ViCAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, could be a homicide detective’s best friend, if they knew exactly how to use it. It wasn’t as easy as inputting your crime and the system spitting out a match to similar crimes. You had to know what to ask for. Taylor had unfortunately availed herself of its services many times in the past, and had the level of expertise needed to run the appropriate request chain into the queue. Hopefully the results would come back quickly, but the service wasn’t fully automated. A real person had to do some of the legwork, and the FBI was backed up three ways to Sunday on requests. So she inputted the parameters, taking great care with the specifics of both Go-Go and Heath Stover’s crime similarities, crossed her fingers, and went on to the next component of her investigation – figuring out who this man really was.
The ViCAP results came back several hours later, much quicker than she expected. She read the email she’d been sent with trepidation, then sat back in her chair, let the realization wash over her. There were matches in the system from several places around the country, the most recent a homeless woman in New Orleans. Gustafson, whoever the son of a bitch really was, had been a busy, busy boy.
Taylor knew it was time to start raising the red flags. Too many jurisdictions, too many victims. She filled the chief in on her plan, got an atta-girl, then went to the source. Her fiancé was a profiler, after all.
Baldwin answered on the first ring. “Hey, love. How are you?”
“Hi, babe. I’ve been better. Two unsolved cases on my desk from yesterday alone, and just got a report back from ViCAP. I think I’ve got a serial on my hands.” She gave him all the details, then emailed him the ViCAP report. She waited while he accessed it and read the findings. A few minutes later, he agreed.
“You might be right,” he said. “What did you say this guy’s name is again?”
“The license said James Gustafson, but Fairfax County just confirmed that no one by that name exists in the system, and the address is a fake. The license, the cards, all of it, they’re either excellent identity theft or really sophisticated forgeries. Who is this guy? He’s obviously been killing off the radar for years. And he broke his MO with this latest victim. He’s been preying on homeless. Go-Go was a fuck up, she certainly looked the part, but hitting a well-established surgeon from New Orleans? One mistake could be an accident, sure, but the other… there’s a tie to his past, I’m sure of it. The waitress got the impression they were friends, out for a night on the town. Maybe Stover knew the real identity of the killer, and Gustafson felt threatened.”
“That’s a solid theory. He killed a different type of victim out of sequence. The back-to-back kills, I’d bet he’s in some sort of trouble, decompensating.”
“Well, he’s screwed up. Now we know about him. He’s on the radar, and I’m about to make his world hell.”
“He sounds like someone who has spent his life being very, very careful. Listen, I’m totally wrapped up in this case, or else I’d help you myself. But I know who to call. I’ve worked with her on cases before. She’s sharp. I think you should have a chat with her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Maggie O’Dell. Hold on a sec, let me get her number for you.” He rattled off the numbers and she wrote them down.
“I’ll call her right now. Thanks, honey. Call me later, okay?”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Taylor hung up the phone, waited a moment, then dialed. Even if O’Dell couldn’t help, at least the FBI would be aware that something was hinky with the so-called James Robert Gustafson.
The call went to voicemail. Taylor left a message, told the agent who she was, her connection to Baldwin, that she had a significant ViCAP match and wanted to touch base. She hung up the phone, leaned back in her chair and put her boots on the desk.
She’d get some justice for Go-Go, and for Stover. Their deaths would not go unpunished. No matter what. And for the moment, that was the best she could do.
The lights of Washington D.C. greeted JR. Luminous, beautiful, the city was home. He always felt secure once he crossed into Fairfax County, knowing he was just miles from his basecamp. It had been a long trip, exhausting in its way, but so, so worth it.
Sated, he was calm again, the fury of the past month’s excess slaking the thirst in his blood. Now he would lay low. Fit back into his life. Go to work like a good little boy. Recharge his batteries. Maybe a small vacation, somewhere in the mountains, where he could watch the snow fall, listen to birds chirp and water run and feel the cool air pass over his skin.
And remember. Always, always remember.
COLD METAL NIGHT
by
Alex Kava
Sunday, December 4
2:37 a.m.
Downtown Omaha, Nebraska