Scouring the ground and bushes with my fellow detectives and officers, I looked high and low for evidence. The ME had confirmed that the two fallen officers had been killed with a handgun, meaning the shooter was likely close to them. Yet after a block of knock and talks with people in the area, particularly the immediate neighbors, we learned that nobody saw anything, and they knew of the imminent danger only when they heard gunshots ring out.
I was pissed off and confused. We had to get ahead of the killer with something solid since searching crime scenes after the fact had gotten us nowhere. “Why can’t we catch a break?”
Mills nodded as he leaned over then stood back up.
“Find something?” Henry asked.
“Nope, it was just my imagination.” Frank wiped his forehead and continued on. “We thought we had it dialed in with Carlton Blake, but apparently not.”
“Okay, then what is that telling us?” I asked.
Murray wrinkled his brows at me. “That the real shooter is still at large.”
“No shit, Kip. Think harder, guys. The killer is trying to keep us from tracking him down by planting other people’s fingerprints at the crime scenes. That can go on forever and tie up valuable time with DNA, fingerprint, and database searches, not to mention picking up and interrogating people that have nothing to do with the crime. It takes our time away from finding the real killer and eats up taxpayers’ money.”
“Then we need to put out a profile and get help from the public,” Potter said.
“But a profile of whom? He finds places to ambush his prey where there aren’t any cameras. We don’t have the slightest idea if he’s young or old, weak or strong, tall or short, and none of it matters because all he needs is his gun.”
Mills groused. “And he’s getting braver. He killed Greg Perkins and Kim Alexander in broad daylight, and still nobody saw anything? I’m calling bullshit on that one. I think people are afraid to speak out, fearing he’ll come back and start knocking off civilians.”
I cursed under my breath, knowing their concerns could be justified. “But we still have to put out a profile of sorts. He’s proficient with guns, is gutsy, has some axe to grind with the PD, and has time during the day or night to commit his deeds.”
Kip raised a brow. “Sounds like you just profiled the killer, Jesse. If I were you, I’d call Lutz right now, tell him what you just said, and get it on the air. At this point, we have nothing to lose.”
I scratched my cheek as I weighed Kip’s comment. “You’re right. Lutz was trying to keep the names of the officers under wraps, but the families have already been notified. It makes no difference now if the public knows too. All we need to keep to ourselves is the type of weapons used.” I blew out a long breath, pulled my phone from my pocket, and dialed the commander. He answered on the second ring.
“Lutz speaking.”
“Hey, Boss, it’s Jesse.”
“Anything new?”
“Nah, still kicking rocks. We’re making the perimeter tighter simply because the officers were shot with a 9mm handgun. It’s going to be a tougher area to search until we hear from Lawry. We don’t know if the assailant was at ground level or higher up, but a handgun doesn’t have nearly the shooting range a rifle does.”
“I’ll check in with Don after I hang up. So what’s on your mind?”
“A profile of the killer. We need to get something on the air since we’re striking out on our own. Granted, we don’t have a physical description, but we do have a personality description of sorts.”
“I’m all ears.”
I went on to tell Lutz the same thing I’d said to the group earlier. “It’s a man who’s proficient with guns and may have an assortment of them. He takes risks, bad-mouths cops, and has time day or night to commit the crimes. That must ring a bell with somebody.”
“I’ll hold a quick press conference and have the stations get it on every local channel starting with the five o’clock news. The reporters have been camped outside the district’s front door for hours, anyway. We may as well give the vultures something to air. The profile is very broad, and we might get hundreds of dead-end leads, but a lead is better than no lead, and we only need one that’s the real deal. Thanks, buddy, and keep me posted.”
We exhausted our ground search of the area at four o’clock. Once we heard from Lawry about the angle of the entry wounds, we’d know if our search of that area was over or if we had to begin again by searching elevated places.
I called Lutz one more time before agreeing with Pat O’Hare, the lead detective for the Seventh District, to call off the search. “Any word from Don?”
“Not yet, so head on back. I’ve talked to the press, and as soon as the profile is aired, the calls are going to pour in. The tip line will be on fire, so we’ll need all the help we can get. Keep in mind, every lead could be just another way to ambush us. We’ll need the name of the caller, their phone number, and address before we bother checking out the person they suspect. Everyone will be vetted before any law enforcement officer is sent out to follow up. We can get bottlenecked pretty quickly, and it’s a dangerous move.”
“Roger that, and we’re on our way.” I called out to my group. “Lutz said to pack it up and head in.” I gathered with my guys, Pat, and his detectives. “We’re heading out. A profile of the killer is airing in an hour, and my boss needs all hands on deck. When the trajectory report comes in, we’ll know if you’ll see us back here tomorrow or not. I’m sure Lutz will keep your commander posted.”
“Sure thing, and thanks for the help, Jesse.”
Twenty minutes later, we were back at our Wentworth station. Once inside and in the bull pen, we had a half hour before “the broad profile,” as Lutz had described it, would air. I sat at my desk with a blank sheet of paper in front of me. Racking my brain about who might be the killer, I began bullet-pointing tasks I could work on until the press conference aired. I jotted down the exact times the 911 calls had come in—9:23 p.m. and 8:41 a.m.—and when the officers arrived on scene. That gave us the exact time of the shootings. I wondered what job a man could have that would allow him to be available during first and second shift hours. I tapped my pen against the paper.
Maybe the jerk doesn’t work at all and lives off taxpayers’ money.
That idea opened another door that I hadn’t thought of before.
Could he be a disabled vet? Being well-acquainted with guns makes sense. Maybe he was a military sniper. Wait, that won’t work—his prints would be on file. But if he’s careful and always gloved, his prints wouldn’t show up, anyway.
Again, I was hitting a dead end, but the military angle was still a good possibility. I jotted that down and continued my thoughts as I looked at those times again.
He could work third shift somewhere, so I can’t rule that out either. He’s a clever guy. Planting other prints at the scene is a genius way to keep us off-balance while he sets up his next attack.
“Hmm…”
Mills raked his fingers through his hair and gave me a side-eyed glance. “Want to expand on that?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
“So, let us join in. We need to fill in the blanks.”
I cocked my head and looked at what I’d jotted down. “What if he was military? As in Special Forces or something like that?”
“But if that was the case, wouldn’t he be on the same side as the law?” Henry asked.
Mills cracked his knuckles. “Normally one would think so, but we don’t know his age. He could have been in the military twenty years ago and anything could have happened from then until now to sour him on law enforcement.”
“At first I thought disabled vet, given the fact that he’s available day or night, but maybe he isn’t physically disabled. He could have PTSD, or maybe he had a beef with military police about something and is taking it out on all cops.” I shook my head. “I’m just throwing out ideas, guys. We have no proof he was in the military at all.”
“But it’s something to chew on,” Mills said.
Potter rose from his desk and pushed in his chair. “Let’s head to the lunchroom and watch the press conference. It’ll be starting in a few minutes.”