Page 31 of Psycho
“How did Kohn factor in?”
“He was the FBI liaison between the tribal police and the FBI, working on a string of missing persons cases on the reservation. I didn’t want to step on his toes, but Kohn seemed happy to have the help.”
Lucas snorted after that statement, his disgust with himself apparent. He blamed himself as the architect for his own misery. He was so sensitive, so soft. It made August feel…protective. Vengeful. He hadn’t even heard the whole story and he was ready to show this man his own liver. Lucas was his. August would protect what was his.
“Don’t indigenous women go missing at an alarming rate?” August asked, determined to focus on letting Lucas tell his story.
“Yes. But these women disappeared in rather rapid succession and were all of similar age. It was possible they were trafficked. That also happens with many indigenous women, but the officer in charge of the case, a man named Dan Adakai, was certain there was more to it.
“Unlike most people who hear the rumors about me, Adakai took it seriously. But there was nothing for me to hold or touch. At least nothing associated with the disappearance. I got some impressions from clothing they owned, but nothing related to who took them. They didn’t know where they went missing, so there was no way of knowing where they’d find something I could pull information from. I did my work the old fashioned way, but without a body, it was hard to provide much help.”
“Because there was no MO?” August asked.
Lucas nodded. “I apologized and offered to help if any new information came up.”
August combed his fingers through Lucas’s messy blond tresses. “I’m assuming you found more to go on?”
Lucas’s gaze grew unfocused. “Within a week, we had a body.”
August frowned. “The timing seems suspect.”
“Very. Almost like they were…throwing us a bone, daring us to come after them. I asked my boss for permission to return to New Mexico as a consultant. They reluctantly agreed and only because the tribal police and Kohn requested me.”
“Kohn requested you?”
Lucas snorted again. “Yeah.”
August could see why Lucas was so furious. The actual killer inviting him in, testing him, playing with him…still playing with him. It would be such a violation of trust for somebody like him.
“What did the body tell you?” August asked, trying to pull Lucas from his shame spiral.
“The victim was fifteen-year-old Malia Etsitty. She was the first to go missing. Her body was fresh, so she’d only recently been killed. She’d been raped and tortured over a prolonged period of time. Her breasts and genitals had been mutilated anti-mortem, which meant we were dealing with an organized non-social lust killer, who likely moved about the world undetected. He’d posed the body, left it where it could be easily found.”
“Showing off,” August said.
Lucas nodded. “He was proud of his work and needed us to know he was out there. Despite the clear mutilation, he’d washed her before he’d staged her. In some cases, that might appear like remorse or like somebody who knew the victim, but in this case, it seemed almost like a forensic countermeasure.”
August agreed. “What kind of impressions did you get when you touched her?”
Lucas closed his eyes. “Horrible things. I’ve taught myself to block out the pain and the suffering. I had to in order to survive. I have to do that so I can focus on the anomalies. The things that shouldn’t be there.”
“Shouldn’t be there?” August echoed.
Lucas opened his eyes, looking at August. “Yes. What’s different about him than other lust killers, what is out of place? Doesn’t fit? Doesn’t belong?”
“What did you see?”
“A rectangular room without windows. If I had to hazard a guess, I would have said a box truck or a type of shed or private storage unit, maybe even a small shipping container. Somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“Makes sense.”
“It was designed with torture in mind. This killer took his time. This was like his dream home. A place where he could live out any and every sick depraved fantasy he might have.”
“Did you find what didn’t belong?” August asked.
“Maybe. I couldn’t see the killer’s face because he wore a mask, which struck me as odd. Why wear a mask if you intend to kill your victim? You aren’t worrying about them identifying you.”
“Maybe he hadn’t intended to kill her? Maybe he just took it too far?”
