Insidious
Page 25
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Daniel said, “We know this guy is into control. He thinks, he plans, he acts carefully, always nearly the same. Is he playing out a fantasy? Again and again?”
Jagger, Van Nuys, said, “What do you think, Montoya, he’s killing the same person over and over again, maybe someone he once knew and now hates?”
Corinne sat forward, chin on her clasped hands. “Or maybe he’s terrorizing someone in his own life with these murders, using the murders to threaten someone, to control them. I thought of that after I read the FBI profile.”
One of Chief Crowder’s reps said, voice tentative, “Maybe the guy got turned down by one of the actresses, killed her, and turned it into a blood sport.”
Glen Hoffman, North Hollywood, said, “Or maybe the guy’s so crazy he doesn’t know why he’s doing any of it. Doesn’t know why he takes the laptops and cell phones. God tells him to take them and stash them in a locker at a train station.”
Cam waited, but the room remained quiet. “Let’s step back for a second. The Serial has those laptops and cell phones, for whatever reason. He’s been smart enough not to use the cell phones, so we can’t track by GPS. So what do we have left to work with?”
18
* * *
She paused, let the question sink in. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the podium. She didn’t need the microphone. She had her mom’s voice, it could carry from Malibu to the freeway. “There’s a good hundred years of experience sitting in this room, well versed in every violent thing one person can do to another, with every motive imaginable. So use it, people.”
Frank Alworth, North Hollywood, said, “One motive we can discount is robbery. Heather Burnside owned a very expensive Rolex watch. The Serial could have taken it, but he didn’t.”
His partner, Glen Hoffman, said, “We didn’t think he’d be that stupid, but we checked the local pawnshops, fences, wherever the Serial might have sold the laptops and cell phones. We got nothing. Same with the rest of you. We also tagged Heather Burnside’s bank accounts and credit cards, but there’s been nothing there, either.”
Allard Hayes from San Dimas said, “We all have our theories, but I think there’s something we’re missing, something that’s driving this guy that we haven’t nailed. The talk about his fantasies, it just doesn’t ring true for me, not any longer.”
“Me, either,” said Jagger from Van Nuys. “He might be crazy, but he’s still got a reason for picking out and killing these young actresses.”
Cam realized Detective Alworth out of North Hollywood was holding back. He was older, and he was smart, the alpha dog in this group. She said, “Detective Alworth, what do you think?”
Frank was aware all eyes were on him. He said slowly, “If you know the why, you will find the who. If you don’t know the why, you’ve got to look elsewhere. How is the Serial finding and picking out these women? It’s unlikely he knew them all. He breaks in, they don’t let him in. And if he’s contacted them all beforehand somehow, he’s done a good job disguising himself on their emails, their fan pages. We haven’t heard any of them felt threatened, as far as we know. So how, Morley? Tell us how.”
He looked over at Jagger, sitting slouched back in his chair, looking bored as a lizard on a sunny rook, making it obvious he didn’t hold out any hope that the blonde from Washington could move anything forward.
Cam waited. She saw him shoot Alworth a don’t-you-force-me-to-play-with-this-girl-from-Washington look, but Alworth didn’t let him off the hook. “Come on, Morley, can you help us out or not?”
At that, Cam saw a growing spark of interest in Jagger’s eyes. He sat forward, clasped his big hands in front of him on the table. “I got to thinking about a murder case I was on fifteen years ago. A corporate lawyer was shot in the head at close range, and the only thing stolen was his computer, big old honker, like all of them were back in the day. We finally tracked down a land developer under a layer of fake corporations and proved he was the killer. The motive? The vic was no saint—he was blackmailing the killer, had him nailed for big-time land fraud. The proof was on the computer.”
Daniel said, “So you think all five victims had something on their computers? Some sort of file that existed only there? And he followed Molly Harbinger all the way to Las Vegas to get it?” He paused a moment, shook his head, looked around the room. “I think that sounds too cerebral, too easy. I think these killings are personal.”
Hoffman, Van Nuys, said, “The motive is personal, with five different actresses? There was nobody who dated all of them. But I don’t think it’s random, either. Maybe it’s personal to him in some other way, and that opens up a whole other can of possibilities.”
Cam nodded. “It’s still possible they all knew one specific person we haven’t found yet. Their families, friends, agents, showbiz contacts—someone might know if any of them kept things on their laptops or cell phones that isn’t easily found elsewhere.”
Frank Alworth clasped his hands, sat forward. “I think the chance of there being some sort of magical tie-in with a single guy’s name on all the laptops and tablets, not to mention the cell phones, is off-the-planet unlikely. Agent Wittier, I think we need to dial that idea back. I’m thinking we’ve got ourselves a sicko Serial, with no fancy motive except a hard-on for pretty actresses. Maybe he dated one of them once, got dumped, and is killing them off as payback to the lot of them. Maybe we’re talking a garden-variety fruitcake here.” He shrugged.
“Detective Montoya believes the Serial is obsessed, with control,” Cam said. “I agree with that. He certainly showed how important it is to him in Las Vegas this past Saturday night. After he killed Molly Harbinger, he chased a burglar from the house, but he still went back and took her laptop and cell phone with him anyway.”
Corinne said, “Maybe our best shot at getting him right now is to find that eyewitness in Las Vegas. You know, people, Serials aren’t Einsteins. So far I’d say our guy has just lucked out.”
Cam nodded to Corinne. “Agent Poker and the Las Vegas police are using all their resources, scouring the area for him, but so far no luck.
“I know that all of you hate it that five young lives have wantonly been snuffed out, that all of you want to catch this monster as much as I do. I know each of you is involved up to your eyeballs in your own cases, but now you’re going to be part of all of them, because there’s only one case now—our case.
