“What about Stimovich and Stokes?” an agent asked. “Where’s their connection?”
“We believe there is none. We believe they are two of the ‘guiltless’ victims the killer spoke of in his letter.”
“What letter?” Angie said.
Bolton looked down at us. “The one found in your apartment, Mr. Kenzie. Under Stimovich’s eyes.”
“The one you wouldn’t let me read.”
He nodded, glanced down at his notes, adjusted his glasses. “During a search of Jason Warren’s dormitory room, a diary belonging to Mr. Warren was discovered in a locked desk drawer. Copies will be provided to agents upon request, but for the moment, I read from an entry dated October 17, the date Mr. Kenzie and Ms. Gennaro observed Warren with Arujo.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable assuming a voice that wasn’t his own. “’E. was in town again. For a little over an hour. He has no idea of his power, has no idea how attractive his fear of self is. He wants to make love to me, but he can’t completely face his own bisexuality yet. I understand, I told him. It took me forever. Freedom is painful. He touched me for the first time, and then he left. Back to New York. And his wife. But I’ll see him again. I know it. I’m drawing him in.”
Bolton was actually blushing when he finished.
“Evandro’s the lure,” I said.
“Apparently,” Bolton said. “Arujo leads them in and his mystery partner snares them. All accounts of Arujo—from fellow prisoners to other entries in this diary to Kara Rider’s roommate to people in the bar the night he picked up Pamela Stokes—mention the same thing over and over: The man possesses a powerful sexuality. If he’s smart enough—and I know he is—to erect hurdles around it for prospective victims to jump, then they ultimately agree to his terms of secrecy and meetings in out-of-the-way places. Hence, the alleged wife he told Jason Warren about. God only knows what he told the others, but I think he sucked them in by pretending to be sucked in by them.”
“A male Helen of Troy,” Devin said.
“Harry of Troy,” Oscar said and a few agents chuckled.
“Further investigation of crime scene evidence has yielded the following: One—both killers weigh between one hundred sixty and one hundred eighty pounds. Two—since Evandro Arujo’s shoe size is a match for the size nine and a half we found at the Rider murder scene, his partner is the one with the size eight. Three—the second killer has brown hair and is quite strong. Stimovich was an extremely powerful man and someone subdued him before administering toxins; Arujo is not particularly powerful, so we must assume that the partner is.
“Fourth—reinterviewing of all who had tangential contact with these victims had yielded the following: All but Professor Eric Gault and Gerald Glynn have airtight alibis for all four murders. Both Gault and Glynn are currently being interrogated at JFK and Gault has failed a polygraph. Both men are strong, and both are small enough to wear a size eight shoe, though both claim to wear size nines. Any questions?”
“Are they suspects?” I said.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because Gault recommended me to Diandra Warren and Gerry Glynn provided me with crucial information.”
Bolton nodded. “Which only confirms our suspicion of the mystery killer’s pathology.”
“Which is?” Angie said.
“Doctor Elias Rottenheim from the Behavioral Sciences division has posited this theory concerning the mystery, dormant killer. Also refer to transcripts of this morning’s conversation with Doctor Dolquist. I’m quoting here from Doctor Rottenheim: ‘Subject conforms to all criteria prevalent among those suffering the dual affliction of narcissistic personality disorder combined with a shared psychotic disorder in which subject is the inducer or primary case.”
“English would be nice,” Devin said.
“The gist of Doctor Rottenheim’s report is that a sufferer of narcissistic personality disorder, in this case our dormant killer, is under the impression that his acts exist at a level of grandiosity. He deserves love and admiration simply for existing. He evidences all the hallmarks of the sociopath, is obsessed with his own sense of entitlement and believes himself to be special or even godlike. The killer who suffers the shared psychotic disorder is able to convince others that his disorder is perfectly logical and natural. Hence the word shared. He’s the primary case, the inducer of others’ delusions.”
“He’s convinced Evandro Arujo or Alec Hardiman,” Angie said, “or both, that killing is good.”
“It seems so.”
“So how does that profile apply to either Gault or Glynn?” I asked.
“Gault pointed you to Diandra Warren. Glynn pointed you to Alec Hardiman. From a benign perspective, such actions would suggest that neither man could be involved since he’s trying to help. However, remember what Dolquist said—this guy has a relationship with you, Mr. Kenzie. He’s daring you to catch him.”
“So Gault or Glynn could be Arujo’s mystery partner?”
“I think anything’s possible, Mr. Kenzie.”
The November sun was fighting a losing battle with the encroachment of thickening layers of slate in the sky. In direct sunlight, you felt warm enough to remove your jacket. Outside of it, you were ready to look for a parka.
“In the letter,” Bolton said as we crossed the schoolyard, “the writer said some of the victims would be ‘worthy’ and others would meet the reproach of the guiltless.”
“What’s that mean?” I said.
“It’s a line from Shakespeare. In Othello, Iago states, ‘All guiltless meet reproach.’ Several scholars argue that this is the very moment in which Iago passes from a criminal with motive into a creature beset by what Coleridge called ‘motiveless malignancy.’”
“You’re losing me,” Angie said.
“Iago had a reason to wreak vengeance on Othello, slim as it was. But he had no reason to destroy Desdemona or gut the Venetian army of talent and officers the week before a Turkish onslaught. Yet, the argument goes, he became so impressed with his own capacity for evil that it became, in and of itself, enough motive to destroy anyone. He starts the play by pledging to destroy the guilty—Othello and Cassio—but by the fourth act, he’s set on destroying anyone—‘all guiltless meet reproach’—simply because he can. Simply because he enjoys it.”