killed them though he may never have been caught at it. May never have been caught with the other. Probably came from a poor and violent home. Single parent, most likely his mother. She can’t, for whatever reason, offer love. I bet this guy has a young sister who he thinks got all the love.”
Pidgeon lit a cigarette.
“He kills with a knife thrust to the juncture of the spine and the skull. That’s why he uses these short blades. The victim is bound. He may have intercourse with the body. Probably can’t, can’t get it up at any time. If he goes with a prostitute, she’ll maybe suck him off, but he’ll do so rarely. If she can’t manage to get him off, he’ll kill her even if he has to wait.”
“Sweet guy,” said Booger Tom.
“Fellow Americans,” said Agent Pidgeon. “About forty of ‘em plying their trade at any given time. We maybe catch half of them.”
“Like that Ted Bundy?” said Du Pré.
“Dunno,” said Pidgeon. “But I suspect this guy is a lot smarter than Bundy. I suspect this guy is very smart indeed, and he has the instincts of a wild creature.”
“Why smart?” said Du Pré.
“Um,” said Pidgeon. “He does some of the things that various of these types do, but never so much they provide us with a weakness. Like the trophies. He keeps a few. There is probably a number he allows himself. He never keeps the knife he kills with. The knives have always been so thoroughly cleaned there aren’t any residues on them. He always uses this kind of knife. The handle is tight and impermeable plastic. Blood can’t seep in between the blade and the handle. He hides the bodies where they will be undiscovered for a long time. He isn’t taunting us directly. He’s not playing chicken with us. He doesn’t want to get caught.”
“You’re damn right there,” said Booger Tom.
“No,” said Pidgeon. “They mostly do. See, most of them get crazier and crazier and more and more careless. They’ve been able to milk the system for bennies, con the shrinks. They want to get caught and be famous. They think they’re unique. Living National Treasures, you bet.”
“Social workers done this,” said Tom.
“Yeah, right,” said Pidgeon.
“Well,” said Tom. “Ever’ time ya turn around someone is getting off scot-free because his mother pulled the tit too quick or something.”
“Whatever,” said Pidgeon. “This guy worries me, though. They all worry me, but this guy really worries me.”
“OK,” said Du Pré. “But why?”
“He’s very smart,” said Pidgeon. “He’s probably an autodidact. He reads a lot. High IQ. If he works, it’s at a highly skilled job where he doesn’t have much to do with people. He doesn’t have close friends, but people will think of him as a friend. He’ll be thoughtful and ingratiating. He’ll wear clothes in muted tones. He doesn’t talk a lot and when he does it will be about inoffensive subjects. He won’t argue with anyone. He won’t get into rows in bars. He doesn’t vote. He has a driver’s license and a Social Security card, but no charge cards. He always pays cash and in small bills. He doesn’t save receipts. He most likely cuts the labels out of his clothes. He wears jogging shoes, or the heavier walking shoes, in dark brown or green. Black is too much of a statement. He wears glasses, probably black frames, heavy ones, with ordinary lenses. No bombardier glasses for this boy. May not even need them. He’s clean-shaven. He gets his hair cut short regularly. He may still live with his mother, or, if she’s dead, with a sister or older female relation. He always makes his bed. Unlike most of you guys, when he does his laundry he bleaches his whites and keeps them separate. He cleans up after himself. He knows a lot about women and he hates them if they are young and pretty and innocent or if he thinks they are whores.”
“How you know all this?” said Tom.
“I read fucking tea leaves,” said Pidgeon.
“I thought
Pidgeon lit a cigarette.
“He kills with a knife thrust to the juncture of the spine and the skull. That’s why he uses these short blades. The victim is bound. He may have intercourse with the body. Probably can’t, can’t get it up at any time. If he goes with a prostitute, she’ll maybe suck him off, but he’ll do so rarely. If she can’t manage to get him off, he’ll kill her even if he has to wait.”
“Sweet guy,” said Booger Tom.
“Fellow Americans,” said Agent Pidgeon. “About forty of ‘em plying their trade at any given time. We maybe catch half of them.”
“Like that Ted Bundy?” said Du Pré.
“Dunno,” said Pidgeon. “But I suspect this guy is a lot smarter than Bundy. I suspect this guy is very smart indeed, and he has the instincts of a wild creature.”
“Why smart?” said Du Pré.
“Um,” said Pidgeon. “He does some of the things that various of these types do, but never so much they provide us with a weakness. Like the trophies. He keeps a few. There is probably a number he allows himself. He never keeps the knife he kills with. The knives have always been so thoroughly cleaned there aren’t any residues on them. He always uses this kind of knife. The handle is tight and impermeable plastic. Blood can’t seep in between the blade and the handle. He hides the bodies where they will be undiscovered for a long time. He isn’t taunting us directly. He’s not playing chicken with us. He doesn’t want to get caught.”
“You’re damn right there,” said Booger Tom.
“No,” said Pidgeon. “They mostly do. See, most of them get crazier and crazier and more and more careless. They’ve been able to milk the system for bennies, con the shrinks. They want to get caught and be famous. They think they’re unique. Living National Treasures, you bet.”
“Social workers done this,” said Tom.
“Yeah, right,” said Pidgeon.
“Well,” said Tom. “Ever’ time ya turn around someone is getting off scot-free because his mother pulled the tit too quick or something.”
“Whatever,” said Pidgeon. “This guy worries me, though. They all worry me, but this guy really worries me.”
“OK,” said Du Pré. “But why?”
“He’s very smart,” said Pidgeon. “He’s probably an autodidact. He reads a lot. High IQ. If he works, it’s at a highly skilled job where he doesn’t have much to do with people. He doesn’t have close friends, but people will think of him as a friend. He’ll be thoughtful and ingratiating. He’ll wear clothes in muted tones. He doesn’t talk a lot and when he does it will be about inoffensive subjects. He won’t argue with anyone. He won’t get into rows in bars. He doesn’t vote. He has a driver’s license and a Social Security card, but no charge cards. He always pays cash and in small bills. He doesn’t save receipts. He most likely cuts the labels out of his clothes. He wears jogging shoes, or the heavier walking shoes, in dark brown or green. Black is too much of a statement. He wears glasses, probably black frames, heavy ones, with ordinary lenses. No bombardier glasses for this boy. May not even need them. He’s clean-shaven. He gets his hair cut short regularly. He may still live with his mother, or, if she’s dead, with a sister or older female relation. He always makes his bed. Unlike most of you guys, when he does his laundry he bleaches his whites and keeps them separate. He cleans up after himself. He knows a lot about women and he hates them if they are young and pretty and innocent or if he thinks they are whores.”
“How you know all this?” said Tom.
“I read fucking tea leaves,” said Pidgeon.
“I thought
Similar Books
