Authors: M.Z. Kelly
I got a text message early the next morning from Lieutenant Oz informing me that all the members of Section One assigned to the Reaper case were to meet at FBI headquarters in downtown Los Angeles. Officially, the message had said that a joint task force was being formed to deal with the murders. Unofficially, I knew that our unit would now be playing second string to the FBI varsity.
I got Oz’s permission to include Selfie and Molly in the meeting, along with Rose Castillo, since she was a former FBI profiler and had offered her expert opinion to us. The case had now taken on layers of complexity with the apparent kidnapping of Dr. Ellen Moore and it felt like we were constantly playing catch-up.
Bernie and I met up with Joe Dawson just before nine after I pulled into the parking garage next to the FBI headquarters. My ancient Ford Escort, which I call Olive, belched and backfired when I turned off the engine. I felt like I would forever be in financial hell, recovering from bad credit because of my divorce and not being able to afford a newer car.
“I see you’re still driving in style,” Joe said, after I got Bernie from the back seat.
“I was thinking about getting a Lamborghini, but wanted something a little less ostentatious.”
“I think you nailed it.”
“What do you think Greer has planned?” I asked as we walked to the elevator.
“The usual. My team takes the ball, tries not to fumble it.” His pale eyes held on me. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you and your partner still get to play a role.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Where is Leo today?”
“He had to take one of his grandkids to school. He’ll catch up with us later.”
The meeting began twenty minutes later. The FBI side of the table included John Greer, a supervisor in their Behavioral Analysis Unit who I’d met before, along with a couple of profilers and an analyst. I wasn’t sure what the difference was between a profiler and an analyst. All I was sure about was that the agents all fit the standard conservative FBI mold in both dress and appearance.
After introductions, Captain Dembowski gave a little speech, telling us that we were now one team, with the FBI taking the lead. While he continued to ramble on about interagency cooperation, I leaned over to Joe, lowered my voice, and imitated the host of a well-known TV show. “Survivors, drop your buffs. We just merged.”
Joe smiled and whispered, “I’ll drop mine, if you drop yours.”
Agent Greer, who was in his forties, with a solid build and short dark hair peppered with gray, then took over, telling the captain and Lieutenant Oz how we wanted to proceed. “Let’s get an overview of the case from your side, then we’ll get into some analysis of the behaviors involved and discuss what we can expect next.”
Oz introduced Selfie and Molly, who had brought flash drives with crime scene photos and information. The two women spent the next hour summarizing what we knew and showing photographs of the crime scenes. Leo arrived during the discussion and we both added our thoughts, along with Darby and Buck.
When we’d finished the overview, Greer said, “Let’s get into a profile and analysis of the suspects, and then discuss what we can likely expect next.”
Joan Gray, one of the profilers, took over. She was a bit on the plain side, with dark hair and eyes, but spoke in a polished confident tone. “Let’s begin our discussion with Joshua Brown. As you’re all aware, our cold case investigators recently went back and matched some DNA taken from a victim who was found along Interstate 40 in New Mexico in 2006. Our working assumption is that Brown has been the Interstate Killer, his crimes occurring throughout the southwest and going back about a decade.”
“We’re talking about a total of thirteen victims,” her partner, Kevin Nance, told us. The profiler was about the same age as Gray, with blonde hair and green eyes; a pretty boy in a dark suit. He worked a remote, clicking through images of the victims as he spoke. “Most of the early cases involved rape and strangulation.” He made a couple more clicks until he came to one the more recent victims. “This is Sherry Raymond. She was also strangled, but as you can see, he dressed her and placed her on a bed of roses.” He worked the remote again. “The posing of the more recent victims continued, and, in time, became more elaborate.”
We saw images of half a dozen women. Most of them had been posed in wooded areas near the highway. Some were wearing dresses and heels. One victim was wearing a blonde shoulder length wig.
“Do we have any indication that he was working with Macy in any of these early killings?” Joe asked, at the same time he worked a crossword puzzle.
Gray answered. “None. We think he was a lone wolf and didn’t bond with Macy until he began working at the state hospital three years ago.”
“I disagree,” Evan Oland said. He was the analyst, probably a decade older than the profilers. He spoke with the hint of a French accent. I had the impression there was a professional rivalry going on that we’d all landed in the middle of. “We can’t rule out the possibility that Brown’s been working with Macy for years.”
“Macy’s been in the hospital since 2006,” Gray said, defending their analysis. “There’s no paper trail or other form of communication showing he’s been in touch with Brown or anyone else.”
“That doesn’t rule out the possibility,” Oland said.
Rose Castillo spoke up for the first time. The former FBI profiler was conservatively dressed in a dark pantsuit, maybe in deference to her previous profession. “I’m in agreement with what Agent Oland just said.” All eyes turned in her direction. “These killings show a pattern of increasing complexity and elaborate staging, something that goes beyond Joshua Brown’s interests or capabilities. I believe that Macy found a way to use Brown as his surrogate while in custody. These killings are his work of art.”
