In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

the Web-sites, made up stories where I was a cop back then and tracked him. down. Along the way I expanded, studied up on profiling and types, the steps and the stages-you know, trolling, hunting, the rush and the lull." He shrugged now. "I went through a phase where I thought I'd be a cop, chase the bad guys. But I got over that one. Considered going into psychology, but it just didn't suit me. What I really wanted to do was write, and that's what I was good at. So I write about my' lifelong interest."
     
     
"I hear some writers need to experience the subject they're writing about. Need that hands-on approach before they can put it down in words."
     
     
Amusement bloomed on his face. "So, you're asking if I've gone out and carved up a couple of street LCs in the name of research?" His laughter rolled out, then stopped, like a wave hitting a wall as Eveonly continued to watch him.
     
     
He blinked, several times, then swallowed audibly. "Holy shit, you really are. I'm a suspect?"
     
     
The healthy color in his face had drained away to leave it pale and shiny. "For real?"
     
     
"I'd like to know where you were on September second, between midnight and three Am."
     
     
"I was home, probably. I don't... " He.lifted both hands, rubbed the sides of his head. "Man,.my brain's gone fuzzy. I figured you wanted me to consult. Was pretty juiced_ about it. Ah... I was here. Jule, Julietta, my wife-had a. late meeting, and didn't get home. until about ten., She was whipped and went straight up to bed. I put in some writing time. With Jed, the only time the house is really quiet is the middle of the night. I worked until one, maybe a little after. I can check my disc log."
     
     
He opened drawers in his workstation, began to root around. "I, ah, Jesus, did the man of the house routine. I, go through it every. night before I turn in. Check the security, make sure everything's locked up. Look in on Jed. That's it."
     
     
"How about Sunday morning?"
     
     
"This Sunday?" He glanced: up, over. "My wife got up with Jed."
     
     
He paused, and Eve could see the chan$e taking place. The shock was ebbing and the interest, the -enjoyment, even the pride in being considered a murder subject was rolling in.
     
     
"Most Sundays I sleep in and she takes over. She doesn't get as much one-on-one time with him as, I do. She took him to the park. They go out early and have a picnic breakfast if the weather's good. Jed loves that. Didn't surface till close to noon. What's Sunday? I'm not following...." Then he did. She could see it click. "The woman who was found strangled in her apartment on Sunday. Middle-aged woman, living alone. Sexual assault and strangulation."
     
     
His eyes were narrowed now, his color back. "The media reports were sketchy, but strangulation and sexual assault, that's not Ripper style. An older woman, at home in her apartment; that's not Ripper style either. What's the connection?"
     
     
At Eve's 'steady stare, he scooted forward in the chair. "Listen, if I'm moonlighting as a killer, I already know so you won't be telling me anything. If I'm just an expert on serial killers, giving me some details might let me help. Either way, how can you lose?"
     
     
She'd already decided what she would and wouldn't tell him, but held his gaze another 'moment. "The sash of the victim's lounge robe was used as, the murder weapon, and tied in a bow under the chin."
     
     
"Boston Strangler. That was his signature." He snapped Iris fingers,. and began to push through the piles of discs and files on his desk. "I've got considerable notes on him. Wow. You'!ve got two killers imitating the famous? Teamwork, like Leopold and Loeb? Or..." He paused, took a long breath. "NO two, just one. One killer working his way down a list of his heroes. That's why you're looking at me. You're wondering if the people I write about are heroes to me, and if I'm mixing up my work and my life. If I want to be one of them."
     
     
He pushed to his feet, pacing with what looked to Eve to be energy rather than nerves. "This is fucking amazing. He's probably read my books. That's sort of creepy, but icy in a strange way, too. DeSalvo, DeSalvo. Different type from Jack," Breen mumbled. "Blue collar, family man, a sad sap. Jack was probably educated, likely a member of the upper class."
     
     
"If the information I just gave you finds its way to the media, I'll know where it came from." Eve paused until Breen s" stopped pacing and looked