It was not long after he had moved to Omaha. Even then, he already had started to evolve, using a few tricks of stealth and surveillance, evading detection, even planting an electronic bug or two over the years. Although he didn’t like to admit how much he remained in their debt, he had his earliest employer to thank for those skills and the lessons they had taught him, many of which he still used.
Sometimes he thought about the people he used to work with. They were one of the reasons he’d moved to Omaha. In the Midwest, he was less likely to run into any of them.
All he really wanted to do was forget about that experience. He’d rather remember his first murder.
He could recall every detail. It had been a Wednesday afternoon, and he’d been looking for an office in a large building. He had his tools and software to install. He’d inadvertently walked into the wrong office—it turned out to be some kind of staffing group that handled the admin for several companies—and a redheaded woman standing at the front desk had berated him. “You’re in the wrong office. They’re on the fifth floor. What kind of an idiot computer guy are you?”
She clearly had more to say. But he never heard it. His hand had slipped into his tool pouch and found the handle of his box cutter. Just as the woman screwed up her face to let out another burst of insults, he’d pulled out the box cutter and swiped it across her exposed throat.
It was a natural movement and he performed it quickly. She didn’t even seem to realize exactly what had happened, just that she suddenly couldn’t get any air. She quickly raised both of her hands to clasp her throat. Then she staggered back, bumped into her desk, and tumbled onto the carpeted floor.
She made a few gurgling sounds and looked like a fish that had been pulled from the water. Ott stared at her throughout the whole event, still not quite realizing what he had done. That’s when he felt it. The first wave of excitement and joy. The first urge. It washed over him completely as he stared at the woman on the floor with a huge dark puddle of blood spreading across the carpet.
He didn’t understand at the time. It had been an impulse, completely beyond his control. He went about his day and, aside from a few news reports, never heard a word about it. Another cold case that would never be linked to him.
Fortunately, his work assignments kept him moving. He had never killed anyone in the Midwest again.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he would continue doing this forever.
Chapter 19
I met Emily Parker for lunch at a place called Empanada Mama on Ninth Avenue just south of 52nd Street. It was the kind of place Mary Catherine would like, if we could ever take the time for a night out in Hell’s Kitchen. Boldly colorful art adorned the brick walls and fans rotated along the ceiling.
Emily sat by herself in a booth near the rear of the restaurant. She wore a bright blue skirt and matching blouse. Looking at her, I could see Emily still had a sparkle in her eyes. Working for the FBI hadn’t worn her down at all. Her purse, as always, sat on the bench next to her right hand. That way her gun was never far from her reach. It was good tactical sense, which I appreciated.
Emily really was the total package: smart, funny, and pretty. A deadly combination. And her easy smile was infectious. I was well aware of how close we once came to being a couple. I’m not a robot. I’d had romantic feelings for her. If it wasn’t for Mary Catherine, maybe I’d still have those feelings. But this meeting was strictly business.
As for Emily’s professionalism, she was tops at the Bureau. I always got the impression she was a shark swimming with minnows. And like every shark in the ocean, she was relentless, going all night, night after night, if that’s what it took to break the case.
She smiled as I approached and said, “It’s funny how the NYPD has no use for the FBI, until they need us.”
“Hey, I’m trying to include you. If you’re uncomfortable with the arrangement, I can find another way to get the information I need.”
Emily held up her hands as I took a seat opposite her. She wore a delicate gold ring with a small emerald stone nestled in the heart-shaped center. “Wow, you’re getting sensitive in your old age,” she said.
“And you’re getting sentimental,” I shot back. “Still wearing your childhood ring.” Then I softened, adding, “I know it means a lot to you.”
She nodded her thanks, then leapt back into the fray. “I’m just busting your balls after the way you treated my ASAC at the meeting the other day. I should tell you he’s got someone in the mayor’s office listening to him.”
“We didn’t treat him badly. We just shot down his idea. There’s a difference, whether Robert Lincoln can see it or not. And the truth is, no one in the mayor’s office really listens. He might be telling them things, but they won’t do anything about it unless it helps them.”
“Cynical.”
“Only about government bureaucracy. You have no idea what goes on with the New York mayor’s office. It doesn’t matter who’s the mayor.” I sighed, then leaned forward. “Look, we have some theories about our killer. You might be able to help us.”
“Me personally? Or the FBI as an agency?”
“I was hoping to deal with you personally. At least until we figure a few things out. That a problem?”
Emily smiled, and I knew she was about to lay some kind of trap.
She said, “Let me make sure I understand. You want the benefits of FBI resources without actually dealing with the FBI?”
“I wouldn’t say it quite like that.”
“How would you say it?”
“I’d like to ask you, as my friend, to use FBI resources to help me. Because I’m your friend.” I was pleased to see that my rogue diplomacy made her laugh.
When she regained her composure, Emily said, “So what can I do to help the great Michael Bennett? According to the newspapers over the years, you already have all the answers.”
“If I had all the answers, I probably wouldn’t still be a cop.”
“Yeah, yeah. So what’s your theory? I’ll help you if I can.”
I told her how Hollis and I had found what we thought could be similar cases in San Francisco and Atlanta. Then I said, “It’d be nice to know if the FBI was involved in those cases. It’d be great to have those reports. And most importantly, what do you think of Hollis’s theory that this could be the same killer, that he travels around?”
The FBI agent took a few moments to consider everything I’d said. “Let me run it past someone I know at Quantico. The behavioral science people are in a better position to talk about theories like that. I’ll keep it quiet. Nothing official.”
I said, “What about the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program or the Radford Serial Killer Database?”
“Databases are only as good as the information entered,” she warned. “ViCAP has been around since the 1980s. People relied on ViCAP for a long time until they realized its limitations. Also, whatever I run through the databases will track back to me. If anyone starts asking questions, an electronic trail might make it official.”
“If it helps us stop this killer, I could live with that.”