I arrive at the office at 7:45 a.m. and it feels right…like I’m coming home. I know it’s sad, but I accept that I’m a workaholic who wants my life to go back to normal—full-time work and obsessive exercising…It’s not too much to ask, is it? Sadly, the exercise thing will have to wait a little longer.
De Luca stands as I approach his desk. “Anderson, welcome back.”
I nod. “Thanks. It’s good to be back…finally.”
“Finally? I reckon you’re back at work quickly…maybe too quick.” De Luca is giving me his official line, even though he knows I’ve been working at home. But I guess full-time is different. He probably won’t be the first person to comment on it today. Everyone’s a doctor or a psychologist. But I know my body, I know my emotions and I know it’s not too soon. Granted, I can’t run a marathon, or maybe even run down a perp in the street, but I’m still valuable to this case. Most cases I worked on from the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico didn’t require me to go farther than the fax machine…and the coffeepot, of course.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” I’m guessing I might be repeating that phrase a few times today.
“Still…” He lets the sentence hang.
I change the subject. “Do you know what meeting room we’re in?”
“Number three.”
I nod and make my way to the photocopier. After I’ve run four copies of my profile, I take a seat in the meeting room. I’ve just sat down when Hana walks in.
“Hi, Sophie. How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks.”
She nods. “And Ramos? Have you seen him recently?” She rubs her right hand up and down her left arm and I can’t help but interpret the body language. It’s an unconscious gesture on her part, and one that could indicate discomfort, concern or maybe even guilt.
“I visited him yesterday afternoon. He’s on the mend.”
Agent Louis Williams interrupts. “Hey, Anderson. Good to see you.”
I stand up and shake his outstretched hand.
“You did well. Making the 911 call.”
I nod, familiar with the lie. “It’s amazing what you can do when adrenaline and endorphins kick in.”
“True. Thankfully I’ve never had to test that theory.”
He glances around the meeting room and his eyes settle on the table. “Knock on wood.” He reaches out and hits the tabletop.
I force a smile, force myself not to think about the fact that either of the two people standing in front of me could have been partially responsible for me and Ramos ending up in hospital.
Petrov and De Luca enter the room together.
“Morning.” They both give us a communal nod and we all respond. Petrov sits down at the head of the table, and De Luca sits to his right. I take the seat next to De Luca, and Hana and Williams sit on the other side of the table.
“Okay.” Petrov looks up. “Let’s get straight down to business. The profile.”
I pass the copies around the table. “Some of the profile is based on standard information we have on contract killers. However, it is an area that hasn’t been studied extensively, by the Behavioral Analysis Unit or within the forensic psychology area. While it’s relatively easy to get subjects from the more amateur end of contract killing, thugs who accept one thousand dollars to kill someone’s wife or husband, it’s much harder to track down, let alone interview and do psychological tests on, the upper echelons of this criminal subset. As a result, we don’t have as much information about these types of individuals as we’d like. Certainly nothing like our knowledge of sex offenders or serial killers.”
I take a breath, ready to deliver my findings. “Studies have identified three types of contract killers—amateur, semiprofessional and professional. Our guy is definitely an example of the professional subtype. Secondly, within this categorization we have professional hit men who work for one organization and those who freelance. Given the different victims and our belief that the killer’s kung fu skills are more characteristic with someone trained in China, we’re looking at a freelancer. And a highly paid one at that. He’s called in for high-profile hits, homicides that the end employer doesn’t want traced back to his or her organization.”
“How much money are we talking here?” Hana looks up from the printout in front of her.
“At this level, at least fifty thousand dollars per job, maybe up to two hundred thousand dollars.”
Williams lets out a whistle. “That’s some dough.”
“Particularly if our guy lives in China and is getting paid in US dollars,” I say. “I did a quick search on it, and the average annual salary in China is around ten thousand US dollars, and the cost of living is much cheaper than here. So if he gets, say, one hundred thousand dollars per hit, that’s roughly equivalent to over six hundred thousand in terms of buying power.”
“Whoa…that really is a lot of dough,” Williams says, shaking his head.
“At least it puts a proper value on life. Not like some of the cases we work through DEA.” Hana eyes Williams. “Three months ago some poor kid was killed for a hundred bucks’ worth of cocaine.”
It’s impossible to put a value on anyone’s life, but I understand where Hana’s coming from. Somehow it makes it worse if your victim’s killed for a watch or because some idiot thought it would be fun to fire his gun in a public place and see what damage could be done.
I add the hit man context, “Hits have been contracted for as little as a hundred dollars here in the States.”
“Who are the hitters? Druggies?”
“Mostly, yes. When you’re desperate for your next score, a hundred bucks can seem like a lot of money.” I pause before moving back to my notes and our hit man. “Professional hit men like our perp see what they do as a job. Strictly business. There’s no psychological or emotional need to kill. In their minds, it’s simply a way of living.” I look around the room—I have everyone’s full attention.
