Michael Connelly (123 page)

“Well, from trial testimony I think we can eliminate Church as the perp in the eleventh killing. A wit produced a tape in
—”

“A wit?”

“A witness. In court. He was a friend of Church’s. He came in with a video that showed Church at a party at the time number
eleven got abducted. The tape is convincing.”

Locke nodded his head and was silent. At least he didn’t close his eyes, Bosch thought. The psychologist thoughtfully rubbed
the graying whiskers on his chin, which made Bosch do the same thing.

“Then there is number seven,” Bosch said.

He told Locke about the information he got from Cerrone, about the voice the pimp had recognized.

“Voice identification wouldn’t pass as evidence but say for the sake of argument he is right. That connects the concrete blonde
to our seventh victim. The videotape eliminates Church from the eleventh case. Amado, the guy from the coroner’s office, I
don’t know if you remember him, he says numbers seven and eleven had similar injuries, injuries that stood out if compared
with those of the others.

“Another thing I just remembered is the makeup. After Church was dead they found the makeup in the Hyperion apartment, remember?
They matched it to nine of the victims. The two victims there was no makeup for were —”

“Seven and eleven.”

“Right. So what we have are multiple ties between these two cases — seven and eleven. Then you have a tangential connection
to number twelve, this week’s victim, based on the pimp recognizing the customer’s voice. The connection gets stronger if
you look at the lifestyles of the three women. All were in porno, all worked outcall.”

“I see the pattern within the pattern,” Locke said.

“Gets better. Now, we add in our lone survivor, she was also in porno and did outcall work.”

“And she described an attacker who looked nothing like Church.”

“Exactly. That’s because I don’t think it was Church. I think the three, plus the survivor, make up one set of victims of
one killer. The remaining nine are another set with another killer. Church.”

Locke got up and began pacing back and forth on one side of the dining room table. He kept his hand to his chin.

“Anything else?”

Bosch opened one of the binders and took out the map and a folded piece of paper on which he had earlier written a series
of dates. He carefully unfolded the map and spread it on the table. He leaned in and over it.

“Okay, look. Let’s call the nine Group A and the three Group B. On the map I have circled the locations where Group A victims
were found. You see, if you take the Group B victims out of the picture, you have a nice geographic concentration. Group B
vics were found in Malibu, West Hollywood, South Hollywood. But the A list was concentrated here in eastern Hollywood and
Silverlake.”

Bosch ran his finger in a circle on the map, showing the dumping zone Church had used.

“And here in almost the center of this zone is Hyperion Street — Church’s killing pad.”

He straightened up and dropped the folded paper on the map.

“Now here is a list of dates of the eleven killings originally attributed to Church. You see there is an interval pattern
at the start — thirty days, thirty-two days, twenty-eight, thirty-one, thirty-one. But then the pattern goes to hell. Remember
that? How it confused us back then?

“Yes, I do.”

“We have twelve days, then sixteen, then twenty-seven, thirty and eleven. The pattern disintegrates into no pattern. But now
separate the dates of Group A and Group B.”

Bosch unfolded the paper. There were two columns of dates. Locke leaned over the table into the light to study the columns.
Bosch could see a thin line, a scar, on the top of his bald and freckled crown.

“On Group A we now have a pattern,” Bosch continued. “A clearly discernable pattern of intervals. We have thirty days, thirty-two,
twenty-eight, thirty-one, thirty-one, twenty-eight, twenty-seven and thirty. On Group B we have eighty-four days between the
two killings.”

“Better stress management.”

“What?”

“The intervals between the acting out of these fantasies is dictated by the buildup of stress. I testified about this. The
better the actor handles it, the longer the interval between killings. The second killer has better stress management. Or,
at least, had it back then.”

Bosch watched him pace the room. He took out a cigarette and lit it. Locke said nothing.

“What I want to know is, is this possible?” Bosch asked. “I mean, is there any precedent for this that you know of?”

