Larkin looked up, and Doyle was holding out two individually wrapped lemon candies.He felt his entire body unclench, release, relax, just a little.He pocketed one and popped the other in his mouth when a voice, loud and animated, emanated from the hallway.
“Okay, okay, okay, where’s my Detective Larkin?”
Larkin looked over his shoulder from where he still sat on the floor as a third man appeared in the threshold, rubbing his hands together eagerly.He was in his early thirties, blond hair, blue eyes—a boyish Guy Pearce, Larkin thought—but with the energy of a young buck anxious to prove himself.He wore an off-white linen suit—a shade Larkin hazarded to guess was advertised asantiqueor perhapssmoky white—paired with a crisp white button-down and a polka-dotted burgundy tie.
The man took in CRIME SCENE UNIT stenciled across Larkin’s T-shirt before seeming to write him off without further regard.Leaning around the corner, he made eye contact with Doyle, gave a subtle once-over, then stepped inside.“Val Hackett, Homicide,” he said, shaking Doyle’s hand.“It’s a pleasure to be working this case alongside you.Anything you need from us in Brooklyn, just say the word.Mi casa es su casa.You know, I was supposed to meet you earlier this year, but a triple homicide landed in my lap the very afternoon you were hosting a lecture for Homicide and Major Cases—”
“On psychology of place,” Larkin said as he got to his feet.“You talk an awful lot, Detective Hackett.So much so, you’ve not given my partner a chance to introduce himself.”
Hackett glanced at Larkin, then back to Doyle, whose hand he was still shaking.
Doyle said, “Ira Doyle.I’m with Forensic Artists.”
Hackett laughed self-consciously.“I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right.”
Hackett turned and offered his hand to Larkin.“It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you.”
“I heard you the first time.”
Hackett smiled wide, showed off his pearly whites, and laughed again.“Right.”
“Why are you nervous,” Larkin asked.
“I-I’m not.”
“Do you know what dimorphous expressions are, Detective Hackett.”
“I, uh—”
“When an individual has become overwhelmed with one particular emotion, to the point that it is no longer manageable, a phenomenon occurs wherein that person will exhibit the opposite expression.Examples include tears of joy or cute aggression.Researchers believe this is the brain’s attempt to regulate emotions that, if left unchecked, would become detrimental to our health.So we cry at weddings, we squeeze babies, we smile when upset, as a means of cardiovascular recovery.A homicide scene certainly isn’t funny, nor have I done or said anything particularly slapsticky, therefore, your laugh is not indicative of your environment but what’s occurring mentally.”
Hackett opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish, shook his head, then explained, “You’re a bit of an institution, is all.”
Larkin raised one fine eyebrow.
Hackett smiled once more, then sucked his cheeks in and rubbed his face with one hand, as if to scrub the expression away.“My dream is to work for Cold Cases someday.I’ve wanted to meet you since I made detective.And even though I couldn’t make your lecture, I still read a transcript of it.”
“I see.”Larkin glanced at Doyle, who shrugged amusedly.To Hackett, Larkin said, “Tell me what you learned from my lecture.”
“Let’s see… one of the key concepts involved in geographical profiling is the psychological comfort zone of the offender.”
“As it pertains to this scene,” Larkin amended.
“Oh.Uh.Sure.Well… there’s a dead woman downstairs, right?Patrol said there’s no obvious signs of her having been killed elsewhere first, so it’s likely she was murdered here—she’s probably the homeowner.That could mean this house is within the offender’s comfort zone.Of the four predatory patterns, the killer could be identified as a hunter—someone who searches within their comfort zone.”
“No.”
“No?”
Larkin said, “With that half-baked logic, this scene could have been the opportunity of a troller or the lure of a trapper.”
Hackett hesitated.
“Murder, whether heat of passion or premeditated, is a series of chances—time, proximity, and location all factors taken into consideration before the opportunity is acted upon—but none of that matters if you don’t first understand the victim.If the woman downstairs isn’t the homeowner, would you still consider her killer to display a hunter personality.”
“No, but, I mean, that opens up a whole new can of worms,” Hackett protested.“Is the victim a stranger?Friend?Family member?Where’s the homeowner?Because they’d now be a person of interest—”
