The Maze
Page 10
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"They didn't succeed in recalling him."
"No, but it was close. You could say that the Bay Area is a fascinating place to grow up. If there's any other possible take on something, some group of locals will latch onto it."
"What does your dad think of your joining the FBI?"'
The flight attendant spoke over the PA system, telling them about their seat belts and the oxygen masks. He saw it in her eyes-the wariness, the relief that now she could concentrate on her flotation cushion instead of his questions. She was proving to be a puzzle. He very much appreciated puzzles. A good one fascinated him. He'd get her again with that question. Maybe when she was tired or distracted.
He sat back in his seat and said nothing more. Once in the air, he opened his briefcase and gave her a thick file. "I hope you read quickly. This is everything on the three different crimes. I knew you didn't have a laptop, so I had it downloaded and printed out for you. Read everything and absorb as much as you can. If you have questions, write them down and ask me later." He gently lifted his laptop onto the fold-down tray and got to work.
He waited until they were served dinner before he spoke again. "Have you finished reading everything?"
"Yes."
"You're fast. Questions? Ideas? Anything that doesn't seem kosher?"
"Yes."
This time he didn't say anything. He just chewed and waited. He watched her cut a small piece of lettuce from her salad. She didn't eat it, just played with it.
"I already knew about this man from the papers. But there's so much more here." She sounded elated, as if she'd made the insiders' club. He frowned at her. She suddenly cleared her throat, and her voice was nearly expressionless. "I can understand that he has low self-esteem, that he probably isn't very bright, that he probably works at a low-paying job, that he's a loner and doesn't relate well to people-" He waited, something he was excellent at. "I always wondered why it killed families. Families of four, exactly."
"You called him 'it.' That's interesting." She hadn't meant to. She forked down her lettuce and took her time chewing. She had to be more careful. "It was just a slip of the tongue."
"No, it wasn't, but we'll let that go for now, Sherlock. This family thing-the people in the ISU, as you've read in their profile, believe he lived on the same block as the first family he killed in Des Moines, knew them, hated them, wanted to obliterate them, which he did. However, they couldn't find anyone in the nearby area of the first murders in Des Moines to fit that description. Everyone just figured that the profile wasn't correct in this particular case. When he killed again in St. Louis, everyone was flummoxed. When I spoke to Captain Brady in Chicago, I asked him if the St. Louis police had canvassed the area for a possible suspect. They had, but they still didn't find anybody who looked promising."
"But you had already talked to the police in St. Louis, hadn't you?" "Oh yes."
"You know a lot, don't you?"
"I've thought about this case, Sherlock, thought and thought and recreated it as best I could. Unlike the cops, I firmly believe the profile is right on target."
"Even though they didn't find anyone in Des Moines or St. Louis to fit the profile?'' "Yeah, that's right."
"You're stringing me along, sir."
"Yes, but I'd like to see what you come up with. Let's just see if you're as fast with your brain as with that Lady Colt of yours."
She splayed her fingers, long slender fingers, short buffed nails. "You still kicked it out of my hand. It didn't matter."
"But you're a good catch. I wasn't expecting that move from Porter."
She grinned at him then, momentarily disarmed. "We practiced it. In another exercise, he got taken as a hostage. I threw a gun to him, but he missed it. The robber was so angry, he shot Porter. As you can imagine, we got yelled at by the instructors for winging it." She said again, still grinning, "Practice."
He said slowly, shutting down his laptop, "I got creamed once when I was a trainee at the Academy. I wish I'd learned that move. My partner, James Quinlan, was playing a bank robber in a Hogan's Alley exercise, and the FBI got the drop on him. I had to stand there and watch him get taken away. If I'd thrown him a gun, he might have had a chance. Although God knows what would have happened then." He sighed. "Quinlan turned me in under questioning. I think he expected me to break him out of lockup, and when I didn't, he sang. Although how he expected me to do it, I have no idea. Anyway, they caught me an hour later heading out of town in a stolen car, the mayor's blue Buick."
