Quincy, however, would need a copy of the note and the map for their own efforts.
At the last moment, Kincaid gestured for Quincy to follow him down the hall.
“What do you think?” Kincaid asked as they approached the copy machine.
“Simple,” Quincy said. “But clever.”
“Simple but clever? Come on, Mr. Profiler Man. Surely you earn those big bucks coming up with more than that.”
“I want a raunchy ruling analysis of the note,” Quincy said abruptly, “testing the paper for signs of indentation. Can your QD people do that?”
“They’ve been known to be competent.”
“You’ll ask for the test?”
“I’ve been known to be competent, too.”
“All right.” Quincy ignored the other man’s sarcasm. “I think the author of the note is lying. I think he’s telling us what he wants us to believe, but not what’s necessarily true.”
“Ah, so your first instinct is rampant paranoia. Do tell.”
“He claims he’s a professional. He claims it’s about money. But have you ever heard of a ransom case where the victim was random? Around here, given the demographics, you’d stand a decent chance of kidnapping someone who didn’t have the kind of resources necessary to meet the ransom demand.”
“Ten grand isn’t that much,” Kincaid protested.
“Exactly,” Quincy said. “Why ten thousand dollars? That’s not a lot of money for holding a person hostage.”
“He has to make the amount accessible. You said it yourself, this isn’t the richest part of the state. Plus, don’t get me wrong, but for some of us, a quick ten grand isn’t doing so badly.”
Quincy merely shrugged. “Why invite in the police? Don’t most ransom notes specifically state
not
to contact the authorities? For someone trying to score a quick ten grand, in your own words, he’s just bought himself a bigger headache.”
“Ah, but see, given this guy’s system, he has no choice. Without us affirming that it’s a ransom note and verifying proof of life, the family of the missing person wouldn’t know to take the letter seriously. And if the family of the victim doesn’t take things seriously, Señor Fox doesn’t get paid.” Kincaid had finished copying the two pages. Now he laid the envelope across the glass.
“Now let me tell you what I think. Point one—I actually agree with you. I think the note is a big ball o’ lies. But here’s where we differ. You think if the guy is lying, he must be devious. I think the guy is lying because he’s a rank amateur.”
“Ah, so
your
first instinct is basic stupidity.” Quincy spread his hands. “Do tell.”
“Okay, get this. Our guy—”
“The UNSUB.”
“Yeah, that’s right. In the feebie world, gotta have an acronym for everything. Okay, so our
UNSUB
. He needs to make some money. Now, I’m assuming this guy isn’t so bright and isn’t so together in this world. For that kind of mutt, ten grand can be a lot of dough. Maybe pay off a gambling debt.” Kincaid’s look was pointed; there were a number of casinos along the coast, and they brought with them the requisite casino issues, including gambling, loan-sharking, alcoholism. “Or maybe just pay off his new ATV. I don’t know. Thing is, for this guy, ten grand is enough, especially for a day’s work.”
“Day’s work?”
“Yeah, which brings me to point two: our UNSUB, he’s not sophisticated enough for a big operation. He needs something quick and easy. So instead of, say, identifying a target, tailing her for days, and then trying to figure out how to kidnap her from her home or at work, he goes with a crime of opportunity. Something easy. Say, a woman, who may have been drinking, pulled over in her car in the middle of the night.
“Of course, not knowing who this woman is or anything about her background, how can he make contact? Simple, use the local paper. And maybe in this case, we weren’t moving fast enough—I don’t know—so he decides to make direct contact as well.
At the last moment, Kincaid gestured for Quincy to follow him down the hall.
“What do you think?” Kincaid asked as they approached the copy machine.
“Simple,” Quincy said. “But clever.”
“Simple but clever? Come on, Mr. Profiler Man. Surely you earn those big bucks coming up with more than that.”
“I want a raunchy ruling analysis of the note,” Quincy said abruptly, “testing the paper for signs of indentation. Can your QD people do that?”
“They’ve been known to be competent.”
“You’ll ask for the test?”
“I’ve been known to be competent, too.”
“All right.” Quincy ignored the other man’s sarcasm. “I think the author of the note is lying. I think he’s telling us what he wants us to believe, but not what’s necessarily true.”
“Ah, so your first instinct is rampant paranoia. Do tell.”
“He claims he’s a professional. He claims it’s about money. But have you ever heard of a ransom case where the victim was random? Around here, given the demographics, you’d stand a decent chance of kidnapping someone who didn’t have the kind of resources necessary to meet the ransom demand.”
“Ten grand isn’t that much,” Kincaid protested.
“Exactly,” Quincy said. “Why ten thousand dollars? That’s not a lot of money for holding a person hostage.”
“He has to make the amount accessible. You said it yourself, this isn’t the richest part of the state. Plus, don’t get me wrong, but for some of us, a quick ten grand isn’t doing so badly.”
Quincy merely shrugged. “Why invite in the police? Don’t most ransom notes specifically state
not
to contact the authorities? For someone trying to score a quick ten grand, in your own words, he’s just bought himself a bigger headache.”
“Ah, but see, given this guy’s system, he has no choice. Without us affirming that it’s a ransom note and verifying proof of life, the family of the missing person wouldn’t know to take the letter seriously. And if the family of the victim doesn’t take things seriously, Señor Fox doesn’t get paid.” Kincaid had finished copying the two pages. Now he laid the envelope across the glass.
“Now let me tell you what I think. Point one—I actually agree with you. I think the note is a big ball o’ lies. But here’s where we differ. You think if the guy is lying, he must be devious. I think the guy is lying because he’s a rank amateur.”
“Ah, so
your
first instinct is basic stupidity.” Quincy spread his hands. “Do tell.”
“Okay, get this. Our guy—”
“The UNSUB.”
“Yeah, that’s right. In the feebie world, gotta have an acronym for everything. Okay, so our
UNSUB
. He needs to make some money. Now, I’m assuming this guy isn’t so bright and isn’t so together in this world. For that kind of mutt, ten grand can be a lot of dough. Maybe pay off a gambling debt.” Kincaid’s look was pointed; there were a number of casinos along the coast, and they brought with them the requisite casino issues, including gambling, loan-sharking, alcoholism. “Or maybe just pay off his new ATV. I don’t know. Thing is, for this guy, ten grand is enough, especially for a day’s work.”
“Day’s work?”
“Yeah, which brings me to point two: our UNSUB, he’s not sophisticated enough for a big operation. He needs something quick and easy. So instead of, say, identifying a target, tailing her for days, and then trying to figure out how to kidnap her from her home or at work, he goes with a crime of opportunity. Something easy. Say, a woman, who may have been drinking, pulled over in her car in the middle of the night.
“Of course, not knowing who this woman is or anything about her background, how can he make contact? Simple, use the local paper. And maybe in this case, we weren’t moving fast enough—I don’t know—so he decides to make direct contact as well.
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