Dupree leaned forward and leafed through Amaia’s submission. “In your second note,” he continued, picking up the little square so that it adhered to his index finger, “You write, ‘Saves them from the destruction,’ ‘He’s their rescuer,’ and ‘Arrives when they need him most.’”
A sigh showed them she was nervous. Her voice emerged thin and choked, “Thanks to the witness . . .” She cleared her throat, swallowed, and started over. “Thanks to the witness, we know the killer arrived at the house immediately after the tornado. He got there ahead of the rescue teams, the police, and the firefighters. The family had survived but they’d lost everything. They were overwhelmed. The killer presents himself as someone who’s come to help, someone bringing them salvation—in more than one sense of the word. That’s the only explanation why a family of three adults and three teenagers would be unable to defend themselves against this man. If, as Agent Tucker told us, he arrived unarmed and then used the father’s gun to kill them, he had to get close and win their confidence, so as to overcome their defenses.”
Emerson interrupted her. “You’re not adding anything new. If you’d bothered to study the report, you’d know we dismissed the possibility that the perpetrator was on the rescue team. According to the witness, the Composer carried a briefcase and wore a badge.”
Dupree pointed to another sticky note, this one yellow. “In your third note, relating to the position of the corpses and the ligature marks, even though you weren’t informed that the bodies were aligned with their heads to the north, you wrote, ‘After killing them he cares for them. That’s his mission. To maintain that mission, he’s determined to hide his crimes and not get caught. Not just to remain undetected. He’s obsessed with endowing the dead with dignity.’”
Amaia had seen Emerson shaking his head in disagreement as Dupree read out the note, but Johnson was the one who countered her argument. His voice was calm, as always, and he spoke in the manner of a learned professor seeking to dialogue with a student. “I do not agree with that point. The individual we seek is a hunter, a predator who wants to stay hidden. We don’t believe that disguising his crimes has anything to do with the victims. He does it for himself, in order to remain unperceived. He succeeded in disguising the murders of the Masons, and he’d have gotten away with the Jones murders too if there hadn’t been a witness.”
Dupree looked up from the report. With a lift of his chin he invited Amaia to respond.
“I believe he hides his method of execution by gunshot for a different reason. I think he perceives his own method as undignified or even cowardly. In some twisted way, he’s trying to reestablish order, to endow the dead with dignity; he doesn’t seek to degrade or shame them. That’s why he disguises the wounds. He makes their deaths look accidental, a result of divine will. Perhaps he sees himself as carrying out God’s work, finishing up what God sent the storm to do. A fair number of people still believe that natural disasters are divine punishment. I believe the killer’s exploitation of natural disasters to carry out his murders isn’t evidence of a desire to hide his crimes. Rather, he sees himself as an instrument of God’s holy wrath.”
Tucker and Johnson exchanged quick glances, while Dupree remained seated behind the desk. He took a deep breath. “I’m not entirely convinced. Our approach to this case takes into account the ritual behavior typical of ‘annihilators,’ killers who murder entire families. But I have to say that your reasoning is as original as the way you presented your report.”
Her knee started to jiggle. Amaia placed a hand on that leg as she sought to regain her calm. She had known exactly what she was doing when she presented her conclusions. She’d provoked them deliberately, and now she had to deal with the pushback.
“Here’s one thing that particularly caught my attention.” Dupree pointed to the yellow note posted at the bottom of the boy’s witness statement. He read it aloud. “‘Does the boy go to church regularly? Has he ever attended a funeral? Would he recognize church liturgy?’”
Amaia had held her breath as he read. When she inhaled again, it was with a quick snort. She blinked and was about to explain, but Dupree raised a hand to forestall her. He picked up from his desk a document printed on FBI letterhead. “Yesterday, after reading your brief note, Agents Johnson and Tucker flew to Oklahoma to find out. They interviewed the witness and his parents. Agents . . .” With a wave of his hand he gave them the floor.
“This family doesn’t go to church,” Tucker said. “The father thinks religion is absurd, and he had plenty to say on that score.” She read from the document she had in hand. “‘He explained that his family does not attend church. In response to our question, the boy stated he has never attended a church service or a funeral.’”
Johnson spoke up. “We showed him video of a church service. The boy recognized the gestures immediately. He told us the Composer did exactly the same thing.”
Amaia exhaled, her reaction signaling that she’d been counting on such an answer, but Dupree was the next one to speak. “The killer was not directing an orchestra or composing a symphony for the dead; he was praying for them, carrying out a farewell liturgy.”
Amaia’s voice was scarcely audible. “A Dies Irae for the repose of the dead.”
Dupree looked past Amaia and caught Verdon’s eye. Verdon nodded. The boss returned his gaze to the young woman. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
Amaia held his gaze as long as she could. Though aware it might be a mistake and a sign of weakness, she lowered her gaze. She looked up only when he spoke again.
“The next note says, ‘Executes them with the father’s gun. Not a coincidence. Knows the gun’s in the house.’”
Emerson swiveled on his chair. “Then how does he find it in the middle of all that confusion? Anyone could assume there’d be some kind of firearm in a farmhouse, a shotgun or maybe a hunting rifle, but in both cases it was a small-caliber weapon. Even supposing he had some way of knowing about those guns, how was he going to locate them in the wake of a tornado?”
Amaia didn’t respond to Emerson. She kept her eyes on Dupree until he signaled he expected her to reply.
“When a violent storm is threatening, families are going to take various safety measures: collecting food, flashlights, water, weapons . . . They probably had everything in a bag or suitcase they brought with them into the storm cellar. And as I mentioned before, the killer didn’t come across as dangerous or threatening. That’s the only way to explain it, unless”—she paused, fully aware she was about to clash with Tucker—“unless the killer had his own weapon, held it on them, and forced them to surrender theirs.”
One of Dupree’s eyebrows shot up. “If he’s already armed, why use the father’s gun?” He scribbled a note across the bottom margin of the page.
“That’s part of his ritual. For some reason he sees it as important.”
Emerson got to his feet, unable to contain himself. “All of which brings us back to an annihilator, an exterminator of families who has to commit his crime with the father’s gun.”