He understood what she meant about the sickening and sickened minds that became serial killers. He’d heard all the psychological theories about how they’d been abused kids, how many had suffered brain damage at some point. But any way he added it up, the world was full of people who’d been abused and brain damaged and they didn’t commit crimes like this.
The idea that someone out there was enjoying all of this nearly made him want to resign from the human race.
The coffee finished brewing and he rose to get a cup. Kelly Jackson had been right: the place was decently furnished. Ready to use. He wondered if Jackson would rent it to tourists once the resort opened. People who couldn’t afford the fancy hotel prices up on the mountain but might want to take a little house for a week as a base of operations.
He’d bought some sweet rolls when they stopped at the grocery for odds and ends, and as his stomach growled he brought out the package. Coffee and a cinnamon bun. It didn’t get much better.
But then DeeJay showed up, rumpled in yesterday’s clothes. Apparently the coffee had beat out an urge for a shower and clean togs.
“May I?” she asked.
“Help yourself. Coffee’s community property. Rolls, too.”
A faint smile curved one corner of her mouth. So it was possible. She didn’t look pinched and disapproving, but maybe that was because she had just wakened. Give her time to ramp up, he thought, mildly amused.
She didn’t say anything until she’d packed away a full mug of coffee and half a roll. Then she pushed her mussed hair back from her face and put her chin in her hands. Unlike most women, she didn’t say the usual I must look a fright. Apparently, she didn’t care.
“We didn’t get a whole lot out of that file last night,” she remarked.
“Unfortunately. Nothing of real predictive value, unless I missed something.”
“Well, he seemed to accelerate just a little before it all stopped the first time, but these latest disappearances... He’s spacing it. Unusual.” Then she sighed again. “Three isn’t a large enough sample set. There’s some evidence of acceleration, but it’s hard to be sure. If he’s got that much self-control, we might have some time.”
Most of these killers began to lose control of their impulses and act with increasing rapidity. So far this guy hadn’t, not in any meaningful way.
“So in theory,” she said, “we’ve got three weeks, a month, before his next move and next to nothing to go on. But we can’t afford to count on that.”
“I know. He could snatch and grab again this week if a victim appeals to him.” And that was the devil of it. You could count on most serial killers to stick with a victim type, to stick to their ritual, whatever it was, but there was no sliding scale to accurately predict when they’d act again. Never.
DeeJay spoke again after a brief silence. “Imagine him hanging his trophies in that cargo netting in the woods. Like advertising. He had to have known they’d eventually be found.”
“Maybe.” He reached for another roll, then went to get the coffeepot and refilled both their mugs. “I need to know more about how many people go up into those mountains. Hikers and the like. Sooner or later someone would find it, obviously, but after a few years, how much would be left?”
“The netting would rot,” she agreed. “It wasn’t nylon or plastic. If the bodies hadn’t been wrapped in plastic, they wouldn’t have found much as it was. Do you suppose he’d try that again in the winter?”