"Right. Andrew Cunanan. Someone who's killing people in rapid succession, no cooling-off period. Usually these types are at the end of their run when they kill this rapidly. They know they're going to be caught. They want as big a splash as possible when they check out."
"It's a fine line," said Victoria, "spree versus serial. Serial killers often have shorter cooling-off periods toward the end of their run too."
"Let's not get hung up on labels," said Isaac.
"It's not just semantics," said Victoria. "It's a whole different psychological profile. If we have a serial killer--even one at the end of his run--we're still talking about a psychopathic sexual sadist. That's what serial killers are, and that's what I see here. As much as Hollywood likes to cast them as clever geniuses who enjoy a deadly game of cat and mouse with law enforcement, the truth is, they kill because they're driven by uncontrollable sexual fantasies and a warped sense of values that makes their own ten-second orgasm more important than the life of the average thirty-five-yearold woman. A spree killer is different. Who the hell knows what drove Andrew Cunanan to kill Gianni Versace?"
"Spree, serial, whatever," said Isaac. "Let's get back to my original question. What's the point of phoning Morgan Wheatley and dialing 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'?"
Gould said, "With all due respect for Agent Santos, I believe this phone call is indeed the game of a spree killer who's looking for a showdown. He's dropping little bread crumbs as clues along the way, luring us closer, bringing this thing to a head."
"I disagree," said Andie.
Gould smirked. "Oh, that takes courage. Jumping on the Santos bandwagon."
"I'm just thinking logically. If the killer wanted to taunt us with clues on how to find him, he could have simply picked up the phone and called us himself."
"I didn't say he was trying to make it easy for us," said Gould. "He knows that Mr. Wheatley has been dealing with the FBI, and he assumed the phone lines in his house were being monitored. Maybe he feared voice identification."
Isaac said, "He could have let Beth speak."
"Too risky," said Gould. "She could have talked too long, ensured a trace."
"We got a trace anyway," said Isaac.
"Which is exactly what the killer wanted," said Andie. Gould scoffed. "What, now you're on Isaac's bandwagon? You're all over the map, Henning."
"I'm not on anybody's bandwagon, you blowhard."
He backed off, indignant. "Hey, I'm here as a favor. I don't need your grief."
The room was silent. Andie said, "I'm sorry. I admit I don't have the experience of the rest of you, but I've thought about this case more than anyone on the planet, with the possible exception of Gus Wheatley. I feel like I have something important to say about it."
"Then say it, Andie."
"As I see it, this breaks down to two questions. First, why did he call from that pay phone? The answer: he wanted us to find the body."
"Why would he want that?"
"If you look at the pattern on the map, these recovery sites keep moving south. Seattle. Issaquah. Now Oregon. Maybe he's just trying to point us in the wrong direction."
Victoria nodded, which energized her. Andie continued, "Which leads to the second question. Why didn't he just dump the body on the highway where somebody would quickly find it? Or if he felt the need to use the phone, why didn't he just call 911 or the newspaper and tell them where the body was? Why did he call Morgan Wheatley and play a tune on her phone? There's only one explanation I can come up with. He wants us to know he has Beth Wheatley. Really has her."
Isaac asked, "You mean sexually?"
"I'm talking beyond the realm of the physical. He wants us to know he's been inside her head, knows everything about her. Right down to the secret code she uses to communicate with her daughter. He wants us to know he controls her."
They exchanged glances in silence. No one challenged her. It made sense.
Andie continued, "This isn't a spree killer looking for some suicidal showdown on the evening news. He's a serial killer asserting his control. He doesn't want us to catch him. To the contrary. He doesn't think we can."
The silence turned uneasy. It was the familiar fear that lurked in the mind whenever a killer fancied himself uncatchable: He might be right.
"The question is," said Victoria, "does he still control her?"
"Meaning?" asked Gould.
"Meaning, is it purely the memory of Beth Wheatley that fuels this psychopath's fantasy?"
"Or," said Andie, "is he keeping her alive?"
A sudden chill swept over them, as if no one were quite certain which would be worse.
Chapter Thirty-One.