The men continued to talk, to explain. References were made to Howard Beach, to a stabbing in Brooklyn, in which the police were negligent in responding and people died.
“Courts in D.C., New York, have ruled a government can’t be held liable for failing to protect people from crime.”
“Makes no difference what the police do or don’t do.”
“Doesn’t matter. We win the suit, if there is one, we still lose because of the publicity.”
I was scarcely hearing a word of it. Horrible images were playing crazily inside my mind. The 911 call, the fact it was aborted, made me see it.
I knew what happened.
Lori Petersen was exhausted after her ER shift, and her husband had told her he would be in later than usual that night. So she went to bed, perhaps planning to sleep just awhile, until he got home—as I used to do when I was a resident and waiting for Tony to come home from the law library at Georgetown. She woke up at the sound of someone inside the house, perhaps the quiet sound of this person’s footsteps coming down the hallway toward the bedroom. Confused, she called out the name of her husband.
No one answered.
In that instant of dark silence that must have seemed an eternity, she realized there was someone inside the house and it wasn’t Matt.
Panicking, she flicked on the bedside lamp so she could see to dial the phone.
By the time she’d stabbed out 911, the killer had gotten to her. He jerked the phone line from the wall before she had a chance to cry out for help.
Maybe he grabbed the receiver out of her hand. Maybe he yelled at her or she began to plead with him. He’d been interrupted, momentarily knocked off guard.
He was enraged. He may have struck her. This may be when he fractured her ribs, and as she cowered in stunned pain he wildly looked around. The lamp was on. He could see everything inside the bedroom. He could see the survival knife on her desk.
Her murder was preventable. It could have been stopped!
Had the call been given a priority one, had it immediately been dispatched over the air, an officer would have responded within minutes. He would have noticed the bedroom light was on—the killer couldn’t see to cut cords and tie up his victim in the dark. The officer might have gotten out of his car and heard something. If nothing else, had he taken the time to shine his light over the back of her house, the removed window screen, the picnic bench, the open window would have been noticed. The killer’s ritual took time. The police might have been able to get inside before he killed her!
My mouth was so dry I had to take several sips of coffee before I could ask, “How many people know this?”
Boltz replied, “No one’s talking about it, Kay. Not even Sergeant Marino knows. Or at least it’s doubtful he does. He wasn’t on duty when the call was broadcast. He was contacted at home after a uniform man had already arrived at the scene. The word’s out in the department. Those cops aware of what happened are not to discuss the matter with anyone.”
I knew what that meant. Loose lips would send the guy back to traffic or stick him behind a desk in the uniform room.
“The only reason we’re apprising you of this unfortunate situation”—Amburgey carefully chose his words—“is because you need the background in order to understand the steps we feel compelled to take.”
I sat tensely, looking hard at him. The point of all this was about to be made.
“I had a conversation with Dr. Spiro Fortosis last night, the forensic psychiatrist who has been good enough to share his insights with us. I’ve discussed the cases with the FBI. It’s the opinion of the people who are experts in profiling this type of killer that publicity exacerbates the problem. This type of killer gets off on it. He gets excited, hyper, when he reads about what he’s done. It pushes him into overdrive.”
“We can’t curtail the freedom of the press,” I bluntly reminded him. “We have no control over what reporters print.”
“We do.” Amburgey was gazing out the window. “They can’t print much if we don’t give them much. Unfortunately, we’ve given them a lot.” A pause. “Or at least someone has.”
I wasn’t sure where Amburgey was going but the road signs definitely pointed in my direction.
He continued, “The sensational details—the leaks— we’ve already discussed have resulted in graphic, grisly stories, banner headlines. It’s the expert opinion of Dr. Fortosis this may be what prompted the killer to strike again so soon. The publicity excites him, puts him under incredible stress. The urge peaks again and he has to find release in selecting another victim. As you know, there was only a week between the slayings of Cecile Tyler and Lori Petersen—”