"Why he's doing this. He's against consumerism. But he's a consumer too. He had to buy all these tools and the supplies for his work. He buys food. He special-orders his shoes for his big feet. He benefits from shopping. And he makes his living selling things. That's consumerism." She turned her chair to face him, her beautiful eyes sparkling. "Let's try an experiment."
Rhyme looked at the evidence bags.
"No, I don't mean a physical experiment. A hypothetical. Let's say there is no evidence in the case. An exception to Locard's Principle. Imagine a case where there isn't a single lick of PE. How's this? A killing on the moon. We're on earth and we have no access to the evidence at all. We know the victim was murdered up there. There are suspects. But that's it, no trace, no physical evidence. Where do we go from there? The only approach is to ask, why did the perp kill the victim?"
He smiled. Her premise was absurd, a wast
e of time. But perhaps he found her enthusiasm charming. "Go on."
"If this were an epidemiologic investigation, and you and I were presented with unidentified bacteria killing some people but not others, we'd ask: Why? Is it because they've been to some country and contracted it? Is it because there's something about the victims physically that makes them and not others vulnerable to the disease? Have they engaged in certain behaviors that have exposed them to the bacteria? So let's look at Vernon's victims. I'm not buying the theory they were targeted because they were rich consumers, buying expensive stoves or microwaves. What else is common among them? Why he killed them might lead to how he knew them might lead to where he met them... and to where he's sitting right now. You with me?"
The criminalist within him was resistant, but Lincoln Rhyme had to admit the logician was intrigued. "Okay. I'll play along."
CHAPTER 51
Juliette Archer was saying, "Who were the people that Griffith targeted? Other than Amelia's mother and the drivers of the cars he took control of--those were to stop us from catching him. The main victims. Greg Frommer, Abe Benkoff, Joe Heady. And the potential victim in Scarsdale, the hedge fund manager, William Mayer."
"Well, what about them?" Rhyme was happy to cooperate but he was compelled to add a spoonful of devil's advocacy into the stew.
"Okay..." Archer wheeled to a spot in front of the charts. "Frommer was a store clerk in Brooklyn and a volunteer at a homeless shelter, among other charities. Benkoff was account manager for an ad agency in New York. Heady is a carpenter for a Broadway theater. Mayer is into finance. None of them seems to know the others. They don't live near each other." She shook her head. "No connection."
"Oh, well, that's not enough to ask," he said softly. "You have to go deeper."
"How do you mean?"
"You're looking at the surface. Pretend those people you mentioned are bits of trace evidence... No, no," he chided, seeing her scowl. "You play along with me now. The people aren't people but bits of trace evidence. On the surface one's gray metal, one's brown wood, one's cloth fiber, one's a fragment of leaf. What do they have in common?"
Archer considered this: "Nothing."
"Exactly. But, with evidence, we keep digging. What kind of metal, what sort of wood, what type of fiber, what plant is the leaf from? Where did they come from, what's the context? You put them altogether and, bang, you've got an upholstered lawn chair sitting under a jacaranda tree. Different is suddenly the same.
"You want to analyze the victims, Archer, good, but we need to approach your inquiry the same way. Details! What're the details? You have present careers. What about the past? Look at the raw data Amelia collected. The charts are only summaries. Residences and careers, anything that seems relevant."
Archer called up Sachs's notes and read from the screen.
As she did, Rhyme said, "I can fill in about Greg Frommer. He was a marketing manager for Patterson Systems in New Jersey."
"What does Patterson do?"
Rhyme recalled what the lawyer had told him. "Fuel injectors. One of the big suppliers."
She said, "Okay, noted. Now Abe Benkoff?"
"Amelia told me--advertising. Clients were food companies, airlines. I don't recall."
Archer read from Sachs's and Pulaski's notes. "He was fifty-eight, advertising account executive. Pretty senior. Clients were Universal Foods, U.S. Auto, Northeast Airlines, Aggregate Computers. He was a New York City resident, lived here all his life. Manhattan."
Rhyme said, "And Heady, the carpenter?"
Archer read: "He grew up in Michigan and worked in Detroit on an assembly line. Moved here to be closer to his kids and grandkids. Didn't like retirement so he joined the union and got a job at the theater." She looked up from the computer screen. "Mayer is a hedge fund manager. Works in Connecticut. Lives in Scarsdale. Wealthy. Can't find anything about his clients."
Rhyme said, "Wife."
"What?"
"Why do we assume that he's the target? Is he married?"
Archer clicked her tongue. "Damn. Forgive my sexism." Typing. "Valerie Mayer. She's a Wall Street trial lawyer."