Page 18 of The Killer She Knew

Feeling as trapped as she did on this campus.

Forensic techs had managed to put a stop to the acid’s destruction of what they’d found to be six driver’s licenses in the container. The plastic was warped, the photos were nothing more than a mixture of color, and the names had been too hard to read. There was no telling how long the licenses had been left in the acidic mixture, but there was a chance details could be recovered from imprints in the plastic.

Time would tell.

Another wave of restlessness flooded through the groups of staff and students huddled throughout Thompson Hall. She hadn’t gotten the chance to check in on other dorms and buildings, but nerves and frustration were universal during shelter in place orders. The last rations of food had been used up.Running water hadn’t been affected, but things were about to get worse without power and an entire night ahead of them. Still, the storm hadn’t let up. They had no way of getting news.

“Does maintenance have any kind of update on the generator?” Leigh stripped free of her blazer and tossed it on the bench beside Ava. Despite October temperatures outside, the fabric had started sticking to her in places better left to the imagination. The fifteen-year-old had managed to peel herself away from the group of students to check in with only a slight groan and very little complaint, but the day wasn’t over. Given the pattern of the past few weeks together, they were due for an argument Leigh didn’t have the energy to fight. “The heat is getting worse with this many bodies packed in together.”

Thompson Hall was mostly made of offices and classrooms. There was plenty of room to spread out, but protocols made it safer for them all to stay together. Especially at night.

Ford swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, jarring his glasses. “They managed to strip some wiring from an older unit they hadn’t gotten rid of yet, but they’re not sure the parts are interchangeable. It’ll take at least a couple more hours to get an idea.”

“Did you recognize any of the driver’s licenses we recovered?” she asked.

“None, but from what you said at least one was from California. Maybe belonging to one of the victims the killer I’m chasing left behind.” Ford couldn’t even seem to be bothered to look uncomfortable with the humidity clogging her throat. Traitor. “You?”

“Too much damage, but I think it’s safe to say the suspect you’ve been tracking has come to the University of New Hampshire.” Driver’s licenses were made and stamped by machine. They’d be lucky if forensics could get an imprint with most of the ink burned off the plastic. “You gave me a list of fourvictims before Alice, but we pulled six driver’s licenses from the container. Serial offenders sometimes collect trophies from their victims to later relive the experience when the desired effect wears off. It’s a cycle with a cooling-off period between kills, but this killer is mobile. He’s carrying his trophies with him, which makes me believe—up until recently—he was convinced he was invincible. Convinced himself he could outwit and outmaneuver police and get away with murder.”

The marshal looked over the lobby in thought. Considering the height difference between them, it wasn’t difficult. “But ditching the driver’s licenses means our unsub might be getting desperate. And desperation leads to mistakes.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“Six driver’s licenses. I only know of four male victims. You think there are two more we don’t know about?” Ford asked.

“I think… I think that the killer is currently impersonating someone on this campus, but he’s trapped and without resources. Same as us. Durham PD has the entire town shut down. We’ve also searched this campus to within an inch of its life. There’s no getting out until the storm passes. Could be why our unsub ditched his trophy collection. He’s taking care of loose ends.”

Her attention landed on Professor Morrow, his back turned to Leigh. She couldn’t bury the feeling he’d lied to her about knowing Alice Dietz earlier. There wasn’t any big reason for her not to believe his statement. Just one little one: He was a sucker for details. Remembered the tiniest bits of information in any given case study, journal article, and paper. It was what made him one of the most sought-after criminology professors in the country. His criminology courses required at minimum two papers submitted by students each semester, which meant he’d read and graded submissions from Alice Dietz. Hard to believe the name hadn’t meant anything to him.

“Security can’t access video footage of the lab building until the power comes back on,” she continued. “Until then, we’re going to have to wait for the president to provide the key codes used to access the biomedical lab around Alice Dietz’s death.”

Ford slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks. A habit she’d noted since arriving on the crime scene this morning. His way of exerting control in a situation neither of them had been in before. “Why do you think he’s killing all these people?”

