Profiled Read online

  Although Lieutenant Sims looked as though he wanted to put a hand over the older man’s mouth to shut him up, he didn’t. No one did. And Lexie was glad no one stopped him from expressing affection toward his wife. At the end of his monologue, he withdrew a white handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

  Next in line, Lexie gathered her courage then followed their lead. “I moved to Macon eight months ago from Atlanta. I’m an investigative news correspondent at WGXA and hope to inform the city as to what they should watch for regarding the Sunrise Killer.” She paused, then added, “And I plan to air the story informing the world that he’s been caught.”

  Angel nodded, and Lexie expected her to move on to the last person in the room, John Tucker, but the profiler didn’t let her off the hook.

  “And are you married? Divorced? Single? Have any children?”

  Lexie blinked. Angel knew the answers to all of the above. However, the men at the table weren’t aware of that, and she’d had to ask, to maintain consistency. Lexie should’ve anticipated the questions.

  “Divorced. And I have a son attending college at the University of Georgia.”

  “Shoot, you ain’t old enough to have a kid that age.” Zed Naylor tilted his head and tried to pinpoint her age.

  “I married young.” Though answering Zed, she looked at Angel. “And I had my son at nineteen.”

  Angel gave her a tender smile then drew everyone’s attention to the man on Lexie’s left. “And you, Detective Tucker?”

  Lexie’s face had burned when she provided the information about her failed marriage and her son. Something about baring that information in front of John Tucker made her more aware of her past, more aware of the things that had happened and the things she couldn’t change.

  He leaned forward in his seat and looked at Angel when he spoke. “I was born in Macon. Married in ’91. Abby was murdered in 1999, as I'm sure you know. Any more questions?”

  “No.” Angel inhaled, and Lexie leaned forward, curious to hear what she’d tell about herself. But Special Agent Jackson acted as though revealing her own information wasn’t part of the deal. None of the men asked. Instead, Captain Pierce asked the question all of them wanted answered. “So, did we give you what you’re looking for, Agent Jackson?”

  “What I’m looking for?”

  “The profile. How many of us fit?” He glanced in John Tucker’s direction.

  Angel didn’t bat a lash. “Three are close, but none hit the mark.”

  Lexie swallowed. She had determined that from their brief responses? Or did she look at people and know whether they were capable of murder? Lexie scanned the men around the table; they didn’t look at all surprised by the quick assessment. Three potential killers, but none hit the mark?

  Which three?

  “You’re saying your profile differs from the previous guy’s profile?” Captain Pierce didn’t attempt to mask his glance in Tucker’s direction this time.

  “I’m not saying that at all. Special Agent Carlton identified several aspects that I still believe are associated with our killer; however, I do have some additions to his evaluation, which you’ll see on the profile I’ve generated.” She withdrew a packet of papers from her file, removed the black binder clip from the top then passed them around the table.

  Lexie accepted her page and scanned the FBI profile, while Angel Jackson read aloud.

  “We’re looking for a white male, since the first victim in 1985 was Caucasian. The first victim is almost always the same race as the perpetrator. The killer starts out within his comfort zone. Sometimes he will move beyond that barrier, but in this case, he didn’t.”

  Captain Pierce nodded.

  Angel read, “He’s in his forties to mid-fifties, which means he’d have been a teenager or in his early twenties during the first series. He would have lived in Macon during the time periods of all preceding series. Our guy knows his way around and appears to have entered several victims’ homes without sign of forced entry which, as Stan Carlton noted, could indicate he wore a police uniform or another uniform identifying a trusted profession. Or he could have a face they all recognized and respected.”

  Unimpressed, Captain Pierce crossed his arms. “We knew that much.”

  “But what I’ve added to Agent Carlton’s evaluation follows.” Angel continued, not swayed by his skepticism. “Our perpetrator was married, or began a serious relationship, between 1985 and 1992. My reasoning for this addition is his MO changed between those two series of murders. In 1985, all of his victims were attacked outside, beaten and left to suffer the elements until their bodies were located. When he returned seven years later, he approached victims from within their home and stopped beating them. Instead, he strangled them then placed them almost reverently on their beds to be found.”

  “Which means?” Lieutenant Sims prompted.

  “Remorse. Our killer began seeing his victims as more than mere bodies after 1985. This means the UNSUB had a change of heart, so to speak, with regards to his interpretation of humans and life in general. However, it wasn’t strong enough to stop his urge to kill. In past experience, our unit has found that a change of MO such as this means one of two things.”

  When she paused, Pierce scowled. “We’re listening.”

  “Either we’re dealing with a copycat killer, or the original murderer experienced a life change during that time, which I believe is the case in this series. Although the modification in the number of women murdered during each series still doesn’t make sense in the scenario outlined here. Why he only killed six that first year, then maintained his number at seven for the following three series is still anyone’s guess, but I feel certain there’s a reason for the change. We just have to find it.”

  “So how do you know it wasn’t someone different, a copycat killer, like you said, starting in 1992?” Lou Marker asked.

