The Rainy Day Killer (6 page)

9

Saturday, April 27: mid-morning

“I’d like to welcome everyone here this morning,” said De
puty Chief Douglas Barkley, standing at the end of the long cherry wood table. “I’m very grateful to Supervisory Special Agent Ed Griffin for coming down from Quantico to help us with this very difficult and horrifying case.” He nodded at Griffin. “I imagine this isn’t quite what you expected to be confronted with, a board room filled with senior management giving speeches and all that, but I assure you as soon as we’re done speaking, our intentions are to get the hell out of here so you folks can get the job done and nail this son of a bitch.”

Barkley paused to allow the nervous
chuckles and coughs to work themselves out. “I think it’s a good idea that Commander Martinez has turned over her board room to the team for the duration of this investigation, and I’ve told her I’ll authorize any expenditure within reason to make sure it meets your requirements while it serves as your war room. I’ve also told her that while you’re occupying hers, she can have the use of mine on the second floor for her meetings. During off-hours, of course.”

Another wave of polite laughter rippled around the room. “A special welcome not only to SSA Griffin but also to FBI Special Agent in Charge Marie
-Louise Roubidoux and Special Agent John Alexander. On my left, going down the GPD side of the table, is Deputy Chief Alonzo Philbin, Officer Eleanor Montgomery, Commander Ann Martinez, Detectives Horvath and Stainer, and at the end of the table Lieutenant Donaghue, the lead investigator. To his left, on the FBI side of the table, Captain Michael Turcotte, who’s in charge of our Criminalistics section. Mike, I hope you’re not thinking of defecting because, believe me, after eighteen years with the Bureau I can tell you personally that the grass is definitely
not
greener on the other side of the table.”

When the laughter had run its course, he
said, “I’m about to sit down and shut my mouth, but before I do, I just wanted to thank you all for giving up such a beautiful Saturday morning to attend this meeting. For most of us, it’ll be very brief, but I think you’ll agree, very necessary. In a case like this, it’s essential to straighten out the respective roles and responsibilities vis-à-vis local law enforcement and the Bureau, and I think it’s very important to take a few minutes right up front to make sure we’re all on the same page. With that in mind, I’ll ask SAC Roubidoux to say a few words.”

Barkley dropped his bulk into his chair and grabbed his cup of coffee as Roubidoux, a small, precise woman in her mid-forties, got to her feet and removed her reading glasses.

“Thanks, Deputy Chief. We’re very glad you asked us over this morning. I’ll let SSA Griffin speak for himself, of course, but as far as the Glendale city field office is concerned, we’re more than happy to provide whatever advice and guidance we can to your investigative team. Special Agent Alexander will be your primary point of contact, but I’m also available at any time if Sandy can’t be reached.”

She touched the back of her carefully-styled dark hair. “Ha
ving said that, I can’t spare Sandy or any other agent from their current workload for active participation in this investigation. There’s a possibility you may want to set up a joint task force with police departments in other cities who have open cases on this UNSUB. If so, Sandy can help you and SSA Griffin set it up, but beyond that, he really won’t be able to give you any assistance in terms of the investigation itself.”

She put a hand on her hip
and turned to Hank. “Lieutenant Donaghue, this is your case. We’re here to help, but the burden of responsibility for calling the shots lies on your shoulders. I know that’s what you want to hear, so I’m making it clear up front. Regardless of whether your UNSUB turns out to be the Rainy Day Killer or someone entirely different, it’s up to you to investigate, identify, and arrest.”

She shifted her eyes to Turcotte. “I
’ll say one more thing. Captain, our laboratory facilities are completely at your disposal during this investigation. I understand your difficulties in terms of backlogs and priorities. Sandy’s empowered to facilitate the processing of any evidence on this case on a highest-priority basis. We can have one of our evidence response teams work with your people, if it’ll help. You have our business cards: don’t hesitate to call.”

Turcotte nodded briefly. His expression was guarded, but
his lack of trust was obvious to everyone in the room. It was his understanding that when an FBI evidence response team went out to a crime scene, they generally secured the area with their own personnel and took over the evidence gathering and processing, shutting out other agencies. Although Roubidoux seemed to be making a genuine offer of cooperation, it was clear Turcotte didn’t believe it would be that simple.

“Thank you,” Barkley said from the other end of the table. “We appreciate your generous offer, and we’ll definitely take you up on it
, if necessary.”

