Page 5 of Saving Meadow

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you don’t miss much. You’ve seen more than the rest of us. Ask yourself, did you miss it, or did you ignore it? I’ve never been married; I’m not the right person to talk to about this. But I do have four aunts, and when they were upset, there was no missing it. So, either your ex was a master of deception, or you didn’t want to believe the woman you’ve spent half your life loving was capable of stepping out on you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“That may be true. I’ve been called that a time or two. But, it doesn’t mean I’m wrong. What Donna did was completely fucked. What she’s doing now is wrong.” I didn’t want to hurt Mike, but he had to pull his head out of his ass about his ex. “She’s not your concern, Mike. You have three beautiful girls. They’re what is important now. Show them how much you love them. Focus all of your energy on them, and you’ll be golden.”

“How did you know Donna had an affair? I never told you that.”

“Seriously? She’s textbook. Statistics show that the likelihood a woman will divorce, especially women in long-term marriages, strongly correlates with her preconceived ability to remarry. Women initiating divorce after the age of forty with children is low unless there is abuse or some other stressor. I know there’s not abuse in your home. No job loss, no death of a close relative, no sick child. That leaves another man - her fresh start. You may have wanted to keep your head in the sand, but the signs were there. The new hairstyle, the new clothes. You bitched about her running the cards up to get those things. The gym. Really, you missed all that?”

“I’m afraid to ask why you know divorce rates,” Mike said.

“Women fascinate me. You grow up hearing sayings like happy wife, happy life. There are poems written about women scorned, songs about women burning an ex’s house down. What makes a woman both the loving nurturer and so emotionally unbalanced she can key your car and toss your shit on the front lawn all in one afternoon. Women provide care, feed their young, cuddle and love. But there is nothing fiercer than a mama bear when her young are threatened. They are ruthless and merciless. Kipling wrote, ‘Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies. He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild, wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.’.”

“Son, don’t ever call a woman emotionally unbalanced to her face or you’ll find more than your shit on her front lawn. You can take that advice to the bank.” He chuckled, and in true Mike fashion, when he’s done with a conversation, he ended it, without preamble. He was out of the SUV, already walking toward the office before I caught up with him.

He beeped the locks and mumbled his thanks.

We were missing something. Thirteen bodies and still no trace evidence had been left behind. The profile needed to be reworked.

One white board had crime scene photos too gruesome to look at; the other had the timeline and photographs obtained from DMV records. There was a connection; we were overlooking it.

“Why?” I asked the room. “Why these women?”

“They were convenient, easy targets. All had alcohol in their system at the time of death,” Ben answered.

“None over the legal limit,” Mandy clarified.

“We’ve established the offender is sexually incompetent. Small in stature, the unsub needs the ketamine to incapacitate the victims; he can’t otherwise overpower them on his own. Unassuming, non-threatening, and even friendly. The women all left willingly. Even with the overkill and rage, suggesting revenge or jealousy, the kill is still controlled. He only mutilates the face and a single stab wound to the abdomen. Organized, mid to late twenties,” Joel read the profile.

“The first eleven were killed on the seventh. The last two on the twentieth. Why the change in the day of the month?” I mused.

“The stressor changed. We thought there was a childhood trauma that had occurred on the seventh day of a month. The change in the day now suggests the trauma occurred in adulthood. Something recent,” Mike surmised and thumbed through the file in front of him.

“The ketamine? Mandy, was there a change in the toxicology report?” I asked.

“No change. Administered orally, the high dose would take effect approximately ten minutes after it was ingested,” she answered.

“The only change is the stressor.” I stopped and checked my watch; 4 a.m., too early to call in our tech Kristy. “When Kristy comes in, we’ll have her run the seventh of the month going back a year from the first batch of murders. Anything newsworthy. And for the twentieth going back four years. We need to find what is so important on those days.”

“I’ll run doctors prescribing ketamine again.” Joel stood and added. “Ben, where are we on the security camera in the bar?”

“Same as the others. The day of the murder has been wiped clean,” he answered.

“I’m going home to get a few more hours sleep.” Mandy tried to stifle her yawn and rubbed her eyes. “I’m too old for this.”

“Me too.” I gathered my files and picked up my cell and tablet before heading for the door. “I’ll see you all in a few hours.”

I didn’t bother stopping by my desk to secure my files. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep; I might as well use the quiet early morning hours to sift through them. We were missing something big. The clock was ticking until we found another mangled body in the alley. The BAU didn’t catch killers, the local police officers did. The profile was an investigative tool, one that helped the police narrow their suspect list and save man-hours, and hopefully lives. The problem with this case was the police didn’t have any suspects. The team was putting in extra hours trying to nail this guy. The more information we could provide the PD, the faster this animal could be locked away.

I was dog-ass tired by the time I pulled into my driveway. The early morning coffee and adrenaline had worn off. I needed a nap; then I’d look through my notes again. I opened my door and went in search of my girl, Sally, and my bed.

4

Nightmares and java

“Please don’t do this,” Meadow begged.