Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(59)

“So why am I here? It’s a homicide.”

“His penis and balls were cut off.”

Okay, that changes things. “So we’ve got a sexual homicide of a large male. How large?”

“Six-five, three hundred. They don’t screen for drugs in this new league like they do in the NFL. Steroid and PED use is rampant. League’s built on the concept of a narrower field, stronger armed quarterbacks, faster wide receivers. No huddles and more touchdowns.”

“That glazed look in my eyes is boredom. But don’t take it personally.”

Ignoring Vail’s remark, Bledsoe handed her a manila envelope. “Crime scene photos. Look ’em over in your spare time.”

“What spare time?”

“Hear me out. The PFL had to give fans something more exciting, right? To compete. The average NFL game runs from ten to thirteen minutes of actual playing time. The other three hours is the clock running during huddles, commercials, replays, and time-outs. The PFL got it right—fewer time-outs. Twenty-nine to thirty-three minutes of action. Their games are very exciting, like a constant rush. But when you’re up against a powerhouse like the NFL, you need a bigger gimmick. If a league wanted to grab attention, get a ratings bump, this might be a way to do it. Star player gets offed, that’s big news.”

Vail contorted her face. “Kind of a negative way to do it, don’t you think? Bad publicity.”

“I thought there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

Vail considered the severed gonads and what bloggers would say if that fact were made public. “Your buff star player getting emasculated is good publicity?”

Bledsoe snorted. “Good point.” Bledsoe picked at a spot on his forehead. “So what do you make of that sexual component?”

“That sexual component, yes.” Vail sat down on a padded weight bench and thought for a moment. “First impression is that when we see male-on-male sexual homicide, we’re looking at a homosexual offender. Or, it could be someone who’s confused about his sexual identity, or someone who was sexually abused or exploited by a male figure as a child.”

“That it?”

“If you’re asking me to profile the offender, you know I can’t do it yet—not accurately. There’s only one vic.”

“But there are behaviors here,” Bledsoe said, craning his neck around.

Vail sighed. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do this. She wanted to be putting the pieces of Robby’s puzzle together, seeing if she’d missed something. She pulled herself up, took a deep breath, and cleared her thoughts. Tried to. She couldn’t. “Look, I’ve got an appointment I have to get to. I really didn’t want this case. Each minute that ticks by . . . ”

“I know. But anything you can give me would help.”

Vail checked her watch. “I think he’ll kill again. This may not be his first kill. No defensive wounds on a big guy like Rayshawn Shines? Your UNSUB knows what he’s doing. You can’t do this and hesitate or you’ll end up dead yourself. So he exhibited very high levels of confidence. He probably looks at this kill as an accomplishment. He did this, he can do anything. Unless this was a personal gripe, this killer enjoyed what he did. The garrote is an up close and personal kill. He enjoyed overpowering a big football star.”

Bledsoe absorbed all this, then said again, “That it?”

“Until this guy kills again, there’s probably not much else I can help you with.” She held up an index finger. “Not true. If I can clear my head long enough to concentrate on this, I’ll be able to give you more. Meantime, if you put together a list of suspects, I’ll help narrow it down. And I can help map out an effective interview approach.”

Bledsoe looked down at the blood-soaked carpet. “Okay.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but the more vics he leaves in his wake, the easier our job will be catching him.”

“Yeah—not very comforting.”

“It is what it is.” Vail held up the manila envelope. “Here you go.”

Bledsoe waved a meaty hand. “Those are yours.”

“Oh, goodie. I’ll put them in my photo album as soon as I get home. You know, the fancy leather one on my coffee table.”

“Now there’s the Karen Vail I know and love.”

“The Karen Vail you know and love is officially on leave.”

“DeSantos will come through,” Bledsoe said. “I just got a feeling.”

Vail twisted her arm and stole another look at her watch. “Gotta run. Doctor’s appointment.”

“Everything okay?”

“Bumps and bruises, but nothing that won’t heal. This is for my mind. Mandatory.”

“The shrink has to see a shrink. Ain’t that a kick.”

“You’re being an asshole, Bledsoe. Don’t ruin my opinion of you.” She turned and headed out of the fitness room.





40


Vail had a hell of a time finding a parking spot on M Street, but finally walked into the tiered, gray marble-tiled lobby. She took the elevator up and entered the small, warmly lit waiting room of Leonard Rudnick, PhD. Well-maintained Persian rugs were arranged atop satin-finished mahogany floors.