks back negatively at her career. Perhaps this was why.
The colonel rose from his chair and put his cap back on.
“I don’t suppose I can make a copy of that file?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. He placed the file on the desk. “I’ll be seeing you. I’ll send someone down to show you the way out in, oh, let’s say, two minutes.” He tipped his cap and winked and then left the room.
Within those two minutes, I managed to snap the majority of the pages with my cell phone. I had no idea what for, but I never trusted other people’s interpretation of what’s useful, and neither did Ryder. It would be something to read on the flight home anyway.
9
I was on the 5PM flight home, leaving an overcast Richmond airport as the plane ascended. There was little else to cover and I didn’t want to wait around in Virginia another night. I’d originally booked the flight for Thursday morning, but shelled out an extra couple of hundred for the privilege of being in my own bed. The expenses were on our client anyway, so the hell with it.
There was work to be done, and having phoned Ryder earlier, I was aware that she was making headway on the Cross Cutter by way of the first seven murders. No doubt the FBI had caved in to her request. They usually do. I gave her the short version of my trip and simply told her Lee Lynch had kicked the bucket four years ago, and that any link to him was either coincidence, or stretched beyond reason.
The more I thought about it, though, I was straining towards the latter, and not just because I apparently like the complex. My mind often U-turns when I’ve had a chance to consider things. I recalled Ryder’s earlier words, that the method of killing was hardly unique. I could understand what she meant by it not standing to attention, but it sounded like an excuse now. If you had witnessed something like that firsthand, no matter how long ago, there is no way you
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