To Die For

“Could it possibly have been a man wearing women’s shoes?” she asked, watching Mike fix a cup of coffee. “You know, just to throw everyone off? Most people do know they’ll leave footprints in still-wet ground, so maybe it was the murderer trying to confuse everyone.”

“That’s a definite possibility, but it still doesn’t feel right,” Mike answered, aware that he sounded fretful. “Serial killings have a very specific relationship between the killer and his victim, the killing coming about because of who each of them is. A serial killer’s identity is very important to him, I’m told, so for him to deliberately pretend to be someone else entirely—I don’t know if he’s capable of doing that in the context of the murders.”

“I don’t think I understand that,” Tanda said, taking her own cup and sitting on the steps with it. “Don’t serial killers always try to hide who they are?”

“Only during the times between murders,” Mike answered, sitting down not far from her. “During those times they’re not really themselves, since their real selves are dedicated to completing whatever ritual they’ve come to believe they must complete. When they’re in the middle of that ritual, however, they can’t be anything but their true selves or the ritual won’t have meaning. Even if they’re forced to tell people who they are—in the notes they leave, or the symbols they sometimes paint in blood on the walls—they can’t refuse to do it. That part of it is lucky for us, because it’s usually the way we catch them.”

“Then that would mean if it was the murderer, he wasn’t here in connection with the killings,” Tanda said slowly after sipping her coffee. “But if that’s true, then what was he here for?”

“That’s as easy to answer as what a woman was doing here if it wasn’t the murderer,” Mike grumbled in response. “There are too many unexplained things happening, too many events that seem completely unrelated. I know we’re missing something important, but I don’t yet know what it is.”

He lapsed into a brooding silence with that, and Tanda joined him. From what she’d said, she’d been convinced the intruder was her brother’s murderer, and now she seemed a lot less sure. He hadn’t yet spoken to her about the way she’d gone out after the prowler instead of waiting for the police to arrive, but now didn’t feel like the time to go into it. He wanted her to be safe, but once they left she would be all alone in that house. Telling her horror stories to keep her awake the rest of the night would benefit no one. Leaving one of the police units there for the night and discussing it tomorrow was a much better idea.

They sat quietly drinking their coffee for a while, and then the forensics people began to come over to join them. Most of them accepted the offer of coffee, but had nothing to add to what they’d already told him. The casts made in the woods of tire tracks and footprints were put carefully in the van, and while that was being done Mike arranged for one of the units to stay. Once everyone else had left, he walked back to the porch where Tanda still sat.

“Well, that’s it,” he said, feeling the words were totally inadequate. “That car will be out here for the rest of the night, so there shouldn’t be any more trouble. Is there anything you’d like me to do before I leave?”

“I really don’t think so,” she answered with a tired smile. “If we’re going to be doing things tomorrow, we need at least some sleep tonight. Or should I say, ‘this morning’?’ Most of the night is long gone.”

“I think we’d all prefer it if criminals confined their activities to the daytime,” he returned with his own smile. “It’s so much easier chasing them after a good night’s rest. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we’ll set up a time to meet at your brother’s house.”