  “I don’t. However, with the signature remaining the same, it would appear we’ve got the same UNSUB. All victims were blonde, single and pregnant. They were all strangled until they, and their unborn children, died.” She looked at Lexie, then back to the remainder of the group.

  “From the criteria I’ve already listed, three of the people within this room fit our target suspects: Deputy Chief Marker, Lieutenant Sims and Detective Tucker. Captain Pierce wasn’t living in Macon at the time the first murders were committed, and Zed Naylor is, I’m assuming, above our age range.”

  Zed ran a wrinkled hand through his thin crop of stark white hair. “I’ll say I am.”

  “But, if you’ll notice the item in red at the bottom of the page, none of you meet the last criterion. Our killer knew Molly Taylor, the first victim. In some way, shape, or form, a serial killer almost always selects that very first victim due to past experience with that person. From my files, and from Special Agent Carlton’s reports, none of you ever met the girl. But our killer did. And because of her death occurring on Easter, I believe the way he knew her had something to do with religion. Or non-religion.”

  Lexie listened to the men at the table mumble their suspicions regarding Molly Taylor, how every lead about her killer had turned up nothing and how the potential suspects for the girl’s murder had been exhausted throughout the past twenty-eight years.

  She started to keep her thoughts to herself, but one thing had been niggling the back of her mind all day, and the reporter in her couldn’t resist bringing it to light. True, she wasn’t a cop or an FBI profiler, but her dedication to reporting the news did cause her to ask pertinent questions. And since she hadn’t been involved with the case before, she had no idea whether the question had ever been answered.

  “Special Agent Jackson?”

  “Yes?” Angel’s green eyes studied Lexie’s face as if trying to determine the question before she asked. After the profiler’s quick analysis of the men at the table, Lexie wasn’t so sure she couldn’t. Even so, she’d ask. There was no such thing as a stupid question.

/>   “Has the FBI considered the killings could be more religious-geared than they first realized? I’m sure you have,” she added, not wanting to insult the government, “But as I looked over the days of the week for kills in each series, I couldn’t help but notice that when the dates were definite—that is, when the body was quickly found and the coroner didn’t have to estimate the date of death—several of them also coincided with the same day of the week.”

  Angel Jackson’s chair scraped against the floor as she scooted forward. “Go on.”

  Lexie sifted through her notes until she found the page she needed. “In 1992, the first victim was found on Tuesday, the tenth of March. Then the second one that year was found on Easter. In 1999, the first body was found on Tuesday, February twenty-third. The second one, again, on Easter. In 2006, the first body was also found on a Tuesday, March seventh. Then another Easter for the second kill. This year, however, Cami Talton’s body wasn’t found immediately, but the coroner stated she died four to five weeks ago, which could have put the date of death on Tuesday, February nineteenth.”

  “You’re saying that since 1992, the first murder has always happened on a Tuesday?” Captain Pierce asked.

  “No, what I’m saying is—” Lexie started, but stopped when Angel, flipping through her pages, nodded her head. Her eyes widened as she got it.

  “What she’s saying is the first murder always occurred on the same weekday. And that, in fact, every murder in the series occurred on the same day of the week.”

  “Yes.” Lexie nodded. “The first murder in the series seems to have always occurred on Tuesday, except for the very first murder in 1985, on Easter. And the third murder is always on a Friday, the fourth on a Wednesday, and so on. But even though that’s what I noticed, I don’t think that’s the pattern.”

  “You said you believe it has to do with religion.” Lou’s interest tuned in on Lexie’s observation.

  “It does. His first kill is always forty days prior to Easter, isn’t it?” Angel directed the question to Lexie.

  “It looks that way. And even though the remaining dates each year don’t appear to hit any religious holidays,” Lexie continued, while everyone at the table searched through the murder dates with renewed interest, “they all occur on the same day of the week, with response to the previous murder.”

  “Because they’re all forty days apart.” Angel wrote several notes in her file. “Forty days and forty nights. I should’ve looked for more Biblical references. Good job, McCain. This gives us something to work with. The guy’s got a knowledge of religion, albeit a sick interpretation, and it goes deeper than including an Easter kill in each series. He’s following a pattern, and we need to figure out why that pattern was established, what it means.”

  “Then why didn’t he follow it the first year?” Lou asked. “It makes no sense. There was no murder that year forty days before Easter. Everything started with Molly Taylor on Easter Sunday.”

  “Maybe not.” Papers stopped rattling and whispers ceased as everyone turned their attention to John Tucker.

  Angel looked up. “What are you saying, Detective?”

  But Lexie knew, and she agreed. She turned in her chair to hear him convey the same thing she’d been thinking since she’d first noted the pattern in the past three series.

  “I’m thinking they missed a murder that first year. Yeah, I know his MO changed, and I think you’re right about him humanizing his victims after that point, due to a marriage, or a kid, or something along that line, but I don’t think he changed the number of women killed between '85 and '92. Someone was murdered on that Tuesday, forty days before Easter in 1985, and that’s the real first victim. That’s why you haven’t been able to match any suspects to Molly Taylor.”

  “She wasn’t the first victim.” Angel nodded as though the theory had potential.

