Agent Archer raised his hand. “You said eight people. That’s only six.”
“The other two were his sister-in-law and her unborn child. He slashed her throat before going to the clinic where she was scheduled to have an abortion.”
“So he had a motive,” said Archer, “other than God.”
“Yes, but he does not admit that his sister-in-law’s impending abortion provided any impetus for his crime. He avers that he had been consulting with God for some time, and that God told him to kill these people.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“It is indeed questionable, Agent Archer, an excuse for a hideous crime, and not an uncommon defense for hate-crime killers. But I interviewed Holsten over the course of a year and he never once changed his story. He is absolutely convinced he was right, that he was correcting an affront to God. When I offered the logical argument that he might be the one who offended God, since by stabbing his sister he had terminated a pregnancy, he told me I did not understand. He has never once wavered in his belief and continues to insist that God told him to kill, and therefore he did nothing wrong.”
“Nut job,” said Archer.
“You’ve got that right.” Schteir smiled. “As for your unsub, he may be choosing victims at random, or the acts may have a personal component. You may not discover that until he is caught.” She reached for a paper with the symbol Nate had found from The White Man’s Bible. “Though your man appears to be working solo, he is probably in touch with members of various hate organizations. This sort of personality derives strength from being part of a group. Duane Holsten was a member of both the World Church of the Creator and Christian Identity for at least ten years before his crime. Christian Identity is not an organized group, a shame because it would make our jobs a lot easier. It’s a loose-knit network of fanatics that stay in touch via Internet chat rooms. Holsten’s computer showed that he spent more than half his day in chat rooms. He had a basement full of neo-Nazi propaganda and three years’ worth of journals that documented his personal conversations with God-which is why he’s in a psyche ward and not on death row.”
“Couldn’t he have fabricated the journals after the fact?” Terri asked.
“Absolutely,” said Schteir. “And it’s possible, though Holsten convinced me he was speaking directly to God, something more than one religious-right sect is pushing these days. It’s called divine revelation.”
“Direct line to God,” said Archer. “Handy.”
“Indeed. This sort of man is determined and righteous.” Schteir looked around the room. “If you believed you were absolutely right-that God told you the world’s salvation depended on you-would you carry out his bidding? Would you dare not to?” She paused. “Holsten, as I said, feels no remorse because he was following orders. Sound familiar?”
Nate raised his hand and spoke simultaneously. “Nazis and neo-Nazis sharing the same excuse, right?”
Dr. Schteir smiled. “Yes. There is something in these men and in your unsub-rather something missing from their psyche and emotional core-that allows them to do what they do. They split their personalities, even their lives.”
“Are you saying he could be living a normal life?”
“I’d say a double life as opposed to a normal one, but yes.”
After the meeting I stopped to talk with the Quantico shrink.
“Very interesting presentation,” I said. “And it sounds like you enjoy your work.”
“Oh, I do. I was never interested in having one of those comfortable practices-you know, dealing with everyday neurotics. Interviewing someone like Duane Holsten is a thrill. How many shrinks ever get to work with a true sociopath in their entire lifetime? Me, I get to do it all the time.”
“And it’s not frightening?”
“Oh, very frightening. Going into maximum security facilities, feeling all of those eyes on you-I can assure you that part is not fun.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, you are…?”
“Nate Rodriguez. Forensic artist.”
“Oh, the one who is making the sketches for us.”
“That’s me.” I smiled. “So, what you said about our unsub believing he’s right in his actions, I agree; but what about the emotion that drives him?”
“Well, everyone experiences emotions differently, but with your unsub it’s obviously anger,” said Schteir. “Anger he can’t control.”
“But he does control it. He takes his time making drawings of his vics before he kills them, right? After that, there doesn’t appear to be much emotion behind the act. It’s sort of like he’s gotten the anger out in the planning and drawing, and the killing becomes perfunctory, wouldn’t you say?”
Dr. Schteir raised an eyebrow and assessed me more fully.
“And anger is usually accompanied by another emotion,” I added.
“Such as?”
“Fear, usually. Fear that the object of your anger-the victims, in this case-poses some sort of threat to you.”
“I see you’ve been studying.” Schteir smiled. “Who in particular?”
“Paul Ekman, for one.”
“Creator of the Facial Coding System, of course. I’m familiar with his work.”
“Ekman says we often focus anger on people who don’t share our beliefs, or offend our basic values.” I hoped I didn’t sound like I was showing off, though I was, a little. “I’ve studied anger and fear so I can recognize it on people’s faces and be able to draw it.”
Terri was suddenly by my side. “Nate can draw a face from memory and create one from the flimsiest description.”
“Really? There could be a job for you at Quantico, Nate.” Schteir touched my hand.
“He’s already been there,” said Terri, before I had a chance to speak.
I gave her a look. “It was just a few courses,” I said.
“Stop being modest, Nate,” said Terri.
“She’s right, Nate, don’t be modest.” Schteir tapped my pad. “Anything in there I can take a peek at?”
I wasn’t sure I should, but couldn’t help showing off a little more, so I opened the pad.
“Oh,” said Schteir. “No one has ever done my portrait.”
“They’re just doodles,” I said.
“No, they’re terrific.”
I ripped the page out of the pad and handed it to the profiler. “Here. One day I’d like to do something more serious.
Maybe you could sit for me.”
“You’re embarrassing Dr.
Schteir,” said Terri.
“Not at all,” said Schteir. She reached into her bag, came up with her card, and gave it to me. “Call me.”
I said I would. I wanted to stay longer and explore the possibility, but Terri tugged me away.
“Sorry to interrupt your little tête-à-tête,” she said, “but this is serious.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “The Post has gotten the story. The connection has been made.”
28
NEW YORK POST
PORTRAITS OF MURDER
By Lou Sands
Three vicious murders appear to have a connection. Though the NYPD would not confirm the link, sources close to the investigation suggest that the victims had drawings, portraits which looked like them, attached to their dead bodies. The families of Harrison Stone of Brooklyn, Daniel Rice and Roberto Acosta, both of Manhattan, would not comment, except to voice their frustration that police have not yet apprehended a suspect. Investigators denied the connection, pointing out that the methods of killing has varied: two victims shot, one stabbed. Chief of Department Perry Denton refused comment. But as one unnamed source said, “A serial killer is never something the police department is eager to confirm.”