Jagger, Van Nuys, said, “What do you think, Montoya, he’s killing the same person over and over again, maybe someone he once knew and now hates?”
Corinne sat forward, chin on her clasped hands. “Or maybe he’s terrorizing someone in his own life with these murders, using the murders to threaten someone, to control them. I thought of that after I read the FBI profile.”
One of Chief Crowder’s reps said, voice tentative, “Maybe the guy got turned down by one of the actresses, killed her, and turned it into a blood sport.”
Glen Hoffman, North Hollywood, said, “Or maybe the guy’s so crazy he doesn’t know why he’s doing any of it. Doesn’t know why he takes the laptops and cell phones. God tells him to take them and stash them in a locker at a train station.”
Cam waited, but the room remained quiet. “Let’s step back for a second. The Serial has those laptops and cell phones, for whatever reason. He’s been smart enough not to use the cell phones, so we can’t track by GPS. So what do we have left to work with?”
18
* * *
She paused, let the question sink in. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the podium. She didn’t need the microphone. She had her mom’s voice, it could carry from Malibu to the freeway. “There’s a good hundred years of experience sitting in this room, well versed in every violent thing one person can do to another, with every motive imaginable. So use it, people.”
Frank Alworth, North Hollywood, said, “One motive we can discount is robbery. Heather Burnside owned a very expensive Rolex watch. The Serial could have taken it, but he didn’t.”
His partner, Glen Hoffman, said, “We didn’t think he’d be that stupid, but we checked the local pawnshops, fences, wherever the Serial might have sold the laptops and cell phones. We got nothing. Same with the rest of you. We also tagged Heather Burnside’s bank accounts and credit cards, but there’s been nothing there, either.”
Allard Hayes from San Dimas said, “We all have our theories, but I think there’s something we’re missing, something that’s driving this guy that we haven’t nailed. The talk about his fantasies, it just doesn’t ring true for me, not any longer.”
“Me, either,” said Jagger from Van Nuys. “He might be crazy, but he’s still got a reason for picking out and killing these young actresses.”
Cam realized Detective Alworth out of North Hollywood was holding back. He was older, and he was smart, the alpha dog in this group. She said, “Detective Alworth, what do you think?”
Frank was aware all eyes were on him. He said slowly, “If you know the why, you will find the who. If you don’t know the why, you’ve got to look elsewhere. How is the Serial finding and picking out these women? It’s unlikely he knew them all. He breaks in, they don’t let him in. And if he’s contacted them all beforehand somehow, he’s done a good job disguising himself on their emails, their fan pages. We haven’t heard any of them felt threatened, as far as we know. So how, Morley? Tell us how.”
He looked over at Jagger, sitting slouched back in his chair, looking bored as a lizard on a sunny rook, making it obvious he didn’t hold out any hope that the blonde from Washington could move anything forward.
Cam waited. She saw him shoot Alworth a don’t-you-force-me-to-play-with-this-girl-from-Washington look, but Alworth didn’t let him off the hook. “Come on, Morley, can you help us out or not?”
At that, Cam saw a growing spark of interest in Jagger’s eyes. He sat forward, clasped his big hands in front of him on the table. “I got to thinking about a murder case I was on fifteen years ago. A corporate lawyer was shot in the head at close range, and the only thing stolen was his computer, big old honker, like all of them were back in the day. We finally tracked down a land developer under a layer of fake corporations and proved he was the killer. The motive? The vic was no saint—he was blackmailing the killer, had him nailed for big-time land fraud. The proof was on the computer.”
Daniel said, “So you think all five victims had something on their computers? Some sort of file that existed only there? And he followed Molly Harbinger all the way to Las Vegas to get it?” He paused a moment, shook his head, looked around the room. “I think that sounds too cerebral, too easy. I think these killings are personal.”
Hoffman, Van Nuys, said, “The motive is personal, with five different actresses? There was nobody who dated all of them. But I don’t think it’s random, either. Maybe it’s personal to him in some other way, and that opens up a whole other can of possibilities.”
Cam nodded. “It’s still possible they all knew one specific person we haven’t found yet. Their families, friends, agents, showbiz contacts—someone might know if any of them kept things on their laptops or cell phones that isn’t easily found elsewhere.”
Frank Alworth clasped his hands, sat forward. “I think the chance of there being some sort of magical tie-in with a single guy’s name on all the laptops and tablets, not to mention the cell phones, is off-the-planet unlikely. Agent Wittier, I think we need to dial that idea back. I’m thinking we’ve got ourselves a sicko Serial, with no fancy motive except a hard-on for pretty actresses. Maybe he dated one of them once, got dumped, and is killing them off as payback to the lot of them. Maybe we’re talking a garden-variety fruitcake here.” He shrugged.
“Detective Montoya believes the Serial is obsessed, with control,” Cam said. “I agree with that. He certainly showed how important it is to him in Las Vegas this past Saturday night. After he killed Molly Harbinger, he chased a burglar from the house, but he still went back and took her laptop and cell phone with him anyway.”
Corinne said, “Maybe our best shot at getting him right now is to find that eyewitness in Las Vegas. You know, people, Serials aren’t Einsteins. So far I’d say our guy has just lucked out.”
Cam nodded to Corinne. “Agent Poker and the Las Vegas police are using all their resources, scouring the area for him, but so far no luck.
“I know that all of you hate it that five young lives have wantonly been snuffed out, that all of you want to catch this monster as much as I do. I know each of you is involved up to your eyeballs in your own cases, but now you’re going to be part of all of them, because there’s only one case now—our case.
