nothing is more difficult than to understand him.
― Fyodor Dostoevsky
Near as I could figure, Neil was dealing with about a dozen murders dating back about as many years. An average of one homicide a year...hardly enough to make a blip on anyone's radar screen and maybe that was someone’s plan.
I had no idea if we were dealing with a lone individual or a group and trying to discern a common pattern in the murders was difficult. I knew from my experience in Afghanistan that relying on information channeled from a local made all the difference in getting a handle on what was really going on beneath the surface and that's why I was hopeful Ella might eventually notice something that could give me a lead.
But right now I was flying blind and nothing was popping.
Neil suggested looking into geographical profiling but that turned out to be a dead end—the murders were scattered over a large area and in that respect looked random. Of course that may have been the killer's intention but regardless, it was a blind alley.
I went back to perusing my library of books and articles on criminal intelligence to prompt me—it was a sort of brainstorming technique to expose myself to different points of view in the hopes of hitting on a novel approach.
As I was studying the behavioural profiles of serial killers I was reminded they often experimented with lesser crimes and gradually refined their technique over time.
It was a promising possibility—maybe an uptick in assault statistics, vandalism or property crimes preceding the murders might indicate first attempts at striking out at victims and I might be able to correlate early attacks with later murders.
The more I thought about it, the more my approach made sense.
What if the killer or killers began by intimidating or assaulting his victims and when that didn’t work, ended up killing them?
All I’d have to do is to compare my homicides with other reported offences and see if any names showed up on both lists.
Seemed like a plan to me.
But just as I was about to open my laptop to check on reported crimes my cell buzzed. It was Neil. There had been another murder.
I dropped everything and headed out to the crime scene—a large sprawling farm on the edge of town.
When I arrived the access road was lined with police and emergency vehicles and what I presumed to be the vehicles of neighbouring farmers.
”You made good time,” Neil said as he met me just inside the taped-off perimeter.
“I may have broken a few laws driving above the limits,” I admitted ruefully.
“Ah well, country roads—we don’t heavily enforce them and besides you were on police business.”
“Is the crime scene intact?”
Neils shook his head. “Farm folk are different—they phoned all the neighbours and then phoned us last. About a half dozen men have tramped through that field. They figured it was a hunting accident.”
“Great, just great,” I groused. “What does the corner think—is he sure it’s a homicide?”
“She’s very sure it is,” a voice behind me said as a middle-aged woman gave me a brittle smile.”
“I’m sorry, I just assumed…” I trailed off realizing how sexist that sounded. “I’m Scott Reynolds, a crime analyst on loan from Toronto.”
“Mazie Brooks,” the woman said, extending her hand to shake mine. “No offence taken. I get that a lot around here,” she added, staring pointedly at the assembled officers now trying to avert their gaze while squirming under her glare.
”Now Mazie,” Neil smiled affably, why don’t you fill in Scott with what you’ve observed.”
“The man’s dead,” she said sarcastically, “a single bullet through the head. It was from a McMillan TAC-338 sniper rifle—The shooter had military training. He fired from that ridge up there.”
She pointed to a spot about a thousand yards away.
“That would have to be a very good shooter or a very lucky shot,” I frowned.
She shrugged. “Snipers have killed enemy soldiers from double that range—just saying.”
“Scott here served in Afghanistan,” Neil said casually.
She arched an eyebrow. “Guess you weren’t a sniper then.”
“Definitely not,” I laughed, “I spent my tour there hunkering down for dear life.”
“That’s good. You’re brave. I think heroes are reckless.”
”How does this homicide tie in with all the others?” I asked.
“It doesn’t,” she said bluntly. “The others weren’t obvious—they could have all been thought to be accidents, if it weren’t for Neil’s sharp observations.”
Neil made a throw-away gesture. “Now Mazie, don’t go turning my head with compliments.”
“Just credit where credit’s due, Neil—God only knows how many of these were missed before you took over here.”
Mazie’s remark stopped me dead in my tracks. She was right—Neil had only been in charge for the last dozen years.
What if there were another dozen murders we’d never know about? It was possible. The stakes just kept getting higher.
I’m not a betting man but I had a hunch that this was even bigger than Neil suspected.