“Seriously?” She gave me a skeptical look. “Do I need to remind you what you make in a year?”
I groaned. “Money isn’t everything. Though . . .” I yielded. “Yes, you’re right. I said it was tempting, not a serious possibility.”
“You’re in the right place,” she said. “Being hired by counsel is the best of both worlds.” She studied the wall. “What’s the crime scene column?”
“Everything I know from the evidence and autopsies. Normally it wouldn’t be so much, but in this case, the autopsies are giving us a timeline of the boys’ captivity.”
“What do you mean?”
I leaned forward and snagged Noah Watkins’s file from the stack. “Here.” I paused. “Have you eaten lunch?”
“Just an energy bar. But don’t worry.” She patted her belly. “Stomach of steel.”
I opened the file. “From drug tests on his hair, we can see that he was exposed to drugs on an almost continual basis during the eight weeks he was in captivity. Speaking of time, he was held the longest. The killer started shortening the lengths. Either he was growing more anxious for the kill, or he was getting whatever he wanted sooner.”
“Jesus.” She reached over and pulled the crime scene photo of Noah. “This is how they’re all found?”
“Yeah.” I looked away, still not conditioned to see the humiliating position of Noah’s body, one designed for maximum visual impact.
“He’s the same with every kill?”
“Pretty much. Body spread-eagled, the genitals removed, a heart carved into his chest.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “And there’s always a pinkie finger missing. Sometimes other digits, too, but always a pinkie.”
“So why isn’t he called the Pinkie Finger Killer?” Meredith asked.
“It’s a detail they’ve intentionally kept from the media.”
She absorbed the information. “So, the guy keeps a finger and his penis?”
I shook my head. “The genitals are always somewhere else on the scene. Discarded as if they’ve just been dropped, without thought.”
“Ouch.” She handed back the photo. “What does that mean?”
“You’re the sex therapist. You tell me.”
“Are the mutilations done while the boy is still alive?”
“The amputations are postdeath. The heart carving, that’s done while they’re alive.”
“And how do they die?”
“Strangulation. The deaths show a bit of mercy, though it’s a little late, given everything else the victims have been through.” I walked her through the road map of torture on the bodies. Cigarette burns. Bruises. Anal tears that indicated penetration. Handcuffs and restraint marks.
She frowned. “How sexually experienced were the victims before they were taken?”
I paused. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen a mention of that in the files I’ve gone through so far. Why?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Just wondering if it’s part of the pattern.”
“It’s worth looking into.” I returned my attention to the board. “Any other insights?”
She let out a breath. “Genital mutilation postdeath, torture and anal penetration during an extended period of captivity . . . I don’t know. I’d be really curious to see what the escaped kid . . . Seth? Scott?”
“Scott. Scott Harden.”
She nodded. “You need to see what he says. Was the abductor molding him? Nurturing him? Was there aftercare? Wait . . .” She shook her head regretfully.
“What?”
“I forgot that you’ve been hired by the defense. You can’t cherry-pick what you use from Scott’s testimony. If he fingered this guy as the killer, and your guy is saying he’s innocent, then why does it matter what else Scott says? He’s either credible and your guy is guilty, or he’s not credible and it’s a waste of time to listen to him.”
She was right. Almost everything I had on Scott had to be ignored. “Sounds like I’m wasting my time either way.”
“Yeah, but you’re getting paid the big bucks and loving every minute.” She shrugged. “Autopsy photos and psych profiles? Please. You’re in heaven.”
I grinned. “Okay, you caught me. How terrible is it that I’m enjoying this?”
“It’s terrible. But I spent last night masturbating to thoughts of my new client, so we’re going to hell together.” She returned her attention to the wall. “Okay, so what do you think?”
“I don’t know . . . ,” I said slowly. “Whoever this is, he’s got enough issues for three people. I also have to consider the fact that he’s staging the deaths and intentionally placing red herrings to catch attention or throw us all off.”
She considered the idea. “You think the genital mutilation and heart carving could all be for show?” She angled herself on the sofa to face me.
“The carving is most definitely a calling card,” I confirmed. “He wants to be famous, and he wants credit for each kill. As far as the rest . . .” I sighed. “There are inconsistencies.”
I tried to sort my thoughts into logical order. “There are standard psychological reinforcements and intrinsic motives for crimes.” I pointed to the chocolate. “It’s like the chocolate. Why do you want the chocolate?”
“Because it tastes good.” She played along.
“That’s why you think you want the chocolate. That’s everyone’s reaction when they’re asked that question, but when—”
“I understand hidden triggers,” she cut me off. “I eat it because my body craves sugar. You eat it because you like the way it tastes. Jacob eats it because putting something in his mouth is a habit, and my mother eats it because her anxiety requires dopamine.”
“Right,” I confirmed. “Well, people kill for different reasons. Mostly pleasure, but varied types of pleasure. The duration of captivity reeks of a control-oriented type, someone who derives enjoyment from exerting their dominance over the victim. The bindings, the rape, the naked bodies . . . it sounds sexual, but it’s more about making the victim feel helpless, which causes the killer to feel more in control.”
“I’m missing the chocolate connection.”
“I’m getting there. With the BH kills, the death itself is almost merciful. Quick. Strangling them until they black out and die. The means to the end versus a pleasurable activity. I eat chocolate because I’m hungry and I like the taste of it better than my second option.” I nodded to the granola bar sitting half-eaten on the side table. “They kill because they like the idea of it more than the alternative. But in the timeline of all this . . .” I waved my hand around the sea of files, notes, and images. “The death is short and quick. Almost a non-event. There is little, if any, pleasure in that specific act. Which leads me to assume that the trigger is that they’re bored of the victim and ready to move on to the next stage—the body staging and the media attention.”
“Or maybe they’re just an asshole.” She smiled.