“It’s no secret that some of you consider this voodoo,” the renowned forensic psychiatrist and FBI special agent Dr. Richard Clements said in a deep-throated voice that filled Homicide’s situation room. Thirty minutes into the evening shift, LaMoia and Gaynes were already on ATM watch, as were a total of eight other police officers.
Boldt, Shoswitz, Rankin, and Daphne Matthews were all in attendance for SPD. They were joined by two plain-clothes detectives from the King County police, a homicide lieutenant and two detectives from the Portland Police Department, the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Seattle field office, and two FBI public information officers.
Dr. Clements looked a little green under the artificial lights. He wore a plain gray suit, white shirt with a loud, abstract tie, and black wing tips. He had long gray hair, wild over the ears, and steely dark eyes, and looked like someone who ran a museum for a private foundation. He never blinked. Wearing half-glasses, he read from a dogeared folder, and made notes with a black mechanical pencil as he went.
Prior to the start of this meeting, he had complained to Boldt that he would rather be back in Virginia mowing his lawn and drinking a sloe gin fizz. This, Boldt assumed, was his attempt to give a romantic impression of himself. Boldt knew all about Dr. Richard Clements.
Dr. Clements had interviewed the most vicious mass murderers and serial murderers in confinement in the United States as well as several overseas countries, including the former Soviet Union, and had compiled a psychological overview of these killers that later led to the now commonplace practice of criminal profiling. For four of the Reagan years, he had been adviser to the Secret Service, analyzing both real and perceived threats to the president’s life. According to rumor, on three occasions he had accurately predicted where to find the would-be assassins just days before the attempts.
He had come to work with Daphne Matthews as an adviser while serving as a special agent on the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit during the Seattle Police Department’s attempt to apprehend the Cross Killer. An eccentric, he was the stuff of legend in law enforcement-the Einstein of the criminal mind. He lectured at Yale and Johns Hopkins regularly, and had authored several books including a textbook in use in nearly every criminology course in the country. It was said that extensive scars, barely visible above his shirt collar but more obvious at the cuff of his left sleeve, covered most of his upper torso and had been given to him by Mad Dog, a Swedish inmate who had nearly devoured the man before guards saved him. There were other stories about Dr. Clements-some even about these same scars-that Boldt had heard over the years, some of them flattering, some not. Until today, he had not believed them. Now, looking at this creature, he was not so quick to rule anything out. In appearance, Dr. Clements had been around mass murderers for too long: He was wide-eyed and given to explosive bursts of animation followed by eerie stretches of silence and contemplation that one dare not interrupt.
“Perhaps this science is part voodoo. Sometimes the profiles help, sometimes not. What I am going to tell you about this man-oh yes, a man-is intended merely as a reference point, a fallback that hopefully, may help guide you toward a better understanding of this individual, or even possibly predict his future behavior.” He addressed Captain Rankin, a big burly man of Irish coloring. “My job is part science, part invention. But like you, I take it seriously, and I ask only that you give me serious consideration and your undivided attention.
“First, a point of business: At my suggestion, Sergeant Boldt has instructed Adler Foods to begin a quiet recall and subsequent destruction of all its candy bars. As you may know, an individual believed to be our suspect has been identified as having purchased several such candy bars, and it is my contention that he intends to poison them. This is a substitution recall only-that is, all such products currently on the shelf will be replaced with fresh product, and random testing will be conducted on recalled product. In this way we do not violate the demands, but we serve the public interest. Now, as to the larger issue.
“The individual in question goes by the name of Harry Caulfield. He is single, twenty-eight years old. Despite a possible residence at Longview Farms, I believe he has recently lived within a two-mile radius of the Broadway Foodland supermarket. He may be cohabitating, though I doubt it-a loner is more likely. He is or was recently employed in a blue-collar job or jobs that involve manual labor. This employment may have temporarily included Adler Foods or association with Adler Foods, though it is my contention he was never on the payroll.
“I can see, Captain Rankin, that you are skeptical of my assessment.” Rankin shifted uneasily in his chair. “I can explain some of this. The first two faxes that Mr. Owen Adler received some months ago were pasteups, not computer faxes like the more recent threats. Your lab identified the source publications for these pasteups as including typography from both Playboy and Penthouse as well as a local shopping giveaway. The two skin magazines help us define his demography; the giveaway helps narrow his current or former place of residence, because the publication does not enjoy wide circulation. He also clipped both Sports Illustrated and a national blue-collar rag called Heartland-these identified by our Hoover lab-which further narrows his demographics and suggests the likelihood of manual labor. We don’t dream this stuff up.” He smirked.
“But who is he?” he continued. “He is a loner. A possible insomniac. The actions he is taking are his-that is, he is not some hired gun, but instead his own man. He may or may not have a background in”-he held up his fingers-“microbiology, animal husbandry, electronics, or food production. He believes his cause righteous, and as far as we are concerned, that makes him extremely dangerous and he is to be taken at his word. He believes he is doing what he has to: punishing Adler Foods, or Owen Adler himself, for some grievous wrong committed in the past.
“Technically, clinically,” he went on, “he is assumed to be a paranoid schizophrenic. He is really two people, if you will-the evil person committing these crimes and the voice he hears both encouraging him and warning him of the severity of his actions. There is a voice of reason within him, hence his ability to organize and seemingly remain one step ahead. Although schizophrenic, he’s not crazy in the way you think of him,” he addressed to Rankin. “Not organically. He’s disturbed certainly, but there is a vast difference. No drooler, this man. He is to be taken seriously. He is to be feared. If he says two weeks, then two weeks it is. If he says he’ll kill a hundred, then it shall be no less.”
Clements scanned the room and continued. “He does not believe he can be caught. You snicker, Captain, but it is the truth. He believes himself smarter than all of you-all of us combined. I promise you that he monitors the media closely for signs of his success or failure. Your ability so far to disguise his acts is to be commended. As I understand it, you were concerned about the proliferation of copycat crimes-a legitimate concern. But worse, this is a man who will try to outdo his own headlines.”
Rankin, still not convinced, asked, “Where does the extortion fit in? The extortion demands?”
“It’s a complex issue,” Clements answered. “It appears he has a grand scheme, a grand design in mind, perhaps from the beginning. Three phases: a warning phase, an attack phase, a final phase, if you will. I believe we have moved into the attack phase. He has not seen the results he had hoped for, but he was prepared for this all along. He has shifted from the larger demands that even to him must have seemed unlikely for him to win, to the more specific monetary gains of these extortion demands.”
“And the final phase?” one of the Portland cops asked reluctantly.
“Phase three is to deliver on his promise to kill hundreds, I would assume. Do not doubt it. It is not inconceivable that he has devised a plan in advance to accomplish this in the event of his arrest.” As an aside he said, “With an individual as seemingly capable as this, nothing is inconceivable.” He allowed another wry smile, and his glassy, unflinching eyes sparkled in the harsh light. Dr. Richard Clements was enjoying himself.