Into the Night(26)

“The victims, huh?” Harwell’s lips tightened. “From what you told me, the victims are two killers. Hardly like we’re going to have a line of grievers for them.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think you all realize...tourism is a very, very big deal in this city. We were named as the number one family destination in the US by one of the big news shows a few months back. You can’t say that a serial is hunting in a place and keep it the number one destination. You’ll scare people and they don’t need to be scared.” The faint lines near his mouth tightened. “I mean, hey, he’s not even after regular folks, now, is he? Is that what your profile is saying? If he’s only hunting killers, then everyone else is safe. We need the people in this area to feel safe.” His gaze slid to his desk and the phone there. “The mayor spent an hour on the phone this morning telling me that very thing.”

Macey’s shoulders had tensed. “We’re not saying that everyone else is safe. We can’t make that sort of leap with the intel we possess.”

Harwell’s dark brows rose. “Seems like we can make the leap. I mean, the perp took out two sadistic—”

“The fire last night could have killed two federal agents.” Bowen’s voice was tight, striking like a whip. His face had hardened and his eyes glittered. “That single act tells us that our perpetrator isn’t concerned with collateral damage. Innocent targets who get in his way will be taken out.”

The captain’s Adam’s apple bobbed. A trickle of sweat had collected near his temple.

“He’s a very dangerous man,” Bowen continued darkly. A muscle jerked along his clenched jaw. “And, yes, we believe we are looking for a male.” His gaze slid to Macey’s and she nodded. They’d worked out this part together before coming to the captain’s office. “We’re looking for a white male, fit, probably between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. It would be someone who knows the area, someone who has a background in criminal investigation. A real crime buff. He would—”

“How do you know this stuff?” Harwell squinted at him. “How can you tell what race the guy is just by the way he killed? I mean, seriously, that’s just crazy. That’s like voodoo, psychic shit. You don’t know that.”

“Not all serial killers are white,” Macey responded, as she walked toward the window and glanced outside. “Serial killers span all ethnicities but...in general—actually, by a very, very large percentage—murder victims are the same race as their killer.”

“Ninety percent of the time,” Bowen added.

And since all of their victims had been Caucasian, then they had a real high chance of being after a Caucasian killer.

“We’re looking for a male,” Macey said. “Obviously, we saw a male on the ATV, but we’re looking for a male who is fit. One who is physically strong enough to transport Patrick Remus. It is possible that the killer had an accomplice but...”

“Serials don’t usually work together,” Bowen finished for her. “That’s rare.”

Right. She exhaled. “That’s why we said he was fit—Patrick Remus was a big guy, and moving him wouldn’t be an easy task. If the perp wasn’t in top shape, it wouldn’t be possible.”

Harwell nodded, slowly. “And he knows the area because he was able to get away so quickly last night.”

“On an ATV.” Bowen rolled back his shoulders. “He was comfortable on the ride, indicating that he’d probably gone through the mountains that way before. He knew where the trails were so he knew exactly how to vanish.”

“He’s smart.” Macey had no doubt of that. “He’s what we call an organized killer.”

A furrow had appeared between Harwell’s heavy brows.

“Organized killers have higher IQs, and they tend to plan out their attacks in advance. They have controlled crime scenes.” She ticked through the list. “They don’t leave a lot of physical evidence behind for the authorities to find. When they aren’t murdering, organized killers can blend in pretty well with everyone else. They’re the killers you never see coming because they’ll have normal jobs, be in relationships and maybe even have a spouse or children.”

“In other words,” Bowen said, “they look just like everyone else. They don’t kill in some furious rage. Instead, they plan out everything. They can stalk their victims. They can hunt for days, weeks or even months.” He inclined his head. “Considering the timing of both Daniel Haddox’s death and Patrick Remus’s murder, it’s obvious this perp has been planning his attacks for a while. He moved his game pieces into play, and then he sprang his trap.”

Harwell was quiet for a moment, and then he muttered, “Guess you two... Guess you know your killers.”

Some they knew too well. And it wasn’t because of psychic voodoo shit.

“So what’s he gonna do next?” Captain Harwell’s face had tensed up. “If he’s some serial killer—”

“To get the moniker, the perp would need to kill three people,” Bowen interjected.

Harwell’s frown grew heavier. “What?”

“The term...serial killer...usually the perp murders three or more people. And as far as what we think he’s going to do next...” Bowen glanced at Macey.