That was the question. The most critical aspect of any serial case. Motive said a lot about a killer, and one of the primary approaches was to look at the victimology. The first victims told the best stories: why they’d been targeted, maybe if they’d even known their killer. She hadn’t gotten the chance to look at the previous victim files Ford had brought with him. At the same time, they couldn’t sit around waiting for another body to drop.

“To fulfill a need. There’s something his victims have to provide for him, a reason he’s drawn to them. You said he takes over their identities, becomes his victims for days and weeks. He interacts with friends, family, coworkers without raising suspicion. Lives in their homes, takes care of their pets, does their jobs. Like he’s living out a fantasy. It’s one of the reasons people love this time of year so much.” Leigh eyed the Halloween decorations strung up. Witches’ hats, paper streamers in orange and black, depictions of Frankenstein’s monster, and stacked pumpkins on the information desk. “But, by becoming his victims, he gets to mold his own little world with no one to tell him what to be.”

“His life is so pathetic he needs to become someone else?” Ford’s laugh didn’t sit well. Judgmental. Condescending. Stereotypical. But she couldn’t hold it against him. That was the difference between the work she did compared to his. Most law enforcement officers saw the world as black and white. A file crossed their desk, and they attacked it with a dozenpreconceptions already in place for how the investigation would end. It took diving into the mind of a killer, tearing apart behavior, compulsions, and past experiences to understand each crime was unique. Each serial offender believed what they were doing was the greatest option for survival.

“As I said, each of his victims would’ve needed to fulfill a need he has. It could be anything, and it may have been different for every victim. Earlier, you said all of the male victims worked remote, a couple even ran their own businesses. Perhaps our killer was envious of that lifestyle. Of being able to structure his day how he saw fit without a boss looking over his shoulder and no one to answer to, so he became them. He gifted himself a sense of freedom.” This was all theoretical. In truth, she wouldn’t be able to get a better understanding of their killer until she was able to look through each of the investigative files, but without power, limited flashlights, and thirty percent battery life on her signal-free phone, she’d have to wait.

“He’s envious of them?” Ford asked.

“In every case I’ve worked, killing is primarily about control. Control of oneself, control of another—a way to exert a sliver of control in our lives.” Everyone needed some semblance of control, but most of the population could keep themselves from killing to find it. “Our unsub is neat, clean, disciplined, and has a great attention to detail in the way he ensures there is no physical evidence to link him to his victims. But it’s not enough. He’s not happy. So he moves on to the next victim, and when they don’t satisfy his craving, he kills another. He’s becoming his highest self by testing out personalities and lives. He wants something they have, but the problem is he’s never going to be satisfied. He’s never going to stop, because manufactured happiness doesn’t exist.”

Ford had taken on a stillness again. “I’m starting to see why the FBI has kept you their best-kept secret for so long. I wouldn’t want to share you either.”

“It’s all a theory at this point. I’ll be able to get a better read on the victimology once I can dive into the files you brought. Until then, none of it tells us why he targeted and killed Alice Dietz. She’s the outlier and where we need to put our focus now.” Leigh couldn’t help but flush under Ford’s unrelenting attention. It wasn’t like the other times she’d walked onto a scene and immediately been challenged by spiteful men uncomfortable answering to a woman with more experience, who didn’t believe she deserved to be there, or held a grudge against her ability to unearth corruption in their ranks. Ford’s attention was… warm. Better than warm. Almost drugging. “Which meant he might not have planned to kill her. She could’ve gotten in the way of what he really wanted.”

“All right.” The marshal shifted his weight between both feet. Eager to get back into the hunt. Leigh imagined it was harder than it looked for him to stay in one place for long given the parameters of his job. “What does our killer want here on campus?”

“Another identity.” It was that simple. “Durham is a university town with few full-time residents. It’s primarily made up of students. No one comes here unless it has something to do with this campus.”

“Someone at the university was the killer’s target?” Ford scanned the lobby—the same as she did—to find an abnormality. A break in the pattern or a sign that said, “It’s me!” stapled to someone’s forehead.

Unfortunately, reality didn’t work that way. They would have to pull apart every angle, re-interview every witness, and determine who in Alice Dietz’s life had motive to kill her. Before the storm let up and their killer slipped away.

Exhaustion settled in. The egg salad sandwich lodged in her stomach wasn’t doing great either. “But something stopped him from assuming the new identity.”

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