have to get back to work. You just call in if she shows up.”
Randy nods. “I will. This time I will.”
Graham walks back to his office. There’s a little boy inside his brother-in-law. A kid that never grew up, that fears loud noises, shadows on the be droom walls, and his own sister.
He wonders about that. He never understood what went on in the Jackson household that produced two children with very different temperaments--one timid, the other strong--but both manifesting mental illness.
Chapter Eight
Sunday, 4 pm
Graham stands in front of the white board, where he and Carter have written down the names and ages of the victims, the physical location of the bodies, the approximate times of death and the dates of discovery. They jotted down any possible connection one victim may have had with another. His brother Lance and Steven Forrester were friends. Farb and Baker were lovers. Cowen and Howe were co-workers. That leaves two single victims with no apparent connection to any of the others and Iverson. And despite an impressive number of man hours put into investigating each murder, no deeper connections were discovered.
Graham stares at the board, trying to pick up on a pattern of behavior. He’s done exactly this many times over the years with no success. Something, the identifying marker of their serial killer, is not on their board, not in their files, not a blip on their internal radar. But it’s close. If Graham could see past what they do know, and into the scheming mind of evil, they would have their man.
So he picks through facts, turning them over and inside-out, tossing aside theories that haven’t worked.
More victims appear in summer than any other season, but by less than ten percent.
Negligible, Graham thinks.
The years between murders are never constant and the commencement of the crimes don’t bare a signature. They are not triggered by holidays, by natural disasters, or dates in infamy.
Graham considered the manner of discovery and for a while that held promise. It was always a family member of one of the victims who found the bodies. For a while, Graham wondered if the killer was seeking to punish the ones left to live. But it didn’t wash. Serving an adulterer to his wife, in a skewed sense, would validate her feelings of betrayal.
Al Farb, who owned the Two Pence Diner and was murdered in 2006, had an affair with Melody Baker. Farb’s body was found, at the diner after closing, by Farb’s wife. Cowen was found by her sister, aged thirteen. Lance and Steven were discovered by Natalie Forrester, who was barely eight years old.
That’s where the theory of justice served cold took a nose dive. Children, made to bear witness to horror, are as damaged as the bodies left behind.
He thinks there’s more to be found in the choices the killer made. Why these victims? Why these two together ?
“Motive,” Graham says, hands on hips. He stretches his neck to relieve some tension. “That’s what’s missing. Not what drives him to kill, but what drives him to kill these victims.”
“Convenience,” Carter says .
“No. I don’t believe that.” Not anymore. The department worked that theory for years and it brought them no closer to the killer than where they stood that first day, on the bluffs over Deep Bay, beside his brother’s lifeless body.
“We beat that into the ground,” Graham says. “There’s no life in it.” He picks up a marker and writes ‘ adultery’ next to the names of Farb and Baker. “It’s rooted in the individual
victim .”
Graham understands how the detectives connected the dots and came up with easy-access as the common denominator between the victims. There was just enough there , like the sticky strands of a spider’s web, to snare their attention. A middle-aged tourist who lingered past season; two young women; two little boys.
Access to victims seemed plausible in the early stages of the investigation, but the more he
Randy nods. “I will. This time I will.”
Graham walks back to his office. There’s a little boy inside his brother-in-law. A kid that never grew up, that fears loud noises, shadows on the be droom walls, and his own sister.
He wonders about that. He never understood what went on in the Jackson household that produced two children with very different temperaments--one timid, the other strong--but both manifesting mental illness.
Chapter Eight
Sunday, 4 pm
Graham stands in front of the white board, where he and Carter have written down the names and ages of the victims, the physical location of the bodies, the approximate times of death and the dates of discovery. They jotted down any possible connection one victim may have had with another. His brother Lance and Steven Forrester were friends. Farb and Baker were lovers. Cowen and Howe were co-workers. That leaves two single victims with no apparent connection to any of the others and Iverson. And despite an impressive number of man hours put into investigating each murder, no deeper connections were discovered.
Graham stares at the board, trying to pick up on a pattern of behavior. He’s done exactly this many times over the years with no success. Something, the identifying marker of their serial killer, is not on their board, not in their files, not a blip on their internal radar. But it’s close. If Graham could see past what they do know, and into the scheming mind of evil, they would have their man.
So he picks through facts, turning them over and inside-out, tossing aside theories that haven’t worked.
More victims appear in summer than any other season, but by less than ten percent.
Negligible, Graham thinks.
The years between murders are never constant and the commencement of the crimes don’t bare a signature. They are not triggered by holidays, by natural disasters, or dates in infamy.
Graham considered the manner of discovery and for a while that held promise. It was always a family member of one of the victims who found the bodies. For a while, Graham wondered if the killer was seeking to punish the ones left to live. But it didn’t wash. Serving an adulterer to his wife, in a skewed sense, would validate her feelings of betrayal.
Al Farb, who owned the Two Pence Diner and was murdered in 2006, had an affair with Melody Baker. Farb’s body was found, at the diner after closing, by Farb’s wife. Cowen was found by her sister, aged thirteen. Lance and Steven were discovered by Natalie Forrester, who was barely eight years old.
That’s where the theory of justice served cold took a nose dive. Children, made to bear witness to horror, are as damaged as the bodies left behind.
He thinks there’s more to be found in the choices the killer made. Why these victims? Why these two together ?
“Motive,” Graham says, hands on hips. He stretches his neck to relieve some tension. “That’s what’s missing. Not what drives him to kill, but what drives him to kill these victims.”
“Convenience,” Carter says .
“No. I don’t believe that.” Not anymore. The department worked that theory for years and it brought them no closer to the killer than where they stood that first day, on the bluffs over Deep Bay, beside his brother’s lifeless body.
“We beat that into the ground,” Graham says. “There’s no life in it.” He picks up a marker and writes ‘ adultery’ next to the names of Farb and Baker. “It’s rooted in the individual
victim .”
Graham understands how the detectives connected the dots and came up with easy-access as the common denominator between the victims. There was just enough there , like the sticky strands of a spider’s web, to snare their attention. A middle-aged tourist who lingered past season; two young women; two little boys.
Access to victims seemed plausible in the early stages of the investigation, but the more he
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