  John agreed. “After hearing what Ms. McCain brought to light tonight, I think there was another woman murdered in 1985. It makes more sense than any of our previous theories, I’m surprised we didn’t question it earlier.”

  “Kind of hard to say a murder was committed when you haven’t got a body,” Ed Pierce droned from his seat.

  Lexie watched John Tucker’s jaw twitch, listened to his deep inhalation, then the steady whoosh of air as he released the breath. She’d bet money he had counted to ten. Or a fast twenty.

  “No, we didn’t find another body, but after the following series, we should’ve gone back and taken a better look at that year.”

  “We did. I’ve got the reports right here.” Ryan Sims lifted his copy of the information the police had gathered throughout the past twenty-eight years, information on the murders, autopsies, victimology and crime scene photos.

  “We checked out the information on the murders and the victims,” John corrected. “We should have looked more at the year in question to determine if there could’ve been an additional murder, as Ms. McCain suggested. Missing persons’ reports, number of recoveries, number unrecovered. That information would provide a good starting point in identifying if there was a different initial victim.”

  “You think Molly Taylor wasn’t the first?” Zed Naylor looked skeptical. “He left all the bodies out to be found back then. Why wouldn’t we have found the first one?”

  “Maybe because he knew that kill would point to him,” Angel said. “Because it was personal.”

  “You know, that could be right.” Captain Pierce changed his tune and sounded interested in pursuing this new avenue. “We haven’t connected any possible suspects to Molly Taylor. Her family checked out, friends checked out and the girl had never done anything out of the ordinary or produced any enemies, from what the department learned back then.”

  “And I think if we find that first victim, then we’ll find the link between that person and the people who fit your profile. All of it, including the last item on your list, Agent Jackson.” John Tucker underlined the item on his page. “The killer did have some type of relationship with the first victim. We just haven’t identified the first victim yet.”

  Angel looked at Lexie and gave her a slight smile, then nodded in appreciation. “Maybe I should always request a media professional for my cases.”

  “Thanks,” Lexie said, thrilled to be an active member of the group, and even more pleased they were getting closer to finding, and stopping, the killer.

  “Missing persons?” Zed Naylor asked, rising from his chair.

  “Yeah,” Captain Pierce answered. “Pull January through April of 1985 and let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “It’ll take a while.” Lou Marker stood beside Zed. “That stuff’s still in hard copy and handwritten. Don’t think the techies have scanned that far back. Nothing will be in the system, and it’s combined with the rest of the state’s records.”

  “Fine.” The captain’s tone emphasized his determination. “See how many people we can put on it, and let’s try to have something together by morning.”

  Lexie looked at the big round clock on the wall. White circle, black numbers, and both hands pointing straight up. Midnight. Twenty-four hours before the murderer planned to kill again. Her pulse raced. They were on the right track; she could feel it. If they identified that first victim, she believed they’d find the killer. And perhaps, put an end to her personal nightmare.

  Chapter Four

  In spite of Zed and Lou finding the surplus of boxes with missing persons’ data from 1985, the reports weren’t as detailed as their modern counterparts. To locate those identified as missing from Bibb County, they had to go through the state files one by one and search the victims’ addresses. By 3:00 a.m., tempers flared, patience was fleeting, and the group realized they needed sleep if they weren’t planning to kill each other before they finished.

  Captain Pierce announced they would call it a day, leaving Zed and Lou to continue perusing the files until 6:00 a.m., when Tucker and Sims were scheduled to relieve the pair. The captain wanted somebody on it
until all potential victims surfaced and the team could determine which of them, if any, was the Sunrise Killer’s initial murder. He’d have additional police personnel to help sort the information by morning, and the task force would reconvene at 8:00 a.m. Not a lot of time for sleep, but time was a limited commodity.

  Weary from the stress of putting the pieces together and from the painstaking chore of searching for Macon addresses within those endless files, Lexie gathered her things.

  “Ms. McCain.” John Tucker stepped close.

  She tried not to react to the prickle on her skin, an immediate response to hearing him say her name, and a response she neither understood nor could control. Fear, or something else? “Yes?”

  She had to tilt her head to look at his eyes, blue eyes that gazed straight through her, and seemed to see more than she wanted to show. How much did John Tucker know about her, anyway? Nothing. No one knew her part in what had happened so long ago. That portion of the records had been extinguished from public access years ago. Angel had even verified the fact when she joined the Bureau.

  “You’re an asset to this team.” His mouth crooked up on one side. “I admit I wasn’t sure anyone from the media would help. But then again, you’re not the average run-of-the-mill reporter, are you?”

  Relieved, she smiled. “Guess not. And thanks for the vote of confidence. I hope to help catch him.” He couldn’t realize how much.

  “We’ll get him this time. We have to.” He leaned closer, those blue eyes making her stomach quiver. “I—” He didn’t get the chance to finish before Captain Pierce interrupted.

  “Tucker, I need you to take a look at this.” He held up a file.

  “Right.” He gave Lexie an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

  “Of course.” She added her surplus of new notes to her briefcase and started leaving. Then, aware she had an hour to get her story to the paper, she searched out Agent Jackson and found her walking toward the lobby.