Forbidden (Southern Comfort) (23 page)

“Copeland.”  Clay could feel the heat of embarrassment steam out of his pores.  “Oh, hey Tate.  No, you’re not interrupting anything all that important.  You found my badge under your bed?”  Shit, it must have fallen out of his pocket.  He did a quick pat, came up empty.  “Oh no, that’s okay sugar.  I think I can get by without it.  Luckily the officers I’m working with already know that I’m legit.  But thank you.  I’ll pick it up tonight.” 

He sent a quick glance in Kim’s direction, noted that she was watching him with unabashed glee.  “Uh-huh.  Tell Max that McDonald’s is fine, if he really has his heart set on it.  But if you can talk him into it, see if you might steer him in a different direction.  Something with more emphasis on the ‘food’, as opposed to the ‘fast.’  I’m not sure my stomach can take another greasy hamburger…  I know.  It’s my own fault for trying to outguess your cousin.  I’ve learned never to trust an Irishman when it comes to whiskey or women.” 

He chuckled, a sound full of private meaning.  “Uh-huh, I guess you’re right.  I’ll have to thank him the next time I see him.  Take care, sugar, and tell Max I’ll see him later.”

He hung up, rather slowly, making a production out of
pocketing his phone.  The longer he could draw out that simple task, the closer they got to the station.  And the closer they got to the station, the less time Kim had to grill him.   

When it became glaringly obvious what he was doing, Kim shocked the hell out of him by laying a hand on his arm.  “Whatever it is, I think it’s wonderful.” 

Luckily, he didn’t have time to respond to that, because they’d arrived at the Bentonville sheriff’s. 

“
IT
could be him.”

Clay leaned back in his chair, studying the image
of the muscle-bound asshole beating the life out of a teenage girl.  The balaclava hood he wore made facial recognition impossible, but the body was certainly similar to the man he’d seen at the carnival, and the behavioral profile fit.

Something had gotten away from his control during the assault, and he’d lashed out in blind fury.  In the case of the girl on the screen, it was h
is own body that had defied him. With the victim they’d found in the woods it was the girl herself.  Regardless, the man’s obsessive need for control mixed with the predictable effects of the steroids served to form a potent combination which had turned deadly.

“Are you sure?” Sheriff Callahan asked from the edge of his desk.  

“With his face covered that way, it’s impossible to make a positive ID.  You know that.”  Clay swiveled his chair toward the sheriff.  Kim was seated in a chair to his right, and Deputies Jones and Harding stood behind him.  Blinds closed tight against the sunlight, the only thing that stirred the air was an uncomfortable silence, as each of them processed the horror they’d seen.  “But I
can
say, with absolute conviction, that the man who we just watched on this tape is more than capable of killing our second vic, and also of taking Casey Rodriguez.  This is a business for him, but make no mistake, he likes doing things to the girls.  He’s what we call a power reassurance rapist, and hurting them isn’t his usual agenda.  Both from a financial standpoint – it’s not good business to kill the merchandise – and regarding his psycho-sexual needs.”

Clay looked around
to make sure everyone was following.  “In other words, he’s not a sadist, nor could we classify him as a serial killer, despite the fact that we suspect he’s killed at least twice.  But he got no satisfaction from the killings. He probably views them as unfortunate accidents, and may even feel some remorse. But whatever remorse he feels is tempered by his justification that the girls somehow brought it on themselves.  He can’t admit to his own culpability, because that would mean that he wasn’t in control.  The control issues he’s dealing with are long-standing, and probably derive from a power struggle in childhood.”

“The classic garden variety psycho excuse: don’t blame me, blame my mother?”  Deputy Jones’ dark features twisted, his disgust more than apparent.

“In this case, I wouldn’t be so sure it was his mother,” Clay clarified, “because he doesn’t appear to exhibit hatred toward women.”

Jones looked incredulous.  “He beat the shit out of those girls, for God’s sake.”

