“If your purpose is to entice him with the OCME computer,” Abby said, “we have to make him think the computer figures in. You know, the data are related.”
I thought for a minute. “Okay. We can do that if we say the computer got a hit on a recent data entry, information relating to a peculiar smell noted at one of the scenes and associated with a recently discovered piece of evidence. A search hit on an unusual enzyme defect that could cause a similar odor, but sources close to the investigation would not say exactly what this defect or disease might be, or if the defect has been verified by the results of recently completed DNA tests.”
Wesley liked it. “Great. Let him sweat.”
He didn’t catch the pun. “Let him wonder if we found the jumpsuit,” he went on. “We don’t want to give details. Maybe you can just say the police refused to disclose the exact nature of the evidence.”
Abby continued to write.
I said, “Going back to your ’medical source,’ it might be a good idea to have some pointed quotes coming from this person’s mouth.”
She looked up at me. “Such as?”
I eyed Wesley and replied, “Let this medical source refuse to reveal the specific metabolic disorder, as we’ve agreed. But have this source say the disorder can result in mental impairment, and in acute stages, retardation. Then add, uh . . .” I composed out loud, “An expert in human genetics stated that certain types of metabolic disorders can cause severe mental retardation. Though police believe the serial killer cannot possibly be severely mentally impaired, there is evidence to suggest he might suffer a degree of deficiency that manifests itself in disorganization and intermittent confusion.”
Wesley muttered, “He’ll be off the wall. It will absolutely enrage him.”
“It’s important we don’t question his sanity,” I continued. “It will come back to haunt us in court.”
Abby suggested, “We’ll simply have the source say so. We’ll have the source distinguish between slowness and mental illness.”
By now, she had filled half a dozen pages in her reporter’s notepad.
She asked as she wrote, “This maple syrup business. Do we want to be that specific about the smell?”
“Yes,” I said without pause. “This guy may work around the public. He’s going to have colleagues, if nothing else. Someone may come forward.”
Wesley considered. “One thing’s damn certain, it will further unhinge him. Should make him paranoid as hell.”
“Unless he really doesn’t have a weird case of B.O.,” Abby said.
“How is he going to know he doesn’t?” I asked. Both of them looked surprised.
“Ever heard the expression, ’A fox never smells its own’?” I added.
“You mean he could stink and not know it?” she asked.
“Let him wonder that,” I replied.
She nodded, bending over her notepad again.
Wesley settled back in his chair. “What else do you know about this defect, Kay? Should we be checking out the local pharmacies, see if someone buys a lot of oddball vitamins or prescription drugs?”
“You could check to see if someone regularly comes in to buy large doses of B1,” I said. “There’s also MSUD powder, a dietary supplement available. I think it’s over-the-counter, a protein supplement. He may be controlling the disease through diet, through a limiting of normal high-protein foods. But I think he’s too careful to be leaving those kinds of tracks, and in truth, I don’t think his disease has been acute enough for him to be on a very restricted diet. I suspect in order for him to function as well as he does he leads a fairly normal life. His only problem is he has a strange-smelling body odor that gets more noticeable when he’s under stress.”
“Emotional stress?”
“Physical stress,” I replied. “MSUD tends to flare up under physical stress, such as when the person is suffering from a respiratory infection, the flu. It’s physiological. He’s probably not getting enough sleep. It takes a lot of physical energy to stalk victims, break into houses, do what he does. Emotional stress and physical stress are connected—one adds to the other. The more emotionally stressed he becomes, the more physically stressed he becomes and vice versa.”
“Then what?”
I looked impassively at him.
“Then what happens,” he repeated, “if the disease flares up?”
“Depends on whether it becomes acute.”
“Let’s say it does.”
“He’s got a real problem.”
“Meaning?”