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3S Round Robin

Chapter 7

by Becky Board

As I had so many times before, I put myself in the mind of the killer.  “I don’t know who she’s gonna be, but I’m ready to kill someone.  Right now.” 

                                    John Douglas, FBI Profiler, from his book, Journey Into Darkness




Sitting in a copse of trees in the park, watching and listening to the detectives, the killer knew they were discussing the jogger as a possible suspect and thought to himself, “I see you, but you don’t see me.


“He thought back to the struggle the Hispanic woman put up, almost getting away from him.  Subsequently, his work last night with the knife had been sloppy and rushed, and that wasn’t acceptable; enjoyable, yes, but not acceptable.


Chuckling at the ineptitude of “New York’s finest”, he fingered the package he had brought with him for this night’s killing.  A few ampuls of haldol, a powerful fast- acting sedative, along with needles and syringes, all taken from the Mt. Sinai pharmacy.  These were such effective tools that he had been able to do two young women last night.  Softly laughing again, he hummed the jingle from the chewing gum commercial, “double the pleasure, double the fun”, and remembered how it felt to do the two sisters, the youngest he had done yet.


Becoming aroused, he watched the fiery red-headed female detective and decided he had to have her next.  



Earlier that day, in the tunnels, Vincent had immersed himself in the world of serial killers by reading everything and anything he could find on the subject.   Alone in his chamber he remembered the conversation with Father about his own capacity for violence and  realized that, no matter what the provocation, he could never be capable of doing any of the things he had just read about. 

“Diana works with this evil almost every day.  She goes into the minds of these killers to solve the most horrific crimes, yet emerges at the end of the day able to give and receive love.  How is that possible?”


Looking at the picture of her on his writing table, he felt his admiration for her growing along with the love he had felt for some time now.  This love was something that took them both by surprise.  Neither of them had sought it out, but once it became apparent that love was indeed what they were feeling, there was no turning back.


I need to get out of this chamber and be with my son for awhile, take these images of what I’ve been reading out of my head.  Hard to believe he’s almost three now, and as talkative as can be.  Vincent’s heart warmed with the love he shared with his son, as he hurried toward the nursery.



Back in the park, Diana made a decision about the jogger, Mr. Hunter.  “Mohr, you and Barardi go pick our witness up and take him to the station.  Tell him you have some mug-shots you want him to look at, tell him ANYTHING, but keep him there as long as you can. If he’s our man, he can’t murder anyone while he’s at the precinct.  He might slip up and say something about the murders that aren’t common knowledge.  No one in the press knows about the puncture wounds yet; so if he says something about them, we got him.  Don’t let on he’s a suspect, whatever you do.  He may be the killer, but then again he could just be a crime scene groupie who wants to insert himself into an investigation to make himself seem important. God knows we’ve seen that type before.  As I said earlier, it’s too soon to narrow this down to one man, whether that man’s a jogger or a funny looking guy in a cape, for cryin’ out loud.” 

At that, Diana took off up the path to work the crime scenes again.  She knew that was the best way to get inside the killer’s head, by retracing his steps, by literally walking in his footsteps and recreating the murders.  This killer is evolving by the day, and she had to not only keep up with him; she had to get one step in front of him in order to catch him.  “All rightSlasher, let’s see what you’ve got to show me.”


As she took off down the path, the killer stood up and grinned.  Bag in one hand, disguise in the other, he thought that he would spend more time with this one.  As this may be his last one, at least for awhile, he wanted to savor every moment.  “No wham, bam…kill you ma’am this time”, he whispered to himself.  “This time I want to make the fun and games last and last.”



When Vincent arrived at the nursery, he spent a few minutes watching the children at play before he was noticed.  He smiled to himself over Jacob’s resemblance to Catherine.  Not so much a physical resemblance, but personality traits that were starting to emerge, such as the boy’s strong sense of what was right and wrong.  Many times Vincent had observed his son standing up to children twice his size to tell them they weren’t playing fair or to stop them from picking on the little ones.

As soon as Jacob spotted his daddy, Vincent said his standard greeting to his son, “Who loves you more than anyone else in the world, Jacob Wells?”  and Jacob, while running full speed, shouts, “Dah-dee  Does!  Dah-dee Does!”  but this time, something changed about the familiar routine.  Instead of jumping into his father’s arms, Jacob skidded to a stop right in front of him, tilted his face towards him  with laughing eyes, and asked, “And Dah-dee, who wuvs YOU morninninni-one else in the WHOLE wide world?”  Vincent, going down on his knees and taking his son in his arms, replied, “Jacob. My Jacob does.”  The grown-ups in the room looked on with goofy, sentimental smiles on their faces, but Vincent and his son only had eyes for each other. 


After a fun-filled afternoon of games, reading and snacks, Vincent took his son to their chamber for a late nap.  Jacob, who usually fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillows, looked up at his daddy with a somber expression and asked, “Will Di-nanna come to see me tonight, Dah-dee?” 


“No son, probably not tonight. She’s working on something terribly important; otherwise, I know she would want to come and see you and read to you at bedtime, as she usually does.”

 Jacob, mulling this answer over in his head, looked directly into Vincent’s eyes and asked him, “Dah-dee, will the bad man fwom my dweams hurt Di-nanna?”


“What bad man?  Jacob? Have you been having bad dreams again, son?”  Vincent was quite aware that his son not only possessed an uncanny ability for empathy, but had shown signs of precognition as well.   He never just dismissed Jacob’s little worries because, more than once, they had proven to be more than just an over active imagination.  “Tell me what you’ve seen.”




Back in the park, late that night, “the blind man” stepped out of the trees and onto the path taken by Diana a few minutes earlier.  He congratulated himself on the brilliance of his disguise, no more than a simple pair of sunglasses and a white, collapsible cane.  Those two items worked perfectly for him for two reasons: no one feels threatened by a blind man, and any possible witnesses are incapable of giving a good description of him.


He imagined the conversation in his head.  Cop to witness, “Did you see anyone in the area?” to which the witness replies, “Yeah, there was a blind guy there.” 


Cop:  “What did he look like?” 


Witness:  “He had on sunglasses and had a cane.” 

Cop:  “Yeah, but what did he look like?  Caucasian?  Tall?  What was he wearing?”

The killer had to restrain himself from laughing out loud.  The things he had planned for tonight held so much promise for him.  He couldn’t wait to get started.


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