“What Agent Copeland means,” Kim interjected, “is that his behavior indicates no deep-seated need to punish women.  Both times he killed, it was because the
situation
was beyond his control.  We also have reason to believe that he treats his victims in what could be called a courteous manner.  I know.” She held up a hand, warding off the protests before they could get started.  “That sounds crazy.  But what I mean is that the power reassurance rapist often treats his victims as if they were dating, as if they really like what he’s doing. He’s convinced himself the rape is consensual.  It gives him control over the outcome of the ‘relationship’ he’s constructed in his mind.”

She looked at Clay, who picked up the conversational baton.

“When we see this type of rape, it suggests that the perpetrator lacks control in his everyday life.  He can’t sustain a normal male/female relationship, most likely due to an image crisis suffered as the result of an overbearing parent, and some factor that leads to social awkwardness or unacceptability.”

“But this guy was, you know, attractive,” Jones pointed out, grimacing slightly when everyone looked at him.  He glanced wi
th some discomfort toward Kim. “Ms. Hennessey’s words, not mine.”

“Despite the fact that the man isn’t
obviously outwardly unattractive – we have both Agent Copeland’s observations and the composite Ms. Hennessey helped with to back that up –
something
sets him apart from others.  Something that he hides, that brings him shame and insecurity, and that he makes up for by exerting control over these young women.  That’s why we also believe that his business partner is dominant.  It partially explains his continuing need for reassurance.”

“So how does that help us?”  Deputy Harding wanted to know.  Clay flicked his eyes toward where the man was leaning against a file cabinet, and met his blue-eyed gaze.  “I mean it’s great that we understand that, but how does that help us catch him?”

“It helps, because if we can figure out what sets him apart, we’ll have a better idea of how to find him.”  Clay flipped through his mental files for a pertinent example.  “We once hypothesized that a serial killer we were profiling suffered from a speech impediment, and when that got out it made him that much easier to identify.  We just keep narrowing the focus on these guys, getting more specific, and then eventually when you ask around you can say: ‘
hey, have you seen anybody around who’s kind of a loner, not well-groomed, drives a van and has a speech impediment?
Well then, that’s when the neighbors start to say ‘
hey, that sounds like John down the street.’
”

Of course it wasn’t
that easy.  It was never that easy.

“Understood.”  Deputy Harding nodded at Clay.  He looked like he slept, standing upright, in a vacuum.  Nobody should wake up that perfect.  “Do you have any theories on what it is that makes him different?”

Clay gave Harding points because he was unafraid to ask the right questions.  And unlike other officers he’d worked with, wasn’t skeptical about the answers.  “Well, aside from his obvious physical attributes, I noticed something the other day that bothered me.  It was hotter than hell at that carnival, but our boy wore a long sleeved shirt and jeans.  Now, usually when people go to all that trouble to build their bodies, they’re inclined to show them off.  But this guy kept himself covered, which led me to notice him and wonder why.  After looking at this video, I think I’m starting to have an idea.”

They all turned to the TV screen, where a slightly grainy image of the masked man was frozen.  Harding looked for identifying features which might have given the man away, thereby leading him to wish to conceal them. “No tattoos or easily identifiable markings.”

“That’s what I wondered about at first,” Clay admitted.  “But then I got to thinking about his behavior that day, and both times I observed him he was avoiding the sun.”

“Not surprising,” Sheriff Callahan said.  “Since it was so hot.”

“Yes,” Clay agreed.  “But it went beyond that.  I’m thinking he stayed out of the sun so he wouldn’t burn.”  He thought of the man on the beach the day he’d met Tate, the fair skinned man under the umbrella.  The one who’d sparked their debate about sun protection.  He reached over and pointed at the screen.  “What do you notice about him here?  Look at him in comparison to the girl.”