“Art?” Greer said. “Can you explain what you mean by that?”
Rose’s shoulders squared up as she looked at the head of our taskforce. She spoke in an even, confident tone. “The killer believes that with each victim he is creating something unique and symbolic. In his own psychotic world, these killings represent a form of beauty to him.”
The room was silent for a moment. Greer cleared his throat and looked at Gray. “Go on.”
The profiler gave us some background on Joshua Brown, telling us that he’d worked as a truck driver for years before becoming a prison guard. We learned that Brown had been married and divorced at one time, but had no criminal record.
Agent Nance then took over, talking about Quinton Macy. “He was born in the small town of Blackwater, just outside of Phoenix. No siblings. His father worked in construction, but, according to what we know, he and his wife separated and he left the family when Macy was in his teens. His whereabouts are currently unknown.
“After graduating high school, the record’s a bit sketchy, but Macy eventually came to California where he went to college. He was considered a brilliant student and was admitted to a doctoral program in psychology. While going to school, we believe he began a series of killings, working in several southwestern states, although he was never caught or charged in any of those cases.”
“Maybe he was operating with Brown, even before he was committed to the hospital,” I said.
Nance shook his head. “As we said, there’s nothing that ties the two men together until the recent crimes.”
Oland and Castillo again disagreed, speculating the two killers had worked together before Macy’s hospitalization.
“And the civil commitment?” Greer asked, probably sensing the tension in the room again.
“The victim was April Lynn Thomas. Her parents had reported her missing six months before she was found in Macy’s bedroom. A utility worker had gone into his back yard to do some maintenance and happened to look through the bedroom window. Thomas had been chained to a bed, while…” Nance took a breath and looked up from his paperwork. “He starved the girl and carved up her body.” He had several photographs in front of them and passed them around the table. “As you can see, the carvings were elaborate, most of them involving symbols associated with death.”
“What did Macy have to say about the crime?” Oz asked.
The lieutenant looked tired. I had a thought that maybe our case was getting to him and he hadn’t slept well.
“Nothing,” Nance said. “He refused to talk and, according to the so-called experts, slipped into a narcissistic psychotic state. After several years, dozens of legal maneuvers, and psychiatric examinations, he was declared a 1026 and committed to the state hospital.”
“What about Dr. Moore?” Captain Dembowski asked. “How does she fit into the picture?”
Agent Gray answered. “She’s thirty-four, married, with two kids. We all know what was done to her husband. It’s our belief that Macy used her in his escape plan because she was new to the hospital and inexperienced in dealing with patients.”
“She was an easy mark,” Agent Nance agreed. “According to a couple of staff we talked to at the hospital, she’d become friendly with Joshua Brown in recent weeks. One of her co-workers even suggested she was having an affair with him. Apparently, things weren’t going well in her marriage.”
“It looks like her cheating hubby got the ultimate payback,” Darby said, trying to inject some humor into the discussion.
When no one laughed, Gray continued. “We believe they kidnapped Moore when they tortured her husband. They’re probably planning to use her in whatever they have planned next.”
“Let’s go back to our two victims for a moment,” Lieutenant Oz said. “We know from staff at Halgen that Macy left their facility the night the second victim, Eva Foster, was murdered. But what about the first killing?”
“We’ve determined that Macy was also at Halgen for some medical tests before beginning his clinical drug trials the night Sylvia Lacroix’s body was found. We can only assume that his previous psychiatrist was somehow manipulated into letting him leave the facility for a period of time.”
“Either that, or Brown acted alone in the killing of the first victim,” Agent Nance speculated.
Agent Greer looked at Oland. “What about a behavioral analysis?”
The analyst studied the paperwork in front of him as he spoke. “His official psychiatric diagnosis is a narcissistic psychotic disorder. It’s characterized by delusions of grandeur and a complete lack of empathy toward others. Cognition, affect, interpersonal functioning, and impulse control are all impacted. The disorder is characterized by pervasive and inflexible behavior that affects a range of functioning across a broad spectrum of behaviors in both personal and social situations, but...” Oland didn’t go on.
“What else?” Greer said.
“He fits the general pattern of behaviors associated with a psychotic narcissist, but, as we know, Macy is brilliant and unique. There are aspects to his behavior that I don’t think can be categorized.”
“You think he’s unpredictable,” Agent Gray said. The disdain in her voice was obvious.
Oland shook his head. “Just the opposite. He’s predictable, in that he’s going to continue to engage in the same behaviors he’s previously displayed. What is unknown, is exactly what form of killing that specifically implies.” He looked at Castillo. “Killing as a form of art just might be an apt description of what he’s doing.”