“Of course, it’s possible. The black heart does not beat alone. You don’t even have to look outside the boundaries of your
own jurisdiction to find ample evidence it is possible. Look at the Hillside Stranglers. There was even a book written about
them called
Two of a Kind
.

“Look at the similarities in the method of operation employed by the Nightstalker and the Sunset Strip Strangler in the early
eighties. The short answer is, yes, it’s possible.”

“I know about those cases but this is different. I worked some of those and I know this is different. The Hillside Stranglers
worked together. They were cousins. The other two were similar but there were major differences. Here, someone came along
and copied the other exactly. So closely that we missed it and he got away.”

“Two killers working independently of each other but using exactly the same methodology.”

“Right.”

“Again, I say anything is possible. Another example: remember in the eighties there was the Freeway Killer in Orange and LA
counties?”

Bosch nodded. He had never worked those cases so he knew little about them.

“Well, one day they got lucky and caught a Vietnam vet named William Bonin. They tied him to a handful of the cases and believed
he was good for the rest. He went to death row but the killings kept happening. They kept right on happening until a highway
patrol officer pulled over a guy named Randy Kraft who was driving down the freeway with a body in his car. Kraft and Bonin
didn’t know each other but for a while they secretly shared the nom de plume ‘The Freeway Killer’. Each working independently
of the other, out there killing. And being mistaken for the same person.”

That sounded close to the theory Bosch was working with. Locke continued talking, no longer bothered by the late-night intrusion.

“Do you know, there is a guard on death row at San Quentin whom I know from doing research up there. He told me there are
four serial killers, including Kraft and Bonin, waiting for the gas. And, well, the four of them play cards every day. Bridge.
Among them, they’ve got fifty-nine convictions for murder. And they play bridge. Anyway, the point is, he says Kraft and Bonin
think so much alike that as a team they are almost never beaten.”

Bosch started refolding the map. Without looking up, he said, “Kraft and Bonin, did they kill their victims the same way?
The exact same way?”

“Not exactly. But my point is that there could be two. But the follower in this case is smarter. He knew exactly what to do
to have all the police go the other way, to put it on Church. Then, when Church was dead and no longer available for use as
camouflage, the follower went underground, so to speak.”

Bosch looked up at him and a thought suddenly struck him that spun everything he knew into a new light. It was like the cue
ball hitting a rack of eight, colors shooting off in all directions. But he didn’t say anything. This new thought was too
dangerous to bring up. Instead he asked Locke a question.

“But even when this follower went underground, he kept the same program as the Dollmaker,” Bosch said. “Why do it, if no one
was going to see it? Remember, with the Dollmaker we believed his leaving of the bodies in public locations, their faces painted,
was part of the erotic program. Part of his turn-on. But why did the second killer do it — follow the same program — if the
body was never intended to be found?”

Locke put both hands on the table to brace his weight and thought a moment. Bosch thought he heard a sound from the patio.
He looked through the open French doors and saw only the darkness of the steep hillside rising above the illuminated pool.
Its kidney-shaped surface was calm now. He looked at his watch. It was midnight.

“It’s a good question,” Locke said. “I don’t know the answer. Maybe the acolyte knew that eventually the body would be revealed,
that he himself might want to reveal it. You see, we probably have to assume now that it was the follower who sent the notes
to you and the newspaper four years ago. It shows the exhibitionistic portion of his program. Church apparently didn’t find
the same need to torment his hunters.”

“The follower got off on tweaking us.”

“Exactly. What he was doing was having his fun, taunting his trackers and all the while the blame for the murders he committed
went to the real Doll-maker. Follow?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so what happened? The real Dollmaker, Mr. Church, is killed by you. The follower no longer has a cover. So what he
does is, he continues his work — his killing — but now he buries the victim, hides her under concrete.”

“You’re saying he still follows the whole erotic program with the makeup and everything but then buries her so no one will
see her?”