“
You mean aside from the fact that he’s built like a tank?” Jones commented, then tilted his head as he studied the screen. “He’s pretty pasty, even for a white dude. But maybe this was filmed during the winter.”

“No,” Kim countered, shifting in her chair to address
the deputy.  “The girl in this clip went missing last August.  Her body wasn’t found until this past spring, but by then she’d been dead for almost nine months.”

Clay nodded, because that simply backed up his speculation.  “Janie Collier went missing during the middle of the day – that service station attendant placed her in the back of his car mid-afternoon – and when I observed him at the carnival it was early evening.  But he had been there all day. Lola Rodriguez said she served him a funnel cake around lunchtime. Meaning that he’s out and about doing his scouting in the daytime, probably because his prey will have usually gone to ground at night.  Unless they’re real street walkers, and that’s not the type he wants.  He wants girls who have at least an air of innocence, for his own need and for the clients’.  It feeds the pedophiles’ fantasies, and makes him feel better about his own. So my guess is that’s his usual pattern.  And if his usual pattern is to be outside,
but he’s avoiding the sun so assiduously, he probably has to have a good reason.”

“Do you think he’s allergic to sunlight?” Josh asked.

“Good question,” Clay admitted.  And one that he had considered.  “But I don’t think it’s that extreme.  People with sun allergies usually can’t risk even the kind of exposure I saw him getting.  I think it’s a little more mundane, but probably equally uncommon.”

He waited
to see who’d arrive at it first.

“He’s an albino,” Kim concluded.  “How
very Da Vinci Code.”

“Well, that would certainly set him apart.” Callahan shook his head.  “And explain his feelings of inadequacy, because kids were almost certain to have teased him about
that.
”

Clay agreed with the sheriff’s assessment. “It explains his motivation, so to speak, and was probably a bone of contention with his parents.  I’m theorizing, in this case, that his problem stemmed from his father, who probably didn’t deal well with the fact that his son was somewhat of a freak. Almost like some men overreact when their boy shows an inclination toward effeminate behavior or another
so-called undesirable characteristic.  If the son is a reflection of the father, some men can’t handle that kind of ego blow, so they take their frustration and disappointment out on the kid.  That could explain the excessive weightlifting, which was either forced upon junior as a means of making him into an acceptable man, or was his own attempt to garner his father’s favor.”

“Not to sound like a broken record,” Josh interjected, “but how does that assist the investigation?”

Again, Clay turned to address Harding.  “If my speculation is correct, our offender’s condition should still be something of a sore point.  He covers it up with disguises out of a necessity to blend into a crowd, but at the same time he resents the disguises because they remind him that he’s somehow inadequate.  It would bring up the hurt and rage he felt over his father’s disapproval, and he’d feel the periodic need to rebel.  And by rebelling, I mean that there will be times when he goes into the public eye au natural.  When he does, his hostility will be right under the surface, like he’s almost daring anyone to make a comment.  It’s his way of asserting control, of thumbing his nose at his father, and reassuring himself that he’s not really a freak.  Of course, he’s likely to encounter some curiosity or negative attention during these outings, which is really defeating his purpose.  One, because that only serves to reinforce his subconscious fear that he’s totally different from others; and two, because people are much more likely to remember a huge albino than a dark-skinned, attractive weightlifter.”

“And when he encounters that curiosity,” Josh surmised, “he’s likely to react with hostility.  Which would make him even more memorable to whoever saw him.”

“Exactly.”  Clay began to feel a grudging respect for Harding.  The man was a good cop.

“I should do another composite,” he told Clay.  “One that depicts our guy with his albino coloration.  We can distribute the two together, and might be able to generate even more leads.”

“We’re talking about a pretty large area of distribution,” Sheriff Callahan said.  He slid off his desk to stroll over toward the map of Charleston and its surrounding counties which they’d taped to the wall of the office.  Multicolored pins stuck out from various locations, indicating girls whose disappearances they were questioning.  “Hit the lights, will you, Harding?”