Game (Jasper Dent #2)(59)

“I’m still not convinced this ties in,” Morales said.

“It’s something,” Hughes argued. “It’s finally something that distinguishes Hats and Dogs. There have been no Ugly J tags at any Hat sites.”

“Or you just missed them,” Morales countered. “Or they were painted over. And they weren’t at all of the Dog sites.”

“Or we just missed them,” Hughes mimicked pointedly. “Or they were painted over.”

Jazz groaned. One more mystery piece in a puzzle growing more and more bizarre. It sparked nothing for him, to his frustration.

The victims ranged in age from fourteen to fifty-two. In some cases, the body had been found at the murder site. In others, it had been moved. There were days between some murders, weeks between others. Penis cut off and taken; penis cut off and left at the scene. Guts removed and left piled on the rooftop. Guts removed and gone, gone, gone. Guts removed and left at the scene twice in—believe it or not—those KFC buckets.

“Guy must love KFC,” someone deadpanned. “There’s a better fried chicken joint just three blocks over. He had to go all the way to Fort Greene to get an actual—”

“Shut up,” Montgomery advised.

Jazz appreciated the silence. Guts. And eyelids. And penises.

And now, the eyes missing.

“He’s escalating,” Jazz said, and then felt idiotic for saying it out loud. Obviously he was escalating. That’s what serial killers did—they started slow and small, then expanded their domain as their confidence increased. And, more important, as living out their original fantasy proved not to quell whatever raged and rioted within them, they added new elements, like an addict who needed more and more drugs to get the same old high.

“Penis, guts, eyes. What connects them?”

“The FBI profile says—” Montgomery began.

“Yeah, I read the profile.” It was a good profile, as profiles went. The killer was considered mixed organized, based on his moving of the bodies and ability to evade capture for so long, but also his propensity to leave messy crime scenes. Jazz differed there. He thought the killer was actually highly organized. The messy crime scenes weren’t showing a lack of control—they were the ultimate expression of Hat-Dog’s control. He could make a crime scene look any way he wanted, as organized or as disorganized as he wanted, when he wanted.

WELCOME TO THE GAME, JASPER.

He’s playing.

Definitely male, as semen had been found in some of the raped women. No semen in the male victims, so no male rape, so…

“He’s expressing male power,” Jazz murmured.

“Yeah, we think that’s why he cuts off the penises,” Morales said. “As a way of defining himself as the alpha male.”

“But then why take some and leave others?”

“He takes them when they’re dogs, leaves them when they’re hats. But we’re not sure what that might mean.”

Jazz furrowed his brow and stared at the whiteboard until his eyes lost focus and all the gridded boxes blended on top of one another. Is this what it’s like inside his head? Is it all mixed up and mashed up? Chaotic? Is that why it makes no sense?

No. That’s what he wants me to think. Even if he’s not consciously aware of it. He wants me to think none of this makes sense because if it doesn’t make sense, then I stop trying to figure it out. And then he gets to keep on doing what he wants.

“He’s the alpha male,” Jazz murmured. “Top dog. Top dog? Top hat?”

“Yeah, someone mentioned that a while back,” Montgomery said. “Anyone remember who?” he called out to the precinct in general.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jazz said. “I’m just thinking out loud. Somehow, it makes sense to him. It’s the most obvious thing in the world to him.” He stared at the whiteboard a little while longer, then rubbed his eyes. “Tell me what you have planned for your next step.”

“We’ve got a dozen possibles,” Hughes said. “Guys who fit the profile—”

“More or less,” Morales inserted.

“Agent Morales thinks we’re being a little too liberal in our interpretation of the profile,” Montgomery explained. “We prefer to think of it as casting our net a little wider. Just to be sure.”

“Anyway,” Hughes went on, “there’s a dozen guys. We’re bringing them in one by one, starting tomorrow. Setting it up so that they’ll never see one another. Each guy will think he’s our only suspect.”

Jazz nodded. Good.

“We notified them tonight that we’d like to speak with them first thing tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll stick ’em in a room and watch ’em for an hour or so, right?” Jazz speculated. “The guilty guy won’t be able to sleep tonight, so there’s a chance he’ll nod off while waiting for you.”

“That’s the theory.”

“It might work.” Jazz shrugged. “But Hat-Dog is cold-blooded. There’s every chance he got your call and rolled over and slept like a drunk baby.”

“We’re just using everything in our arsenal.”

“Who’s conducting the actual interrogations?” Jazz asked.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Morales spoke up. “I am. Along with a male NYPD detective. This guy has issues with both sexes. We’re going to play off of that.”