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Authors: Tess Gerritsen
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lead on that case. Have you spoken to him?”
“He’s out of town this week and we haven’t been able to reach him,” said Frost. “His daughter says he’s up north somewhere, at some fishing camp where he has no cell phone coverage.”
Zucker sighed. “Retirement must be nice. Seems like he left the force ages ago. What is he now, in his seventies?”
“Which is like a hundred and ten in cop years,” said Frost with a laugh.
Jane steered them back on topic. “The other detective on the case was Charlie Staines, but he’s deceased. So we were hoping you could share your insight into the case.”
Zucker nodded. “The basics of what happened were apparent just from the crime scene. We know that the cook, a Chinese immigrant named Wu Weimin, walked into the dining room and proceeded to shoot four people. First to die was a man named Joey Gilmore, who’d dropped in to pick up a take-out order. Victim number two was the waiter, James Fang, reportedly the cook’s close friend. Victims three and four were a married couple, the Mallorys, who were seated at a dining table. Finally the cook walked into the kitchen, put the gun to his own temple, and killed himself. It was a case of
amok
followed by suicide.”
“You make
amok
sound like a clinical term,” said Frost.
“It is. It’s a Malaysian word for something Captain Cook described back in the late 1700s, when he was living among the Malays. He described homicidal outbursts without apparent motive, in which an individual—almost always male—goes into a killing frenzy. The killer slaughters everyone within reach until he’s brought down. Captain Cook thought it was a behavior peculiar to Southeast Asia, butit’s now clear that it occurs worldwide, in every culture. The phenomenon’s now got the unwieldy name of SMASI.”
“And that stands for?”
“Sudden Mass Assault by a Single Individual.”
Jane looked at Frost. “Otherwise known as going postal.”
Zucker shot her a disapproving look. “Which is unfair to postal workers. SMASI happens in every profession. Blue-collar, white-collar. Young, old. Married, single. But they’re almost always men.”
“So what do these killers have in common?” asked Frost.
“You can probably guess. They’re often isolated from the community. They have problems with relationships. Some sort of crisis precipitates the attack—loss of a job, collapse of a marriage. And finally, these individuals also have access to weapons.”
Jane flipped through her copy of the Boston PD report. “It was a Glock 17 with a threaded barrel, reported stolen a year earlier in Georgia.” She looked up. “Why would an immigrant on a cook’s salary buy a Glock?”
“For protection, maybe? Because he felt threatened?”
“You’re the psychologist, Dr. Zucker. Don’t you have an answer?”
Zucker’s mouth tightened. “No, I don’t. I’m not psychic. And I had no chance to interview the one person closest to him—his wife. By the time Boston PD requested my consult, she had left town and we had no idea how to find her. My psychological profile of Mr. Wu is based on interviews with other people who knew him. And that list wasn’t long.”
“One of those people was Iris Fang,” said Jane.
Zucker nodded. “Ah, yes. The wife of the waiter. I remember her very well.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“For one thing, she was a beautiful woman. Absolutely stunning.”
“We’ve just met her,” said Frost. “She’s still stunning.”
“Really?” Zucker flipped through the pages in his file. “Let’s see, she was thirty-six when I interviewed her. Which makes her … fifty-five now.” He glanced at Frost. “Must be those Asian genes.”
Jane was beginning to feel like the ignored and ugly stepsister. “Getting beyond the fact you both think she’s gorgeous, what else do you remember about Mrs. Fang?”
“Quite a lot, actually. I spoke with her several times, since she was my primary source of
“He’s out of town this week and we haven’t been able to reach him,” said Frost. “His daughter says he’s up north somewhere, at some fishing camp where he has no cell phone coverage.”
Zucker sighed. “Retirement must be nice. Seems like he left the force ages ago. What is he now, in his seventies?”
“Which is like a hundred and ten in cop years,” said Frost with a laugh.
Jane steered them back on topic. “The other detective on the case was Charlie Staines, but he’s deceased. So we were hoping you could share your insight into the case.”
Zucker nodded. “The basics of what happened were apparent just from the crime scene. We know that the cook, a Chinese immigrant named Wu Weimin, walked into the dining room and proceeded to shoot four people. First to die was a man named Joey Gilmore, who’d dropped in to pick up a take-out order. Victim number two was the waiter, James Fang, reportedly the cook’s close friend. Victims three and four were a married couple, the Mallorys, who were seated at a dining table. Finally the cook walked into the kitchen, put the gun to his own temple, and killed himself. It was a case of
amok
followed by suicide.”
“You make
amok
sound like a clinical term,” said Frost.
“It is. It’s a Malaysian word for something Captain Cook described back in the late 1700s, when he was living among the Malays. He described homicidal outbursts without apparent motive, in which an individual—almost always male—goes into a killing frenzy. The killer slaughters everyone within reach until he’s brought down. Captain Cook thought it was a behavior peculiar to Southeast Asia, butit’s now clear that it occurs worldwide, in every culture. The phenomenon’s now got the unwieldy name of SMASI.”
“And that stands for?”
“Sudden Mass Assault by a Single Individual.”
Jane looked at Frost. “Otherwise known as going postal.”
Zucker shot her a disapproving look. “Which is unfair to postal workers. SMASI happens in every profession. Blue-collar, white-collar. Young, old. Married, single. But they’re almost always men.”
“So what do these killers have in common?” asked Frost.
“You can probably guess. They’re often isolated from the community. They have problems with relationships. Some sort of crisis precipitates the attack—loss of a job, collapse of a marriage. And finally, these individuals also have access to weapons.”
Jane flipped through her copy of the Boston PD report. “It was a Glock 17 with a threaded barrel, reported stolen a year earlier in Georgia.” She looked up. “Why would an immigrant on a cook’s salary buy a Glock?”
“For protection, maybe? Because he felt threatened?”
“You’re the psychologist, Dr. Zucker. Don’t you have an answer?”
Zucker’s mouth tightened. “No, I don’t. I’m not psychic. And I had no chance to interview the one person closest to him—his wife. By the time Boston PD requested my consult, she had left town and we had no idea how to find her. My psychological profile of Mr. Wu is based on interviews with other people who knew him. And that list wasn’t long.”
“One of those people was Iris Fang,” said Jane.
Zucker nodded. “Ah, yes. The wife of the waiter. I remember her very well.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“For one thing, she was a beautiful woman. Absolutely stunning.”
“We’ve just met her,” said Frost. “She’s still stunning.”
“Really?” Zucker flipped through the pages in his file. “Let’s see, she was thirty-six when I interviewed her. Which makes her … fifty-five now.” He glanced at Frost. “Must be those Asian genes.”
Jane was beginning to feel like the ignored and ugly stepsister. “Getting beyond the fact you both think she’s gorgeous, what else do you remember about Mrs. Fang?”
“Quite a lot, actually. I spoke with her several times, since she was my primary source of
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