7:25 a.m.
9 hours until the gloaming
Life is paradox.
That’s what I was thinking when I woke up, sat up in bed, and stared at the phone, trying to decide if I should call Taci.
Paradox.
We want joy, but we read novels that make us cry. We’re desperate to be truly known by others; yet we go to incredible lengths to hide who we really are. We say we want truth, then rationalize it away when it gets too personal.
We want the paradoxical extremes of security and adventure, of independence and intimacy, and if we have neither, or only one or the other, we’re in psychological trouble: anyone who wants only intimacy is clingy and dependent; anyone who wants only independence is self-centered and dangerous.
We want to be free, but not too free; loved but not too tied down.
Paradox.
In essence, to be emotionally healthy, to be well-rounded, somehow we need to find a way to live in the constant tension of our desires; only people in perpetual conflict with themselves come the closest to finding peace.
Or love.
So.
Taci.
I knew her schedule for today, knew she would be leaving for the hospital at eight to work a twenty-four-hour rotation. So, she would still be home right now.
But then gone for twenty-four hours.
Call her.
No, no, no. Don’t call her.
I was caught in the middle of human nature’s greatest paradox of all: only when you love someone enough to let her walk away and not hold it against her have you finally found the truest form of love.
But then, it’s too late.
With that thought hovering around me, I didn’t call her, but left for the bathroom to shower and get dressed.
A quick recap.
I ran it through in my mind.
Griffin was dead, Mallory recovering. We hadn’t learned yet if Browning knew about Griffin’s crimes, but this morning Ralph was going to find out.
I was waiting to hear back from Ellen whether Roger Kennedy and Dane Strickland, the men responsible for dumping Dahmer’s possessions in the Fort Atkinson landfill, had known Griffin.
The person who’d killed Bruce Hendrich was still at large. We didn’t know yet if he was also the man who’d abducted Adele Westin and Colleen Hayes. Additionally, the man who’d killed the women in Ohio and Illinois was still at large. We didn’t know whether he was the same man either. One man, or two, or three, we still didn’t know.
After reviewing the notes Calvin had given me last night, as well as the last three pages of the stack he’d provided earlier, I realized I didn’t have the mathematical background to do the geographic-profiling calculations in any reasonable amount of time. I would definitely need a computer and his software to analyze this data properly.
At the pub he’d said to call him at eight, just ten minutes from now. We could set up a time to go over the numbers then.
Last night I’d stayed up late, going through the Oswald video footage and case files, and there were papers strewn all across my living room floor.
But Radar was on my mind and, instead of picking up the papers, I phoned Reverend Padilla, the police chaplain. “I think maybe you should talk with Radar.”
“About the shooting?”
“Yes. He seemed, well…I’m a little worried about how it might be affecting him.”
“I’ll give him a call.”
Then I got in touch with Thorne. He had no problem with us consulting with Calvin about the case.
“Just fill out the paperwork when you get to the department,” he told me.
“Great.”
At last I scooped up the papers and popped the video out of the VCR.
By a fluke, WISN Channel 12 News had a cameraman stationed in the area during the Oswalds’ apprehension. The station had gotten the dispatch call and sent out a camera crew since they thought it was going to be a hostage situation.
As it turned out, the cameraman had gotten live footage of the Oswalds driving through a police barricade, trying to escape, and then crashing into a tree. I remembered seeing a minute or two of the footage back in 1994 after their arrest-it was played repeatedly for the next few weeks as the daily news reports followed the story.
But last night I’d watched the complete footage, as well as parts of the news shows, and now I gathered together the notes I’d jotted down:
• Van: Blue. Stolen from 46-year-old Judy Opat. They made her drive it when they abducted her. After she jumped out, they tried to escape but within thirty seconds crashed into a tree.
• SWAT surrounded them, but they refused to throw their guns out of the van. The standoff lasted three hours (thankfully the footage didn’t).
• Earlier that morning, the Oswalds had robbed a bank in Wales at 9:30. At 9:36 a.m., the officers received a call and dispatched vehicles to apprehend the suspects.
• The chase ensued from the corner of 18 and 83.
• As they fled, they were approached by Captain James Lutz on Meadowbrook Road. They shot him six times, fatally wounding him.
• After Lutz’s murder, the chase re-ensued at the intersection of SS and G near the Rocky Point subdivision on the west side of Pewaukee Lake. The shoot-out occurred when the suspects were hemmed in by a roadblock on the corner of SS and Oak Street.
• Other injuries from the shoot-out-Judy was hit by a bullet that entered her right shoulder and exited her armpit, two other officers were shot and treated, one suffered minor abrasions. The officers, hostage, and subsequently, the suspects, were all treated at Waukesha Memorial Hospital.
After cleaning up the living room, I called Calvin and told him he was in as a consultant.
“Splendid. Then I think there are some things we should discuss this morning.”
We agreed to meet at eight forty-five at Marquette in the Criminology and Law Studies grad office where he was heading to prepare his lecture for this afternoon’s seminar. “I’ll bring my computer,” he offered. “Then we can plug in the data, try to find out where our offender might actually live.”
That gave me just under half an hour before I needed to leave.
Figuring I’d make the best of it, I set about reviewing Werjonic’s algorithms so I could at least try to understand what we would be discussing at eight forty-five.