serious bloodlust who found a great gig. We have to take a closer look at those other murders. Hell, we play our cards right, we could have this thing sewn up by noon tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Magozzi humored his partner.
“You’re not buying my theory, are you?”
“It’s a fine theory.”
Gino lifted his chin, out of pride or indignation, Magozzi wasn’t sure. “Yes, it is a fine theory. And it totally explains why the Feds are jumping on this like hyenas on a crippled water buffalo. You’ve got interstate crime, cyber crime, and a serial killer all balled up into one.”
Crippled water buffalo? “You’ve been watching the National Geographic Channel during Food Network commercial breaks, haven’t you?”
“Scoff if you will, but this time I’ve got it nailed down. Go ahead. Try to poke a hole in it.”
“Some of the murder films were posted to different sites.”
Gino blew a raspberry. “So what? The guy’s a brainiac. He knows damn well the more he posts to one site, the more vulnerable he’ll be to tracking. He’s crossing all the t ’s.”
“Okay. Serial killers generally stick to the same MO because they get particular satisfaction from it. The method is important to them.”
“Wasn’t important to the Railroad Killer.” Gino smiled, basking in the glory of his breakthrough. It wasn’t often that he could point to a precedent to support his silly theories. “Damn, I should drink Chianti more often when I’m trying to work this stuff out. It’s like liquid muse.”
“There’s a couple other possibilities.”
“Oh, yeah? Dazzle me.”
“People post crap on the Web every day. Everybody wants their fifteen minutes. Why not murderers? Which means none of these killings are necessarily related.”
“Goddamnit, Leo, you’re raining on my parade, ’cause that kind of makes sense. The Paris Hiltons of homicide.”
“On the other hand . . .”
“You like the serial theory better.”
“No. I was thinking of something else. Remember the I-94 drownings? Forty-some, mostly college kids on a toot falling into whatever river was handy.”
Gino squirmed in his seat. “You think you gotta remind me of that nightmare? We got the only one that finally went off the accidental list.”
“So you also remember the NYPD dicks spending their retirement investigating all those drownings . . .”
“Don’t even bring that shit up, Leo.”
“Can’t help it. Those cops, who probably know a lot of things the rest of us don’t, made a pretty good case for a nationwide network of killers, instead of one.”
Gino folded his hands and rubbed his thumbs together. His grandfather had done that with an almost obsessive regularity, whenever he sat idle in the rocking chair that squeaked while he looked around at the progeny who had come for the annual awkward visit. “You don’t want to go there, Leo. I don’t want to go there.”
“You’re right about that. But we have to consider it. I asked Grace to take a look at the time line on those murders the Feds pulled off the Web.”
“Excellent move. Unless any of them happened on the same day, my theory is still golden.”
“Then you better start praying your theory sucks. If this guy’s a traveler, he’s gone. If he’s local, we’ve got a shot.”
“Yeah. There is that,” Gino sighed, watching out the window as the shiny city on the prairie deteriorated block by block.
The Tiara was in a crusty fringe neighborhood that clung to the hem of downtown’s posh skirt, existing mostly below the radar, unless you were a hipster or a drag queen. For years, the city council had been trying to sanitize this river-adjacent chunk of turf with future revenue in mind, but for some reason the gentrification spit-balls never quite stuck.
“Look at this shit-box neighborhood, Leo. When I was a kid we used to walk this street on the way to the Saturday-night horror flicks at the Majestic. Worst thing you ever saw was winos drinking Mad Dog in
“Okay,” Magozzi humored his partner.
“You’re not buying my theory, are you?”
“It’s a fine theory.”
Gino lifted his chin, out of pride or indignation, Magozzi wasn’t sure. “Yes, it is a fine theory. And it totally explains why the Feds are jumping on this like hyenas on a crippled water buffalo. You’ve got interstate crime, cyber crime, and a serial killer all balled up into one.”
Crippled water buffalo? “You’ve been watching the National Geographic Channel during Food Network commercial breaks, haven’t you?”
“Scoff if you will, but this time I’ve got it nailed down. Go ahead. Try to poke a hole in it.”
“Some of the murder films were posted to different sites.”
Gino blew a raspberry. “So what? The guy’s a brainiac. He knows damn well the more he posts to one site, the more vulnerable he’ll be to tracking. He’s crossing all the t ’s.”
“Okay. Serial killers generally stick to the same MO because they get particular satisfaction from it. The method is important to them.”
“Wasn’t important to the Railroad Killer.” Gino smiled, basking in the glory of his breakthrough. It wasn’t often that he could point to a precedent to support his silly theories. “Damn, I should drink Chianti more often when I’m trying to work this stuff out. It’s like liquid muse.”
“There’s a couple other possibilities.”
“Oh, yeah? Dazzle me.”
“People post crap on the Web every day. Everybody wants their fifteen minutes. Why not murderers? Which means none of these killings are necessarily related.”
“Goddamnit, Leo, you’re raining on my parade, ’cause that kind of makes sense. The Paris Hiltons of homicide.”
“On the other hand . . .”
“You like the serial theory better.”
“No. I was thinking of something else. Remember the I-94 drownings? Forty-some, mostly college kids on a toot falling into whatever river was handy.”
Gino squirmed in his seat. “You think you gotta remind me of that nightmare? We got the only one that finally went off the accidental list.”
“So you also remember the NYPD dicks spending their retirement investigating all those drownings . . .”
“Don’t even bring that shit up, Leo.”
“Can’t help it. Those cops, who probably know a lot of things the rest of us don’t, made a pretty good case for a nationwide network of killers, instead of one.”
Gino folded his hands and rubbed his thumbs together. His grandfather had done that with an almost obsessive regularity, whenever he sat idle in the rocking chair that squeaked while he looked around at the progeny who had come for the annual awkward visit. “You don’t want to go there, Leo. I don’t want to go there.”
“You’re right about that. But we have to consider it. I asked Grace to take a look at the time line on those murders the Feds pulled off the Web.”
“Excellent move. Unless any of them happened on the same day, my theory is still golden.”
“Then you better start praying your theory sucks. If this guy’s a traveler, he’s gone. If he’s local, we’ve got a shot.”
“Yeah. There is that,” Gino sighed, watching out the window as the shiny city on the prairie deteriorated block by block.
The Tiara was in a crusty fringe neighborhood that clung to the hem of downtown’s posh skirt, existing mostly below the radar, unless you were a hipster or a drag queen. For years, the city council had been trying to sanitize this river-adjacent chunk of turf with future revenue in mind, but for some reason the gentrification spit-balls never quite stuck.
“Look at this shit-box neighborhood, Leo. When I was a kid we used to walk this street on the way to the Saturday-night horror flicks at the Majestic. Worst thing you ever saw was winos drinking Mad Dog in
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