The Immortality Plot

The Immortality Plot - chapter 22

Brooklyn’s 76th Precinct had been selected as the temporary home of the task force investigating what had become known internally as ‘The Priest’ murders. The authorities had decided to use the name given to this particular perpetrator by popular choice. It was as good as any and had its uses.

One of the precinct’s laughingly described conference rooms had been taken over by a team of officers including Don Levinson William Deacon of the FBI. Levinson’s number two was standing by a barred window trying to sniff what passed for fresh air in the scruffy room. The FBI had no authority to lead the investigation but was involved because it could bring specialist expertise to bear to support State and local law enforcement agencies.

Lieutenant Raymond Dorsey had been drafted in from California and Helen Carmona was present as this was her patch and the most recent murder fell under the jurisdiction of her office. Others in the room included Robert Dreyfuss from the Criminal Apprehension Unit – a team of experts that provided support services to investigations – and Sheriff Wayne Drummond, down from Boston, scene of the first Priest murder that had been discovered. In addition, officers in the relevant State police and sheriff offices, Massachusetts, California and New York City, were already assigned to the case and the District Attorney’s office in Boston had assigned an investigator, Nancy Klein. The Boston D.A’s office had assumed responsibility for media relations, which essentially meant making no or very little comment.

Homicide in itself was not a federal crime, but serial killers could sometimes justify the FBI’s involvement. Levinson had volunteered to handle the white evidence board. The idea was to brainstorm and co-operate but so far it had been a tetchy and bad tempered session. It was the first time such a force had been gathered together under one roof. So far, everything had been done long distance.

They had been huddled in the room for a couple of hours already. The large boardroom size table was littered with coffee cups, plates and the remains of sandwiches. Spread around the table were photographs of the three victims, all looking pretty identical. They were getting nowhere and they knew it. The atmosphere was grim. Pressure from above and from the media was starting to grate at the nerves of the investigating team.

Wayne Drummond was starting to sweat. There were damp patches under his armpits as he leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. Sitting next to him Nancy Klein looked disgusted and inched away.

“So far we have a shit load of nothing,” he snapped. “All your fancy profiling has come up with is that we are dealing with a clever son-of-a-bitch who leaves no clues and is a missionary type killer.”

“He was in a hurry last time,” said Carmona.

“What makes you say that?” questioned Dorsey.

“I know what you mean,” Dreyfuss butted in. “You’re talking about the confession tape, yes?”

“That’s right,” said Carmona.

“The files show these tapes are all very similar. The perp’s just railing against whores, prostitutes and women in general,” Deacon said while Levinson just watched them all and listened.

“But the Mistra tape lacks any depth. It’s like he’s rushing it, almost like he’s running out of questions to ask that aren’t the same as the last questions he asked.”

“Profiling is a very powerful system of categorizing,” Levinson began.

“Profiling is a load of shit,” announced Drummond in a voice that brooked no argument. “I noticed CNN didn’t ask you any questions about profiling, Don. You’re a natural on TV, by the way.”

Levinson let that one pass this time.

“You can’t say that about profiling, sheriff,” Nancy Klein told him.