“It’s hard to think,” Peabody began when they were back in the car, “that if these three women are linked, that nobody connected to them saw this guy. If he’s the physical description we believe, you wouldn’t see him blending.”
“He’s careful.”
“Are we going to try another push with Celina?”
“Not yet. I need think time.”
She settled down to it in her office, her feet on her desk, her head back. She visualized the pattern. He wouldn’t have expected them to recognize the pattern so quickly, because he wouldn’t have expected the police to link the murder with the disappearances.
But if—when—he killed again, he’d know they’d see the connections between victims. It didn’t worry him.
Why?
The murder weapon was available at the shops the murder victim, and the suspected victims, had frequented. It wouldn’t take much longer for the exact location to be identified. Did he think, because it was a fairly common item, the cops couldn’t nail the source through basic lab work? Possibly.
But even so, he’d have to believe the investigation would include the point of purchase. Even if someone else had bought the ribbon, he’d been inside or within sight of the store or stores in order to select his victim.
But he wasn’t worried about it any more than it seemed he’d worried about being seen or caught assaulting Elisa in a public park.
Because, like many psychopaths, he believed he was invulnerable? That he wouldn’t be caught, or because a part of him was begging to be caught?
Stop me. Find me, catch me.
Either way, wasn’t he enjoying the risk factor? Wasn’t he aroused by the chances he took?
Arousal: in the selection, in the trolling, in the stalking. All that anticipation building.
Gratification: physical violence, sexual violence, murder committed with an item considered more traditionally female, then left on the victim like a decoration.
Enjoyment: possessing the strength to overpower and control and kill. And more, the strength to bear the weight of the dead, more than the average man could manage.
Final satisfaction: removal of the eyes. Owning the eyes, Eve thought. Arranging the body in a specifically chosen manner and location.
He’d be back to the arousal stage again. If not now, soon.
She swung her legs off, wrote up her daily, then gathered what she needed for an evening session at home.
She went out to Peabody’s desk. “I’m hitting some of the gyms, working my way uptown toward home. If you’re with me, you’ll have to get yourself back downtown when we call it a day.”
“I’m not missing a chance to ogle and interrogate big, sweaty guys. I might cut out at six, though, unless we’ve got something. McNab and I have a packing date tonight.”
“A packing date?”
“Yeah, we’ve got to get some serious packing done at my place. We’ll be moving into our place in a few days. Our place.” She patted her belly. “Still gives me a little bit of the jitters.”
“You can’t imagine what it gives me,” Eve said, and walked away when Peabody snorted.
Chapter 9
They spent a couple of hours talking to men with big pecs and tree-trunk legs in workout facilities that carved out the frills and concentrated on the testosterone.
Peabody’s main complaint was that a large percentage of the members seemed to be more interested in ogling themselves or each other rather than a certain police detective.
It was a fishing expedition, Eve thought as she swung toward home. And she didn’t feel any appreciable tugs on her line. Yet.
She’d start running names, that’s all. The few hundred of them she’d compiled from membership and subscription lists. See if she got any pops on sex crimes. He hadn’t started down his current path yesterday.
He’d be single, so that would eliminate more. He wasn’t gay, or hadn’t recognized himself as such. He didn’t work nights; that’s when he killed.