"No, but it was close. You could say that the Bay Area is a fascinating place to grow up. If there's any other possible take on something, some group of locals will latch onto it."
"What does your dad think of your joining the FBI?"'
The flight attendant spoke over the PA system, telling them about their seat belts and the oxygen masks. He saw it in her eyes-the wariness, the relief that now she could concentrate on her flotation cushion instead of his questions. She was proving to be a puzzle. He very much appreciated puzzles. A good one fascinated him. He'd get her again with that question. Maybe when she was tired or distracted.
He sat back in his seat and said nothing more. Once in the air, he opened his briefcase and gave her a thick file. "I hope you read quickly. This is everything on the three different crimes. I knew you didn't have a laptop, so I had it downloaded and printed out for you. Read everything and absorb as much as you can. If you have questions, write them down and ask me later." He gently lifted his laptop onto the fold-down tray and got to work.
He waited until they were served dinner before he spoke again. "Have you finished reading everything?"
"Yes."
"You're fast. Questions? Ideas? Anything that doesn't seem kosher?"
"Yes."
This time he didn't say anything. He just chewed and waited. He watched her cut a small piece of lettuce from her salad. She didn't eat it, just played with it.
"I already knew about this man from the papers. But there's so much more here." She sounded elated, as if she'd made the insiders' club. He frowned at her. She suddenly cleared her throat, and her voice was nearly expressionless. "I can understand that he has low self-esteem, that he probably isn't very bright, that he probably works at a low-paying job, that he's a loner and doesn't relate well to people-" He waited, something he was excellent at. "I always wondered why it killed families. Families of four, exactly."
"You called him 'it.' That's interesting." She hadn't meant to. She forked down her lettuce and took her time chewing. She had to be more careful. "It was just a slip of the tongue."
"No, it wasn't, but we'll let that go for now, Sherlock. This family thing-the people in the ISU, as you've read in their profile, believe he lived on the same block as the first family he killed in Des Moines, knew them, hated them, wanted to obliterate them, which he did. However, they couldn't find anyone in the nearby area of the first murders in Des Moines to fit that description. Everyone just figured that the profile wasn't correct in this particular case. When he killed again in St. Louis, everyone was flummoxed. When I spoke to Captain Brady in Chicago, I asked him if the St. Louis police had canvassed the area for a possible suspect. They had, but they still didn't find anybody who looked promising."
"But you had already talked to the police in St. Louis, hadn't you?" "Oh yes."
"You know a lot, don't you?"
"I've thought about this case, Sherlock, thought and thought and recreated it as best I could. Unlike the cops, I firmly believe the profile is right on target."
"Even though they didn't find anyone in Des Moines or St. Louis to fit the profile?'' "Yeah, that's right."
"You're stringing me along, sir."
"Yes, but I'd like to see what you come up with. Let's just see if you're as fast with your brain as with that Lady Colt of yours."
She splayed her fingers, long slender fingers, short buffed nails. "You still kicked it out of my hand. It didn't matter."
"But you're a good catch. I wasn't expecting that move from Porter."
She grinned at him then, momentarily disarmed. "We practiced it. In another exercise, he got taken as a hostage. I threw a gun to him, but he missed it. The robber was so angry, he shot Porter. As you can imagine, we got yelled at by the instructors for winging it." She said again, still grinning, "Practice."
He said slowly, shutting down his laptop, "I got creamed once when I was a trainee at the Academy. I wish I'd learned that move. My partner, James Quinlan, was playing a bank robber in a Hogan's Alley exercise, and the FBI got the drop on him. I had to stand there and watch him get taken away. If I'd thrown him a gun, he might have had a chance. Although God knows what would have happened then." He sighed. "Quinlan turned me in under questioning. I think he expected me to break him out of lockup, and when I didn't, he sang. Although how he expected me to do it, I have no idea. Anyway, they caught me an hour later heading out of town in a stolen car, the mayor's blue Buick."
