Elman stepped to the head of the table, leaned his elbows on the podium and spoke in his deep rich voice into the microphone. “People, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Cam Wittier from FBI headquarters in Washington and Detective Daniel Montoya from the Lost Hills Sheriff’s Department, who first identified the killer as a Serial.
“As you all know, the Serial murdered another young actress, Molly Harbinger, in Las Vegas over the weekend, and that brought the FBI into this case. Agent Wittier will be leading the investigation.” He nodded toward Cam and she took her place behind the podium.
She said nothing until Daniel had sat down at the middle of the table, bridging the sheriff’s detective and the LAPD, and remained silent until every eye was focused on her. She knew local distrust ran deep because still, more often than not, when the FBI showed up, local cops were relegated to gofers.
She saw some sneers on a couple of male faces, a smile from the only female detective. But mainly, she saw wary, stone faces. Back in the beginning, when she’d faced whole rooms of cops who believed she would be getting them coffee and taking notes, she’d felt acid burning her gut. But not anymore, not in a long time.
She said, “I’ve read all of your murder books, seen the hard work you’ve done.” A hand shot up into the air. “Yes, Detective Jagger? You’re out of Van Nuys. You handled the first murder of Davina Morgan, on February 26th.”
A flash of surprise on the older cop’s pale eyes. “Yeah, that’s me. I googled you, Agent Wittier. Your folks are actors, live in Malibu, live in the la-di-da Colony. Is that why the FBI sent you here instead of using the L.A. Field Office? Because they think since you’re connected, you’ll find out the truth faster than we can?”
She honestly couldn’t tell if he was shooting off his mouth or he was asking a serious question.
Corinne Hill, Jagger’s partner, called out, “Stick a sock in it, Morley, let’s hear what she’s got to say.”
Cam never changed expression. One shot was okay. She wondered which one of those two drove the bus. She’d bet on Corinne Hill, based on that exchange. She didn’t put up with any guff. Cam said, “The fact that both my folks and all the victims are in the business certainly went into the FBI’s decision to send me out here, which means, contrary to some local opinion, there are some live brains at work in Washington.”
That tried-and-true chestnut gained her a couple of laughs. Cam paused again, studied their faces, leaned forward. “After Detective Montoya connected the first two murders to the murder of actress Constance Morrissey in the Colony in Malibu on May 3rd, he realized we had a Serial at work and notified Supervisor Elman. I know you’ve been geared up ever since. With the fourth murder of Heather Burnside in North Hollywood on June second, you’ve brought even more resources to bear on catching this man—I say man because statistically most serial killers are male. We hope to verify this when the witness in Las Vegas is found and brought in.” She briefed them on the killing in Las Vegas and the burglar he surprised there. “I’ve been in touch with Agent Aaron Poker at the Field Office in Las Vegas, and will continue to be. The details of his investigation will be available on a daily basis to each of you. Am I correct in assuming each of you has studied all the other murder books and familiarized yourselves with the details of all the other murders?”
Cam heard sounds of assent, saw some shrugs. Glen Hoffman, the youngest of the detectives, something of a hotshot, she’d thought when she’d first read his bio, called out, “Hoffman, North Hollywood. People in this room have worked cases like this before. Sure, there’s an obvious group of victims, and an M.O., but he hasn’t left a single actionable clue. We’ve processed some suspects, but none of them turned out to be viable.
“Look, there are hundreds of Serials busy at work in the U.S. as we speak, and now we’ve spotted one of them here. He’s obviously had lots of practice, so catching him might not happen no matter how hard we bust our chops and read profiles issued by your FBI buddies. What are you going to do to help us?”
Daniel’s first inclination was to haul the jackass outside and bust his chops himself, but he knew Cam would deal with him. Odd, but after only a couple of hours with her he was sure of it.
Cam said, “We’re bringing all the resources of the FBI, Detective Hoffman, and we’re going to catch him by working together. Until we find that clue he’s going to leave sooner or later, we have to use the nature of his crimes themselves to find him. He’s been remarkably consistent, picking young actresses, using the same large single-edged knife, and taking their laptops and cell phones. Let’s start with that. Why does he take them? What does he do with them? Why do you think, Detective Hoffman, that the Serial takes only those two items?”
Hoffman stared at her a moment. “I don’t think they’re souvenirs. I don’t believe this guy is that crazy. I believe there’s something on the laptops or tablets and cell phones that could tie him to the victims, or maybe leads him to other victims.”
Hoffman’s partner, Detective Frank Alworth, world-weary, and not far from retirement, added, “That’s the problem, Glen, too many possibilities. They’re all young actresses, beautiful. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to think he uses the laptops and cell phones to look at their pictures and posts after he’s killed them. But he could see a lot of that on their Facebook fan pages, almost all these young actresses have them now, or look at their Twitter accounts, or their YouTube videos, for that matter. He has to be taking them for something that’s not available on social media.”
Cam said, “Agreed. And there’s not a lot he could cover up by taking those laptops and cells. There are few secrets today that can’t be traced through the Internet. I know you’ve been looking through the victims’ emails and text messages, their activity on social media. What else could it be?”
Detective Allard Hayes of the San Dimas Sheriff’s Department spoke up next. “Daniel and I got together, tried to think outside the box, explore what isn’t obvious. Maybe it’s part of his ritual, part of how he kills them, over and over again. The laptops and cell phones represent their ties to life itself and he takes those ties, as he takes their lives. That sounds new age dippy, but we have to consider the Serial’s brain isn’t necessarily running on the rails.”