“I hope so.” Roubidoux smiled politely
, sitting down. “That’s all I want to say, other than thanks for the coffee and pastries, which I really shouldn’t have touched, but they looked so good.” She looked at Griffin. “If there’s anything you’d like to say while we’re all still here, please go ahead. Otherwise, I think we should probably clear out and let you get to work.”

Griffin shrugged. He didn’t stand up, just swiveled his chair back and forth, looking up and down the table. “What Marie
-Louise said about jurisdiction is as plain as it gets. I’m here to discover what I can about the behavior of your offender, what made him select your victim as opposed to other potential victims, and tell you what I can about him. But don’t expect me to be out there running around with my gun in the air helping you chase down suspects. It’s been a long time since I worked in the field and, believe me, that’s something that makes me very, very happy.”

As everyone laughed, he swung around to look at Barkley. “Actually, there’s something I was going to discuss later with Hank that I’ll bring up right now, if you don’t mind.”

Barkley raised one of his football-sized hands and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Mmm. By all means.”

Griffin
looked at Montgomery. “You’re the PIO on this case, right? I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Officer First Class Eleanor Montgomery,” she replied. She was the only person in the room wearing a uniform.

Griffin nodded. “Officer Montgomery. Right. I watched some of your tape. You’re very good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Unfortunately,” Griffin went on, “since your UNSUB’s pretty obviously the Rainy Day Killer, one of my first recommendations to Hank is that he take over as the public information officer for this case.”

As Philbin stirred in his chair, Griffin raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you see it? A key part of this guy’s post-murder behavior is to
start a dialogue with the lead investigator. That’s already happened with Hank through the package he got on Thursday with the video and the victim’s amputated breasts. He’ll establish telephone contact next, and he’ll expect Hank to be the one who tells the world all about the horrible exploits of the killer who kidnaps women when it’s raining outside. He’s not going to be satisfied with some anonymous PIO reading prepared statements to the microphones—with all due respect, Officer Montgomery—because he’s not interested in a relationship with you, he’s interested in a relationship with the guy running the investigation. He wants Hank to feel the pressure, he wants to squeeze him, and he wants him to slip up on camera and reveal stuff that’ll crank up the fear level in the community.”

He tapped his hand on the table. “
You
have
to have a single person making all the statements to the press. If you say one thing in the press room, Officer Montgomery, and then they catch Hank outside on the sidewalk and he says something different, the public gets confused and upset. Surprisingly, this guy also gets upset. He’s been known to contact the media himself to correct erroneous statements or anything else he didn’t like, and you definitely don’t want that. You want full control of all information going out to the public, and you want to keep this guy focused on Hank and not on some loose-cannon reporter eager for attention. Understand what I’m getting at?”

“I
don’t agree,” Philbin said. “Montgomery’s an experienced, trained PIO who can deliver whatever message this department needs to have delivered. That’s her job. I say, let her do it.”

Griffin leaned forward suddenly onto the table. He clasped his hands together and pointed both index fingers at Philbin. “I
get
that. I get where you’re coming from, I get that she’s trained and experienced, but you gotta remember, this guy absolutely, every time, wants to play the game with the lead investigator. Only the lead investigator. Not some detective, not some spokesperson, and not you.
Him
.” He moved his hands and pointed at Hank, as though firing a gun. “This guy. You didn’t see the video, did you? You didn’t hear him speak directly to Hank like he already knew him from way back. Like they were such good pals.”

When Philbin shook his head, Griffin nodded. “I don’t re
commend that you
do
watch it. Or you, Deputy Chief, or anyone else who’s not boots on the ground on this case, because it’s not something you want replaying in your head at three o’clock in the morning while you’re lying next to your spouse trying to get back to sleep. The game’s between Hank and the UNSUB. It has to stay that way.”

No one spoke.

Griffin slumped back in his chair. “Look, you’re all nice people, and I appreciate the welcome and the coffee and good humor and all, but the fact of the matter is, this is not a happy business that brings us together. We’re here to hunt a cold, inhuman monster who does unspeakable things to young women whose lives end in horrible, terrible pain and fear. It’s time you let us get to work.”

10

Saturday, April 27: late morning

“
I’ve always been a pretty good meeting killer,” Griffin said when the room had been cleared of senior personnel, “but it’s been my experience that when they reach a certain level in the hierarchy, some of these people forget what it’s like down in the trenches. They lose the stomach for it. Anyway, I suggest we get right at it. This is going to take a lot of time to go through, and we’re going to be here for a while.”

As Horvath rolled the television and DVD player out from the corner of the room, Sandy leaned forward. “
Mind if I stay?”