“So no one will know. Yes, he follows the program because that is what turned him on in the first place. But he can no longer
afford to discard the bodies publicly because that would reveal his secret.”

“So then, why the note? Why send a note to the police this week that opens him to exposure?”

Locke paced around the dining room table thinking.

“Confidence,” he finally said. “The follower has become strong over the past four years. He thinks he is invincible. It is
a common trait in the disassembling phase of a psychopath. A state of confidence and invulnerability rises as, in actuality,
the psychopath is making more and more mistakes. Disassembling. Becoming vulnerable to discovery.”

“So because he has gotten away with his actions for four years, he thinks he is clear and is so untouchable that he sends
another note to tweak us?”

“Exactly, but that is only one factor. Another is pride, authorship. This big trial on the Dollmaker has begun and he wants
to steal some of the attention. You must understand, he craves attention for his acts. After all, it was the follower, not
Church who sent the letters earlier. So being prideful and feeling above the reach of the police — I guess, godlike is the
way to describe his sense of himself — he writes the note this week.”

“Catch me if you can.”

“Yes, one of the oldest games around. … And lastly, he might have sent the note because he is still angry with you.”

“Me?”

Bosch was surprised. He had never considered this.

“Yes, you took Church away. You ruined his perfect cover. I don’t imagine the note and its mention in the press has helped
your court case any, has it?”

“No. It might sink me.”

“Yes, so maybe this is the follower’s way of repaying you. His revenge.”

Bosch thought about all of this for a moment. He could almost feel the adrenaline surging through his body. It was after midnight
but he wasn’t the least bit tired. He had a focus now. He was no longer lost in the void.

“You think there are more out there, don’t you?” he asked.

“You mean women in concrete, or similar confinement? Yes, unfortunately, I do. Four years is a long time. Many others are
out there, I’m afraid.”

“How do I find him?”

“I’m not sure. My work has usually come at the end. After they’re caught. After they’re dead.”

Bosch nodded, closed the binders and put them under his arm.

“There is one thing, though,” Locke said. “Look at his pool of victims. Who are they? How does he get to them? The three who
are dead and the survivor, they all were in the porno industry, you said.”

Bosch put the binders back down on the table. He lit another cigarette.

“Yes, they all did outcall work, too,” he said.

“Yes. So while Church was the opportunistic killer, taking victims of any size, age or race, the follower was more specific
in his tastes.”

Bosch recalled the porno victims quickly.

“Right, the follower’s victims were white, young, blonde and large-breasted.”

“That is a clear pattern. Did these women advertise their outcall services in the adult-related media?”

“I know two of them did, and the survivor. The latest victim did outcall but I’m not sure how she advertised.”

“Did the three who did advertise include photographs of themselves in the copy?”

Bosch could specifically remember only Holly Lere’s ad, and it did not include her photo. Just her stage name, a phone drop
and a guarantee of lewd pleasure.

“I don’t think so. The one I remember didn’t. But her porno name was in the ad. So anyone familiar with her work in video
would know her physical appearance and attributes.”

“Very good. We are already creating a profile of the follower. He is someone who uses adult videos to choose the women for
his erotic program. He then contacts them through ads in the adult media by seeing either their names or photos in the advertisements.
Have I helped you, Detective Bosch?”

“Absolutely. Thanks for the time. And keep this under your hat. I’m not sure we want to go public with this yet.”

Bosch picked up the binders again and headed toward the door but Locke stopped him.

“We haven’t finished, you know.”

Bosch turned around.

“How do you mean?” he asked, though he knew.

“You haven’t spoken about the aspect of this that is most troubling. The question of how our follower learned the killer’s
routine. The task force did not divulge every detail of the Dollmaker’s program to the media. Not back then. Details were
held back so the loonies who confessed would not know exactly what to confess to. It was a safeguard. The task force could
quickly eliminate the bogus confessions.”

“So?”

“So the question is, how did the follower know?”