“He will create another tableau of death,” Rose said. “But I agree, the specific form that display will take is unknown.”
An argument broke out, with Gray and Nance saying that Oland and Rose were giving Macy more credit than he deserved. They argued that the murders represented psychosocial tension and a lack of anxiety control. Oland responded by saying they failed to see the nuances in the case.
Joe finally broke in, looking up from his puzzle and saying, “None of this psychobabble matters. I don’t care if he’s narcissist, lacks impulse control, or thinks he’s the king of England. All I care about is finding the asshole, dragging him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, and locking the animal up in a cage where he belongs.”
Nance hissed out a breath and fixed his blue eyes on Joe. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s what we’re trying to do.”
“By sitting around the table and arguing about how big a lunatic this guy is?” Joe looked at Greer. “I want to go talk to Macy’s mother. According to the hospital reports, she’s been to the cuckoo’s nest dozens of times over the years. Maybe she knows what junior’s up to. I’ll take Sexton and Kingsley with me.”
“What’s that going to accomplish?” Joan Gray asked. “His mother has been interviewed dozens of times over the years.”
Joe glared at her. “Maybe our nut job is still in touch with his mommy, maybe he’s having sex with her, or maybe he’s cut her heart out, painted her face, and propped her up in bed.” He looked back at Greer. “We need to move on this before Macy and Brown kill again.”
The FBI leased a jet that operated out of Van Nuys Airport, about forty-five minutes from downtown Los Angeles. It was late afternoon when Joe, Leo, and I boarded a plane bound for Phoenix with Bernie. My dog had a history of being under stress when flying. He spent about ten minutes whining and pacing back and forth before finally settling down.
“I take it he doesn’t have a lot of frequent flyer miles,” Joe said, buckling in across from Leo and me.
“His behavior’s a bit of a mystery,” I said. “Maybe he had a bad experience in a prior life.”
“Or maybe he’s just smarter than the three of us put together,” Leo said. “I’ve never been a big fan of flying, either.”
My partner had been on the phone with Oz before we boarded the plane and I asked him what was going on.
“Ozzie told Darby and Buck to do some more legwork on Duncan, Hanks, and Slade. He said Darby’s not happy about being left behind.”
I saw that Joe was already working on a crossword puzzle and said, “Darby wouldn’t be happy if he won the lottery and caught Jack the Ripper with a knife in his hand.” Before he lost himself in the puzzle, I said to Joe, “What’s your thoughts on what the profilers had to say this morning?”
He chewed on the end of his pencil and regarded me. “I think Oland and Rosie got it right, but it doesn’t really matter.”
“Why is that?” Leo asked.
Joe met his eyes. “Serial Killers, or what the agency unofficially calls SICKs, are all cast in the same mold, if you ask me. Daddy was a drunk or mommy was a whore, so little Quinton got angry and bottled up his rage until he was old enough to release it on somebody who was weak or vulnerable or just convenient. I don’t care what kind of psychological bullshit you throw up in the air, all that shit eventually comes back down to earth and lands on a spineless little coward. Macy needs to have his stinking DNA obliterated from this world. And, if I get lucky, I’m going to be the one to do it.”
I glanced at Leo. “As you can tell, when he’s not working, Joe likes to hold hands and sing songs about world peace and raise money for widows and orphans.”
Joe smiled and said to Leo, “Maybe your partner should become a profiler.”
It was getting dark by the time we landed, rented a car, and began our trip to Blackwater, about an hour south of Phoenix. I knew from the Internet that the small town was part of the Gila River Indian Community, with a lot of the inhabitants living below the poverty line. We found Alice Macy’s small ranch house outside of town, surrounded by fields and farmland.
Joe pulled to the side of the road, regarded the rundown home, and checked his weapon. “My guess is that our squirrel comes from a house full of nuts, so let’s watch each other’s back.”
“Does Macy’s mother live alone?” Leo asked.
I answered, based on the information Selfie and Molly had provided me. “She’s sixty-seven, lives by herself, and gets $800 a month in social security.”
“Remind me never to retire,” Joe said as we left the car
The house was dark and looked deserted. As Joe knocked on the door and announced us, I had a flashback of the Moores’ residence, the terrible images of Brian Moore’s mutilated body. After calling out and announcing ourselves a couple of times, there was still no answer or movement from inside the house.
Joe came off the porch. “Looks like we try the back door, once again.”
We went through a gate and found a patio with a back door to the residence. We were all facing the back of the house when Bernie suddenly turned away from us and began barking.
I clamped down on his leash, holding him back, at the same time I turned and looked up. There was a woman coming out of the darkness toward us. She was covered with blood and holding a large carving knife.
Leo and I raised our weapons at the same time Joe yelled, “Hold your fire! It’s Dr. Moore!”