“Any stats on the numbers of professional hit men operating?” Williams asks, glancing from Petrov to me.
Petrov takes the question. “We’re unsure of the exact figure, but research indicates that in 2008 there were two hundred murders in the US that were either known or believed to be carried out for money. Of those, eighty-two were solved and fall into the amateur or semiprofessional categories that Anderson described earlier.”
“So that leaves one hundred and eighteen unsolved? By how many killers?”
“That’s the unknown. It could be ten professional hit men working in the States or it could be fifty. It’s hard to tell.”
Williams lets out another whistle.
“So, the profile,” I say. “Let’s start with the sex. Nearly all the professional contract killers we know about are male. It doesn’t mean a contract killer can’t be a woman, but it’s much less likely. In our case, these stats, coupled with the skill and strength involved in some of the attacks, make me think we’re looking for a man.” I move on to the age. “The age range is large, I’m afraid. Again, based on the lack of research subjects in this area. Our known cases of professional hit men have varied in age greatly, and given the first involvement we can positively link to our killer was twelve years ago, our killer could be anything from thirty to sixty.”
I keep taking the team through the profile, and it’s not until I get to the offender’s vehicle type that I get some more specific feedback.
“Wow, those stats are incredible.” Petrov voices his surprise, which is also evident on the faces of De Luca, Williams and Hana.
“I know. Beyond the car ownership numbers, the key difference is the attitude toward cars in China. Here, they’re seen as a necessity and almost as a home away from home. We do everything in our cars—eat, grab that coffee, make phone calls—whereas in China cars are a status symbol. Again, that’s changing fast, but at the moment the car you choose, and even driving a car in itself, is a measure of your social and economic status. So for our killer, who’s used to traveling the world, I think he probably does own a car, but he’s not going to want to stand out too much so he’ll most likely own something more common. I’ve listed the top-selling cars currently in China, and given his military background, he’s more likely to buy Chinese-made. However, he’s also familiar with the European and American models, so I don’t want to exclude these cars.”
“That makes sense. Can we track vehicle type? Once we have suspects?”
“I’ve got to check back with my contact in the Beijing police. He’s willing to help us out in any way he can.” I don’t mention what he’s already done for us—Petrov still wants me to keep quiet about our list of names and Chung’s research.
Hana nods. “That’s great.”
“Yes, it’s going to help us enormously, especially when we don’t have to go through the formal, governmental channels. No paperwork or waiting. Our only problem is the aliases issue. He’s probably used a different name for the passport he entered the US on and the name he bought the car with.” I also don’t mention the fact that I may have our killer’s real name—Park Ling. I move us back to the profile. “Intelligence.”
“Surely our guy must be at the higher end of this range,” De Luca says. “Organized offender, no clues left…”
“True, but it’s different to serial killers who exhibit those patterns and tend to have high IQs. In the professional contract killers we’ve tested, and again I must stress that we’re only talking about five individuals in this category of contract killer, the average IQ was one hundred and eight, only eight points higher than what’s considered average. And they ranged from ninety-five to one hundred and fifteen. Interestingly, most of them functioned above their overall intelligence, due to a thorough understanding of societal principles and an ability to apply their intelligence in a practical way.”
“Does that translate into street smart?” De Luca asks with a grin.
I smile at the dig. “It translates into smart in general. Common sense.”
He nods, serious again.
I take them through our hit man’s education, appearance, criminal background and then MO before Petrov pipes up.
“This is interesting.” Petrov looks up. “Sorry, I just skipped ahead to the signature. You’re right, it is like a calling card.”
“Uh-huh. In layperson’s terms it would be termed a signature, but because of the common law-enforcement interpretation of that word, I’m going with calling card, so we don’t confuse the issue or the killer. Although he’s killed many times and multiple murders over time is the definition of a serial killer, he’s a different kind of beast all together.”
“Understood.” Petrov returns to the sheets of paper. “We can’t compare a hit man to a serial killer.”
I nod and point out the differences in his postoffence behavior compared to a sexual serial killer, too—a hit man doesn’t need to spend time with his victims after he’s killed them. “The media tactics are another point of difference,” I continue. “Unlike serial killers, who often have an emotional need to follow media coverage of their kills and feed off that, a hit man won’t feel the need to see his acts in print or on TV. In addition, he’s probably already left the country, so any media interest generated here wouldn’t reach him in China.”
“What if we tried to release something to the Chinese media?” Hana asks.
“Interesting…” I think about the repercussions. “I can’t imagine much would rattle our guy, but it might annoy him. He separates his personal life in China from his business life in the rest of the world, and if he suddenly reads a piece in a Chinese newspaper…” I pause, still thinking it through. “But I doubt we’d get any coverage from the Chinese media anyway.”