Page 83 of Random in Death

“Why not dose them and rape them? Infect or kill them while they’re under? Is he impotent?”

As she considered, Mira wrapped one of the strands of her triple chain of black-and-white beads around a finger.

“That’s possible, of course, but though he wants them, he despises them as much or more. He needs their notice, their willingness, even their gratitude. They owe him attention, owe him sex, and as they give him neither, they’re to blame. They’re to be despised, and eliminated. Eliminated in a way that demonstrates his cleverness, his skills and intelligence. His superiority.”

“Both girls noticed him after he injected them.”

“Yes, and I’m sure he wanted that, that one shining moment—after the penetration. Look at me. See me. You’re giving me attention now, aren’t you?”

“And so is everyone else,” Eve added.

It occurred to her the way Mira smiled at her, sat back, showed a similar satisfaction to what she felt when Peabody hit the mark straight on.

“Sure, he wanted the crowd, the dark,” Eve continued, “but there are plenty of venues that cater to under-twenty-ones. These two events? Specifically chosen, I think, for the media attention that would follow the murders. We’re all paying attention to him now.”

Setting the tea aside, she pushed up to pace. “Not just the girls he killed. Yeah, I get that shining moment for him. Needed, necessary, but hey, they’re dead. All he has to do is turn on a screen and he can see and hear all the attention paid. To him, about him. About his… accomplishments.”

“I agree. Still, the media attention after Jenna Harbough wasn’t enough. He found his second victim the very next night. No cooling-off period, no reveling in his success.”

“He’d already picked the time and place, scoped it out, researched.”

“Yes,” Mira agreed. “But he’s young, Eve, and though organized, meticulous in his science, he lacks impulse control. I would give you a range of fifteen to twenty-two, and my instincts say he falls in line with the ages of his victims.”

“The wits would’ve noticed if he was older—into his twenties. He could look younger than he is, but… I don’t think so. He targets girls in his own age range because those are what he wants. And despises.”

Mira waited, stayed silent as Eve slid her hands into her pockets.

“An incel, sexually deprived, so sexually obsessed. He has to know chemistry. I toyed with the idea he had someone helping him create the formula, access the ingredients for him. But that doesn’t play. That’s attention and focus. A mentor, a partner takes something away from him.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t play.”

“I think he’s very much alone,” Mira said. “He certainly sees himself that way. Alone, unappreciated. Above average, likely far above average intelligence, at least in this area. He’s familiar with formulas, drugs, chemistry, and has found a way to access or create the ingredients he’s chosen.”

“Pure heroin. It takes months and careful work to go from flower to drug. But he can’t afford good clothes for his shining moment? That doesn’t play, either. He had to make it himself, almost had to because it makes it his.”

“And the heroin alone would have been enough to accomplish death. The ketamine and the rest, they add a little flourish, don’t they? It makes it his formula. A signature.”

“Yeah.” Eve let that settle in. “Yeah, a signature. His own creation.”

“The bacteria and the Rohypnol add the sexual revenge. The potassium chloride—”

“He’s executing them.”

Mira’s quiet blue eyes met Eve’s as she nodded. “Exactly, for crimes committed against him. The girls he chose, more or less in the moment, represent all of them. All the ones who ignored him or taunted him or refused him.”

“Or just didn’t see him,” Eve murmured.

“He’s a white male, most likely between sixteen and eighteen, of superior intellect with highly honed skills. He’s organized; he plans. But then he acts on impulse, in that moment. A misogynist, narcissist, emotionally stunted, socially inept. He knows what it is to be bullied and scorned, but that’s nothing compared to being ignored.

“The kills, followed by the media attention, and no doubt aided by masturbation sate his sexual cravings, but not for long.”

Eve nodded again because it confirmed her own thoughts. “At that age, a passing breeze has a guy thinking about sex. But this one? For this one it’s not the desire that fuels him. It’s the denial.

“Eventually, the needle won’t be enough of a stand-in for his dick. He’ll need to rape one before he kills her.”

“The cravings build again, Eve, so eventually is likely sooner than later. He spends a great deal of his time alone, at his work. Parental attention, if any, is minimal. His father or father figure is likely something he only aspires to be. Sexually attractive to women, successful, admired. His mother or mother figure…”

Mira twisted the strand again. “There, he feels scorn at best.”

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