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Acresville, May 21
9:30 a.m.
“Imagine someone who has no conscience, no feelings of guilt or empathy. Someone who is emotionally shallow and lies excessively. Now instead of putting the face of a monster on that person, put your own on it. And you get a picture of what a psychopath looks like. He or she could be anyone.”
They sat across from each other in Chief Brantford’s office—Allan, David, and Dr. Terry Armstrong. The forensic psychiatrist was a tall man with a long face and hollow cheeks. His sharp blue eyes seldom changed expression, and his thatch of gray hair seemed to accentuate his deep tan. Armstrong was an avid snowbird who enjoyed wintering in Florida with his wife. His voice and manner were relaxed and professional. He wore a white shirt and black slacks.
A tape recorder, set up on the desk, captured his session.
“Many psychopaths aren’t cold-blooded killers. That’s a stereotype. Yes, the more-violent ones can end up as serial killers, terrorists, or even wife beaters. But the more criminally inclined become con men, thieves, and politicians.
“I want to stress that not all violent people are psychopaths and not all psychopaths are violent.
“Since many have an exalted craving for excitement, you’ll find them working as stockbrokers because it satisfies that part of their behavior.
“With others, they seek dominance and power over people. You’ll find these people in careers where they can exercise that power—politicians, lawyers.” Pausing, Armstrong gestured toward the two men. “Or even police officers. No offence, gentlemen.”
Allan gave him a smile. “I think we’ve all come into contact with a psychopath at some point in our lives and never even realized it.”
Armstrong nodded. “There are more of them in our society than you can imagine. Some say one percent of our population is psychopathic. Others think the rate is much higher, possibly one in twenty-five to thirty. That’s a staggering figure when you think about it.”
Allan flicked his eyebrows. “It wouldn’t surprise me if that figure was even higher.”
“Doesn’t surprise me to hear you say that, Detective,” Armstrong said. “I bet you can tell some stories.”
“Oh, yes.”
David said, “These body parts. Why would the suspect take them?”
Armstrong crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in the chair.
“This ritualistic dismemberment,” he began, “is somewhat common among serial killers. They try to keep the feelings of power by preserving parts of their victims. The body part, in essence, becomes a trophy and is part of the killer’s ritualistic fantasy. Your suspect could’ve made totemic preservations by pickling those parts in jars.
“Henry Lee Lucas and Edmund Kemper were two men who did this. Kemper kept his own mother’s head that he used as a dartboard. Dahmer is another serial killer who kept body parts around. Even Robert Pickton.”
Allan asked, “What do you think he’s doing with them?”
Armstrong drew a breath. “One of two things. First, I’d have to go back to my initial thought—this killer has made totemic preservations of them. He will use them at a later time to relive the murders in his mind.
“Or secondly, I’d say the suspect took the body parts as a way to further dehumanize the victims.”
David cleared his throat. “Can you give us your thoughts on the man we’re looking for?”
Armstrong said, “It’s possible you’ve run into this man already through the commission of other crimes. He could’ve been into B and E, rape, or auto theft before finally graduating to these recent murders.” Armstrong paused to stress his final point. “This proclivity toward criminal acts is an important part of a surfacing serial killer.”
“We’ll go through our files,” David said.
Armstrong added, “Another important issue to consider is the recent stressor, the triggering event that brought about this murderous rage in this man. What was it that set him off?
“This could’ve been a job loss, a separation or divorce, a breakup with a girlfriend, the birth of a baby into an already unhealthy relationship, or the death of a loved one.
“As for the man himself. I think he’s a white male. Rarely do these men cross ethnic lines. He possibly hates one or both parents. I’d put him in the thirties to early-forties age bracket. I base this on the fact that he took time with his victims. Younger killers tend to murder quickly. They don’t spend much time with their victims.
“This man is settled in Acresville. He either owns a home or rents. He knows the area too well to have just moved here recently.
“Have you checked to see if there’s been any similar murders committed throughout the Maritimes or Canada?”
Allan said, “I’m waiting to hear back. I just submitted the info yesterday.”
“Then you’ll know if he’s a roamer.” Armstrong shifted in his chair. “I’d say this man probably lives alone. He’s single, separated or divorced. Most serial killers are solitary people. Loners. But it’s here that I want to stress some caution. It’s quite possible that he is married. Look at John Wayne Gacy and Dennis Rader.
“Gacy was a highly respected man in his community. Married. A father. Yet he killed thirty-three young boys.
“Rader was also married. Had two children and was a Boy Scout leader.
“It’s also possible your man could be living with someone who doesn’t take much notice of his comings or goings. Perhaps an elderly parent or grandparent.
“He will undoubtedly have the behavioral traits of a psychopath. He will seem charming, but it’s only superficial. Underneath that facade, he will be cold and callous.
“He will have no conscience, no feelings of guilt or remorse. He will lie excessively. Even if you discover some evidence linking him to one of the crime scenes, he’ll have an excuse for it. However preposterous his excuse will sound to you, I guarantee he’ll have one.
“He’ll be emotionally shallow. He’s possibly a manipulator with good verbal skills. Intelligent but only educated through high school. No post-secondary education. Though despite his intelligence, his grades in school would’ve been only mediocre.
“He is physically strong and is either currently employed in an occupation that requires this or has been.
“Undoubtedly, he is sly and cunning. Well organized. Self-centered. A braggart. Feels superior to you. He’s probably following your every move through news broadcasts and the papers. At his home, you could find a scrapbook of newspaper clippings about his murders as well as books dealing with atrocities.”
Allan tried to form a mental picture of this man. “Do you think he’ll stop?”
Armstrong spread his hands. “It’s possible. If you’re right, he’s killed three people in the span of a few days. That scares me.” Stopping, Armstrong looked at both men. “Picture this, gentlemen. I am the killer. For the first time in my life I’m getting attention. I’m in the limelight. I hold Acresville trembling in the grip of my hands. I have power. I have dominance. I relish this. Why should I stop now?”
David let out an audible sigh. “You know, I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
“I apologize if I’ve disheartened you,” Armstrong said. “I think you should contact Services Canada for a list of men who have applied for EI recently. Check the backgrounds of these men for possible suspects. Remember what I said about the stressor.
“Also contact the welfare office for men who recently applied for financial aid. Look through your files of past offences, specifically repeat offenders who had an escalation toward more-violent crimes. Not your garden-variety petty thief.”
A silence fell over the room. With the session over, Allan reached over and shut off the recorder.
He said, “Thank you for taking the time to do this.”
Armstrong smiled. “My pleasure. I hope I’ve been a help.”
A knock came at the door. David got up to answer it. It was Sam, Allan saw, and he had a concerned look on his face. He drew David into the hallway, speaking to him in hushed tones. David winced and expelled a short breath.
“Well, I’m on my way.” Armstrong was on his feet now, shrugging on his overcoat.
Rising from his chair, Allan extended his hand across the desk. “I appreciate it, Doctor.”
“Anytime, Detective.”
The two men shook hands, and Armstrong left.
When David came back into the office, he walked slowly toward the desk and rested his hands on the back of a chair. Allan noted the dazed expression etched in his face—raised eyebrows, mouth open slightly.
“What is it?” he asked.
David shut his eyes, and his throat moved.
“We have a problem,” he said. “At Rolling Hills Cemetery.”
