Three Libras - BLACKBIRD book 4

11. the omega

Gillian took a moment to collect her thoughts. "So he left his hometown when his family died, settled somewhere else, got a job and led an ordinary life, until one day he just snapped and killed their surrogates. Then he fled to another city, north along the coast, settled there, got a job, led an ordinary life. Until he couldn't fight his urge anymore. Then he killed three more surrogates, fled to another city and the cycle started over." Somerville nodded with a pleased smile, but she frowned deeper. "I don't get it. The way you describe him, he was sort of a functional sociopath with a sadistic compulsion. How does the narcissism fit in the picture?"

"Narcissism?"

"Well, let's not forget the huge Libra symbol painted in blood on the wall, right over his victims. I mean, serial killers do that kind of thing when they crave attention. They want public exposure and a fancy name on the headlines."

Somerville pursed his lips, pondering her words. "I don't think there was any narcissism playing here."

"Oh...?"

"The underlined omega is the symbol of the zodiac sign Libra. But the sign has another symbol."

"The scales."

"Yes. The whole meaning of the Libra zodiac sign revolves around the concept of balance. An endless struggle to achieve an ideal balance for the mind and the spirit."

She leaned back, narrowing her eyes as she allowed the man's words to sink in. Then she stiffened. "You mean...? Oh, my! He killed those women as some sick way to get even with her mother and sisters, because the car crash deprived him of any chance of real revenge on them?"

"That's what I concluded back then. He was trying to balance the scales of cruelty between him and them."

"Then why the underlined omega?"

"Tell me, young lady, have you ever tried to paint big decent scales in blood, on a wall, after stabbing somebody forty times, quickly enough to escape before you get busted?"

Gillian narrowed her eyes. Her gut told her there had to be more to it.

Somerville studied her when she wouldn't break the silence, expecting him to go on. Then he sighed.

She leaned forward, knowing the old writer was about to give out some important piece of information.

"Jackson had another theory about that symbol, though," Somerville said. "Are you familiar with the Books of Revelations?"

"I'm an Irish Bostonian."

Somerville nodded with a tight smile. "So you must be familiar with the quote I'm the Alpha and the Omega..."

"Yes, I am." Biblical delusions? The hurried-painting joke made more sense than that.

The old man let out another sigh. "I found some books about ancient Greek culture at River's house. Looked like he was interested in it. So Jackson thought the omega referred to the basic meaning of the letter as the last one of the Greek alphabet. The omega as a symbol of the end, just like they say Jesus Christ meant it. Jackson said maybe River harbored for years the dream of killing his mother and sisters. But they died. Like you said, the car crash deprived him of a chance to do it. But they were not really gone. The psychological torture they inflicted on him for almost thirty years wasn't over, because it still haunted him. And that was what pushed River to find surrogates and kill them. To put an end to his torture, and the feelings of inadequacy and rejection they made him feel all his life."

Gillian remembered to breathe, because she was so absorbed by Somerville's words that she'd forgotten to draw in any air.

The writer went on. "Those murders offered River some relief from painful memories. But only momentary. It wasn't the end. The pain and hate would build up again every time. And every two years he just couldn't take it anymore, so he killed again, all three of them. But each time he wanted it to be the end of his suffering. Jackson thought that was the real meaning of the omega letter painted in blood. His desperate need of each killing to bring an end to his torment. He painted it in blood like a promise he wouldn't be able to keep: this is the last one, this is the end. And he underlined it to stress the meaning. This is really the last one, this is really the end."

Gillian leaned back again, nodding slowly. Jackson's theory made much more sense than the balance theory. "And the investigators just misread it, because he wouldn't have been the first serial to toy with the zodiac."

"And the press used it to name him from day one." Somerville's chin pointed at her folder. "Want to show me what you brought?"

She opened the folder and handed him copies of the messages. Somerville put on his readers to take a close look at them.

"One of them was received last month at the precinct where the primary on the Boston spree worked."

"Sergeant Detective Andrew Lloyd," the old man muttered, and noticed her grimace. "You knew him."

"He was very close with my partner back then. They received it on August 15th."

"Emmett's birthday."

"Exactly. The other one was sent to the local journalist who covered the Boston spree."

"When?"

"September 10th."

Somerville leaned against the back of his armchair, any trace of a smile gone. "That's the date of the car crash, when Lily, Rose and Daisy died." He looked her straight in the eyes. His tone was low and grave. "Whoever sent these messages knew Emmett River. In person. There's no other way they knew about these dates."

"No other way? What about your book?"

"I never included them. Jackson asked me not to. You know, just in case."

Gillian's face reflected her shock. She felt another chill. She wasn't sure she wanted an answer for her next question. "Is there any other meaningful date you didn't include in your book?"

She breathed deep when the old man nodded.

"September 20th."

"What happened then?"

"Lily River's birthday. And Emmett River's first murder."

Gillian frowned as she flicked quickly through her notes. "None of his victims died on September 20th."

"It's not on the files because back then he wasn't the Libra yet."

She met his eyes, really whishing he would shut up, because now she was positive she didn't want to listen to whatever he had to say.

Somerville grimaced. "I learned about it out of pure chance, when I went to Florida to visit his family house, and a couple of other places of interest for my book. There's nothing but circumstantial evidence and my gut crying out loud it'd been him. A cold case dusting up in some lost police archive. A brunette in her late forties. She was found stabbed to death. Thirty stab wounds from the same blade. Lots of fingerprints, but no match in the system—it was his first kill, he was still sloppy. It happened on September 20th, 1998, in Palm Coast, Florida. That's an hour south of Jacksonville, and halfway from Jacksonville to De Land, Emmett River's hometown."

Gillian gasped. "And two years later, north of Palm Coast, in Jacksonville, was his first registered spree! Meaning from the very beginning he moved north along the East Coast and attacked every two years!"

"Yes."

She breathed deep. "So September 20th, Mom's birthday. If whoever is sending these messages wants to show he knew the Libra, we should expect some development on that date."

"That's correct, I'm afraid."