Marci Evers. Twenty-eight, brunet. Worked as a paralegal in Vienna.” She pressed another button and a second slide wiped across the screen beside the one displaying the crime scene. “Here you see the statistics and facts we know about the victim. I’m going to direct you to one thing, to illustrate a point. How many of you know what MO stands for?” This was basic “Cop 101” stuff, and she knew all their hands would be raised. But she was planning to throw them a curveball, to see who could hit it.
There were forty-some-odd new agents ready to answer. Vail looked at one of the women and nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Modus operandi,” she said.
“Or method of operation, in English. Yes. Now a tougher question. Does MO ever change?”
This time there were no hands raised. They were thinking, which was good. Vail waited a moment, then gave them the answer. “Research indicates that the MO of sex offenders changes every three to four months. Why?”
Again, no hands were raised. “Okay, let’s take a look as to why it would change.”
She pulled a laser pointer from her jacket pocket and pointed it at the screen. “Everyone see this blood on Marci Evers’s cranium?” The area had been shaved and a small skin laceration was evident at the crown of her head. “Why would there be such an injury?”
“He hit her to knock her out,” a new agent said.
Vail nodded. “Good answer. You might be right.” She turned back to the screen. “Now let’s look at Dead Eyes’s second victim.” She pressed the remote and another set of slides materialized. “Noreen Galvan O’Regan. Twenty-six, brunet, licensed nurse practitioner. Worked in Fredericksburg, lived in Maryes Heights.” She pointed at the cranium. “What do we see here?” The laser was pointed at a shaved portion of Noreen’s scalp.
“Another blow to the head,” a woman in the back row remarked.
“Indeed. But this one’s larger, wouldn’t you say? The injury is more extensive. This is Dead Eyes’s MO, ladies and gentlemen. A blow to the head. But we’re still not sure why the killer did this to his victims, and we can’t explain why Noreen’s is worse than Marci’s. Let’s look further.” She changed the slide. “What’s this—anybody?” It was a close-up of Marci’s right hand, showing two broken fingernails, cuts, and bruises on the hand and forearm.
“Defensive wounds?” asked someone in the first row.
“Exactly. Defensive wounds. Let’s back up a second and take a look at Noreen’s hands.” She hit the next slide. “No broken nails. A large bruise on the right forearm. So why are there so few defensive wounds on Noreen?”
Vail clicked a few times with the mouse and located a folder containing digital pictures. After opening one of the photos, she could tell from their faces that some of them were getting it.
“This is Melanie Hoffman, his latest victim. I was at her crime scene this morning.” She clicked the mouse again and additional views of Melanie’s crime scene appeared. Vail glanced at each one, then asked the class, “What do you see?”
“The back of her head is totally caved in,” an agent said. “And there aren’t any defensive wounds.”
“Now, can we reach a conclusion as to why the offender inflicted these blows on his victims?”
“To immobilize them.” The voice came from a corner in the back of the room. It was Thomas Gifford, the Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge of Special Investigations—Vail’s boss. She had not seen him come in, but that was Gifford’s way. Stealth.
“That’s exactly right,” Vail said, playing along, unsure why Gifford was sitting in on her class. His office was in the same building as hers was, fifteen minutes down the road. “The offender used the blows to immobilize his victims. The head injuries were progressively more substantial as we go from victim one to victim three because he
There were forty-some-odd new agents ready to answer. Vail looked at one of the women and nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Modus operandi,” she said.
“Or method of operation, in English. Yes. Now a tougher question. Does MO ever change?”
This time there were no hands raised. They were thinking, which was good. Vail waited a moment, then gave them the answer. “Research indicates that the MO of sex offenders changes every three to four months. Why?”
Again, no hands were raised. “Okay, let’s take a look as to why it would change.”
She pulled a laser pointer from her jacket pocket and pointed it at the screen. “Everyone see this blood on Marci Evers’s cranium?” The area had been shaved and a small skin laceration was evident at the crown of her head. “Why would there be such an injury?”
“He hit her to knock her out,” a new agent said.
Vail nodded. “Good answer. You might be right.” She turned back to the screen. “Now let’s look at Dead Eyes’s second victim.” She pressed the remote and another set of slides materialized. “Noreen Galvan O’Regan. Twenty-six, brunet, licensed nurse practitioner. Worked in Fredericksburg, lived in Maryes Heights.” She pointed at the cranium. “What do we see here?” The laser was pointed at a shaved portion of Noreen’s scalp.
“Another blow to the head,” a woman in the back row remarked.
“Indeed. But this one’s larger, wouldn’t you say? The injury is more extensive. This is Dead Eyes’s MO, ladies and gentlemen. A blow to the head. But we’re still not sure why the killer did this to his victims, and we can’t explain why Noreen’s is worse than Marci’s. Let’s look further.” She changed the slide. “What’s this—anybody?” It was a close-up of Marci’s right hand, showing two broken fingernails, cuts, and bruises on the hand and forearm.
“Defensive wounds?” asked someone in the first row.
“Exactly. Defensive wounds. Let’s back up a second and take a look at Noreen’s hands.” She hit the next slide. “No broken nails. A large bruise on the right forearm. So why are there so few defensive wounds on Noreen?”
Vail clicked a few times with the mouse and located a folder containing digital pictures. After opening one of the photos, she could tell from their faces that some of them were getting it.
“This is Melanie Hoffman, his latest victim. I was at her crime scene this morning.” She clicked the mouse again and additional views of Melanie’s crime scene appeared. Vail glanced at each one, then asked the class, “What do you see?”
“The back of her head is totally caved in,” an agent said. “And there aren’t any defensive wounds.”
“Now, can we reach a conclusion as to why the offender inflicted these blows on his victims?”
“To immobilize them.” The voice came from a corner in the back of the room. It was Thomas Gifford, the Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge of Special Investigations—Vail’s boss. She had not seen him come in, but that was Gifford’s way. Stealth.
“That’s exactly right,” Vail said, playing along, unsure why Gifford was sitting in on her class. His office was in the same building as hers was, fifteen minutes down the road. “The offender used the blows to immobilize his victims. The head injuries were progressively more substantial as we go from victim one to victim three because he
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