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Toby turns to her. “The MO—modus operandi—is what our offender does to kill. It’s the stabbing, the strangulation, the gunshot. And as we have seen, it changes. But the signature—” He smiles. “That’s the interesting part. It’s what the offender does to get himself off. It’s influenced by the why. And it doesn’t change.”
“So what about the Echo Man?”
“He’s copying others. What does he get from it?” Shenton looks at the faces around the room, waiting for some sort of answer. Everyone stays quiet. “He’s a sexual sadist—he could enjoy himself a lot more if he wasn’t limited by the mimicry. So why do it?” he asks again.
“He can’t think for himself,” a detective says from the back.
Shenton shakes his head. “But we know he’s clever. This guy’s not lacking in originality.” Still silence. “I believe he’s hiding behind it. Enjoying pretending he’s someone else. But it’s more than that. He likes the notoriety of killers of the past, but he’s enjoying beating them, exceeding their achievements. Feeling like he’s better than them. And as I mentioned before, I think it’s about the power. He’s taking back some of the control he’s lost in the past—maybe from the sexual abuse—exerting his authority over his victims. It’s intoxicating to him.”
“So how do we catch him?”
The question gets a wave of assent from the room. Griffin feels the energy mount.
“Um.” Shenton stops. His previous confidence has faded in the face of the whole room staring. Griffin knows this is the hard part—he needs to make a decision. “He’s been killing for a long time—at least a few years.” He’s staring at the floor, thinking out loud. “And his kills are getting more frequent. He’s escalating. Where before he was patient, cleverly putting together the pieces of his puzzle—”
“His puzzle?” Griffin interrupts.
“Yes, because I think this is what this is. Take the Dahmer staging: that would have taken a long time to put together. That’s a lot of bodies, a lot of killing. Plus Michael Sharp, in the freezer? He must have killed him before he took over his apartment. Yet he didn’t dismember him like he did the others. He obviously had a plan. And that must have taken patience.” Shenton looks around the room, at the expectant faces. “But now he’s speeding up. More kills, less space between them. Something must have happened: an incident in his present day or a significant date linked to his past. And I think, by killing Libby, he’s asking for attention. He wants to be seen.”
“Do you think he wants to be caught?” Cara asks.
“No. At least, not yet.” Shenton looks at her. “He’s only leaving behind the evidence he wants us to find. Like Michael Sharp’s blood in the Kemper car. And the pint glass in his apartment, with Libby’s fingerprints and DNA. I think he’s enjoying the mess he’s creating. He’s a narcissist: he feels superior, entitled. He’ll be enjoying the power watching us run around after him.”
Shenton’s face colors, knowing he just criticized the investigation.
But Cara shrugs it off. “So what do you suggest we do?” she asks.
“I think we should hold a memorial for Libby,” he says.
“Go on …”
“We do it somewhere public. We make a big deal out of it. Ideally it would be her funeral, but we won’t have the body released for weeks yet, so let’s do a memorial.”
“And what would be the point in that?” Griffin asks. “Taking advantage of her death? Her relatives will never agree.”
“They will if we explain why we’re doing it.” Shenton’s hands flutter excitedly. “Because he won’t be able to resist the opportunity. He’ll want to see the grief; he’ll get a kick out of seeing the destruction he’s caused. We hold a memorial, and I guarantee, he’ll show up.”
“You guarantee, huh?” Cara says, and Shenton looks uncertain for a second but then nods slowly.
“Well, then.” Cara stands up straight in front of the group. “Let’s do this. Let’s get this organized.”
CHAPTER
51
CARA WATCHES THE detectives file out, back to the incident room. Shenton’s the last to go, looking back at her as he follows his colleagues.
“Well done, Toby,” she says, and she forces her warmest smile. “Just shut the door on your way out.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, Cara sags. She’s alone in here, the blinds closed, and she slumps into a chair, putting her head into her hands. The enormity of the case is suddenly too much. Shenton’s insecurities, her brother’s dead wife, Noah’s—
Noah’s what? She can’t put a label on it, but something certainly seems to be bothering him.
As if reading her thoughts, there’s a light knock on the door, and Deakin pokes his head around.
“What?” she snaps, more sharply than she intended.
“We just need a few decisions about this memorial,” he starts, then he tilts his head to one side, appraising her. “You okay?”
