Part 11 (1/2)
Andy leaned forward.
”I think the RCMP suspect it as well,” Bob went on. ”Both identified victims turn out to have been students here, and the third...if we can identify her I'd say she will have been a student as well. Let's look at what we've got. We have three bodies dumped in the same area, all in varying states of decomposition, and the two identified victims were killed only weeks apart. The unidentified skeleton is also of a young adult female and she could go back quite a bit longer, which is ominous when we consider how long this particular killer may have been doing this.
”The two recent victims, and possibly the other as well, all appear to have been shot in the back with a high-powered rifle. Not strangled or stabbed, like a rape that spiralled out of control, but shot. And in the back. Cowardly, isn't it? Sergeant Grant Wilson-likable guy if I may say, and pretty smart too-mentioned that it was like an execution of sorts. And he's partially right. If it was a single shot to the back of the head I would have said yes, execution-style definitely, but it brings hunting to mind, if you ask me. I think we're looking for a local. A hunting buff, or someone into weapons. Perhaps a student or former student, or a professor at UBC. I mean why were the two identified victims UBC students? They didn't appear to have known each other. There is no other correlation apart from their age and the fact that they were students at this university. Is this a coincidence? Is someone making this campus a hunting ground?”
At this thought, Andy felt a chill. Was the killer at UBC that very day?
Dr Harris took another mouthful of brownie and went on. ”I'm going to suggest that they note the plates on every vehicle found in the Nahatlatch area, and check ID's on the people living, visiting and spending time out there. They need to cross-reference those names with UBC students past and present, and yes, UBC staff as well, including the professors. Hunting licences too. They should cross-reference those names with people a.s.sociated with the campus for any reason. Especially anyone who has had a licence revoked for some reason.”
Detective Flynn had a hard time concentrating on Bob's lecture after lunch. He couldn't stop looking in Makedde's direction. Thankfully she hadn't noticed. But after a while even that fact added to his misery. Why wasn't she looking his way? He started to feel creepy about staring at her so often, and more than that, he started to feel creepy about travelling across the world to this conference with an ulterior motive.
Dr Harris was giving a great presentation. He was a skilled communicator, both in interviews and in the public speaking arena and he also had a very professional-looking Powerpoint presentation to back up his speech. Andy noticed that most of the people in the room were taking notes. Andy wasn't, but that was only because he had taken many notes on the topic before.
”The crime scenes of psychopathic offenders are more likely to show that the crime was well-organised and contained some high risk or thrill element,” Bob was saying. ”For this kind of individual, it is not enough to simply creep into the old woman's house and steal the money from her purse while she is sleeping, he has to go to the trouble to beat her senseless as well...”
Andy thought about the Nahatlatch case the RCMP had asked for help on. Now that Bob had shared some of his concerns with Andy over lunch, he felt somehow involved in the investigation. Bob realised this and had urged Andy to keep the whole thing as quiet as possible. If word got to the press there would be chaos.
But Andy was uncomfortable. He wanted to tell Makedde about it. She deserved to know. For the first time in his career, he hoped the papers would pick up the story, so the burden of his confidentiality would be lifted. Makedde didn't need to know exact details, but she should know that something was up, and that she had reason to exercise more caution than usual. It was a safety issue. He had to find a way to tip her off and still keep his promise to Dr Harris.
”Psychopathic offenders show a complete disregard for their victims,” Bob was telling the crowd. ”There is always an element of control in the crimes they commit...”
Andy saw that nearly everyone in the room was on the edge of their seat. Bob was an FBI agent, and that t.i.tle in itself was fas.h.i.+onable these days, thanks to popular entertainment like Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal, or the X-Files.
”They may employ staging if there is a close personal relations.h.i.+p between them and the victim...”
Andy knew all too well that the lives of FBI Profilers were not glamorous. In fact, neither were the lives of anyone who sought to deal with the aftermath of the world's most violent and disturbed people.
Andy grew up in the peaceful town of Parkes, in New South Wales, where the local cops were heroes. There was Sergeant Morris, for instance, who hung out at the milk bar and got all the attention of the pretty waitress there. He always had a couple of kind words for young Andy, and Andy hero-wors.h.i.+pped him.
But the reality of policing never quite lived up to his childhood expectations and he quickly discovered that not everyone loved cops. Many hated them, in fact. The public seemed to think of nothing but parking tickets and breathalyser tests. And now they thought of scandal, too. Corrupt cops were the only ones who made the press these days.
Even the woman he married had ended up hating him for being a cop. Andy was a cop, but he was hardly a hero.
He wondered if he could ever forgive himself for his shortcomings.
CHAPTER 20.
”Come on, ya big wuss-bag. Five more.”
Sergeant Grant Wilson looked up from his strained position below a two hundred and twenty-five pound loaded barbell and squinted in the direction of the voice.
a.s.shole.
They were deep into their regular weight session at their local gym, and Corporal Michael Rose was counting off Grant's progress ”...eight...nine...good work...”
”I could bench two fifty and practically double your reps,” boasted Mike's brother.
”Jesus, Evan, would you just shut up?” Mike snapped. They didn't usually have company, and it wasn't working out so well.
When Grant finished his set, Mike helped him place the bar in its cradle. His brow was dripping, and his grey s.h.i.+rt was stained with dark patches of perspiration. He stood up and glared at Mike's brother.
Evan was a tall guy and he was pretty buff. He pumped a lot of weights and Grant suspected he did steroids too. He had a few too many tattoos and a lot too much ego for Grant's liking. He certainly hadn't invited him to this weight session. As a matter of fact, he doubted anyone had invited Evan along.
d.a.m.n, I wish I was taller. A glare is always better with height advantage.
”Go for it. The bench is all yours,” Grant said with a sweep of his hand, and stepped aside.
”I already did my sets this morning.”
Grant laughed. There was a time when he would have just flattened someone like that, but he had learned restraint. Besides, this was his best friend's brother, after all.
”I was just buggin' ya, Grant. Don't take it personal,” Evan went on. ”You lift pretty well.”
For an old guy, Grant could almost hear him say.
”What are you doing coming to the gym in the morning? Aren't you doing the stocktake at K-Mart any more? They cut your hours?”
Evan frowned. He seemed to deflate a notch. ”That used to finish before the store opened. But no, I'm working at the Fox now.”
”Oh, the Blue Fox.”
Mike didn't join in the conversation. You could tell that he wished the subject would change.
”What do you do there? You waiting tables, or taking to the stage?” Grant asked. The Blue Fox was a girlie strip bar.
”Bartending. You should drop by sometime, you'd like the atmosphere,” Evan said.
Mike had moved on to the leg press and Grant joined him. He helped him place a few fifty-pound plates on the bar. Sure enough, before long Evan came over to join them. He wouldn't take the hint. ”So, is it true that you handed your big case over to the FBI?”
What?
This time Mike cut in. ”Like I told you, Evan, we are asking for some consultation with an FBI Profiler. It doesn't mean the FBI has jurisdiction or anything.”
”It doesn't?”
”No.”
Mike started his set, and Grant watched him, ignoring the uninvited third party.