Griffin
shrugged. “Fine with me. Hank?”

“Glad to have you,” Hank told Sandy.

“Thanks.”

“Every time I turn around,
” Griffin said to Hank, “this guy’s showing up at one of my courses. I can’t get rid of him.”

Karen snorted. “Christ, I know the feeling.”

Sandy smiled but Griffin looked surprised, so Hank explained, “Karen and Sandy are engaged to be married. The wedding’s in a month and a half.”

“Six weeks from today,” Sandy confirmed.

Griffin rolled his eyes. “My God, I had no idea. That’s great. Congratulations.” He leaned over to shake Sandy’s hand. “But have you thought this through? Do you think it’s wise to be marrying local law enforcement? Mightn’t that lead to all kinds of complications?”

“It’ll get real complicated if he
doesn’t
marry me,” Karen said.

Griffin nodded sagely.
“Now I understand everything.”

Hank held up the video
received two days ago from Theresa Olsen’s killer. “Do you want to run through this first?”

“No.” Griffin bent down and picked up a battered leather case that had been leaning against the wall. “Let’s go over your case work. I have a couple of questions.”

Everyone’s eyes settled on Griffin, who pulled files out of his bag and sorted them on the table in front of him. He was a small man, slender and clean-shaven. His wiry, dark hair was touched up to hide the gray, his eyebrows were thick and black, and his forehead was high. His hands were small and precise. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, and the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes suggested a sense of humor which served as a modest defense, at best, against the constant weight of knowledge he carried around with him.

Originally from Las Vegas, Ed Griffin
had spent six years in law enforcement with the LVPD before joining the FBI, working first in Albuquerque and then in Little Rock, where he had his first experience investigating a series of sexual homicides that turned out to be the work of a single serial killer. In 1989, shortly after he had successfully closed that case, his wife moved back to Las Vegas with their two young daughters. Griffin subsequently transferred to Memphis, where he worked for three years. During this time he began to publish articles in law enforcement journals and other periodicals. His work and his writing soon drew the attention of the chief of the national academy at Quantico, who recruited him as an instructor. It was there that Hank had first met Griffin, while on course as a young, up-and-coming homicide detective.

During the
1990s, Griffin earned a Master’s degree in psychology. He wrote his thesis on sexual homicide and later published it as his first book. Two more books on the subject followed, and Griffin found himself a reluctant celebrity. After joining the National Center for Analysis of Violent Crime as an analyst, Griffin became more introverted, more focused on his work than ever before, until finally he’d slipped into a monastic lifestyle. He lived in a small house in town, he had very few personal possessions, his diet consisted of fish, chicken, rice, and vegetables, and he swore off all alcohol. Caffeine, along with blackjack three times a year in Atlantic City, were his only vices.

“What would you like to know?” Hank asked.

Griffin rubbed his face. “Did you do background on the witness, Esther Banks? How credible do you think she is?”

“She’s credible,” Karen said. “I interviewed her and vetted her written statement. It’s okay.
No history of dementia, although she’s seventy-four. She’s lonely, but still pretty sharp. I’m good with what she gave us.”

“All right. So
now we’ve got a composite likeness to work with. In terms of the victim, do you have anything to add to your report?”

Karen shook her head. “It’s all there. Young, no regular friends, just starting out in life. No red flags in her past.”

Griffin looked at Horvath.

“
Stains is right,” Horvath said. “We couldn’t find anything that would’ve drawn this guy’s attention to her. It seems completely random.”

“Random.” Griffin closed his eyes, rolling the word around in his mouth. “It’s kind of a misleading word, random. It suggests she was grabbed out of thin air, that it could have been anyone, really, and just happened to be her. But we’ll come back to that later.”

He opened his eyes again and looked at Hank. “Are there any other lab reports you’re waiting for, related to the crime scene or the autopsy? Or is this it?”

“This is it,” Hank said. “For now. There was
essentially nothing in terms of physical evidence, other than the footprints and wheel tracks from the hand truck he used to move the body from his vehicle to the river bank.”

Griffin nodded. “Which brings us to
his package.”

“The breasts were hers,” Hank said, “and so was the clothing. Jeans, underwear, top, bra. No shoes. The container he put the breasts in
is a typical re-sealable plastic tub you can buy anywhere for leftovers. No fingerprints, trace evidence, hairs, fibers. Nothing. The DVD we sent you yesterday is a copy, of course. The lab processed the original, which again is common stock that could have been purchased anywhere. No prints.”

Griffin
nodded. “Let’s watch it.”