is posting these films is bragging.”
Magozzi stared at her. “Bragging to whom?”
“The whole world. The point is, the FBI has confirmed five actual homicides with posted videos—six, counting your river killing—all of which have happened within the last four months. This is truly chilling.”
Well, yes, it was, but in spite of that fact, Magozzi had part of a beer inside and a warm environment outside and a pretty woman across from him, and he was starting to get a little too comfortable. He waved over a waitress and ordered hamburgers and onion rings. This was bar food—bad food—and he was salivating like Pavlov’s dog waiting for it. He tried to remember the last time he’d stopped at a bar on the way home for a couple of brews and some saturated fat, and couldn’t. “You and my partner think alike.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Bad. You’ve just given validity to his theory that it’s a traveling serial killer taking advantage of a worldwide audience.”
Dr. Chelsea Thomas shrugged out of her blue suit jacket and showed a white blouse with little frilly ruffles around the collar that interested Magozzi not at all, because Grace wasn’t wearing it. “Let’s hope so.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look at it this way. Take your average serial or thrill killer. All that bullshit—” she stopped abruptly and blinked. “Oh, dear. Sorry about the language.” She pushed her beer away. “Anyway, all that dogma about killers waiting to get caught, wanting to get caught, makes people think they’re remorseful and need to expunge their guilt. Pure nonsense. They’re looking for the celebrity. Heck, some of them repeat like they were going for the Guinness Book of Records title for most hits, or most horrible hits, whatever. Trouble with a career like that is you can’t show off how good you are.”
“So this killer is looking for attention.”
“Not attention. Fame. There’s a big difference. Attention invites scrutiny, and, like I said, these sickos don’t want to be caught. From the conception to the crime, to the fear they create in the public and the frustration they cause the cops, this whole process is all about power. But we’re a visual society now. Headlines don’t cut it because nobody reads anymore, and cops never show the butchered victims on the nightly news. Enter the Internet. ‘See what I did? See what I can do to you ?’ ”
Magozzi actually felt his face crinkling up, which, for some inexplicable reason, made her smile again.
“So. If serial killers can show their work on the Net, the power surge intensifies. The film is the new trophy. They don’t have to cut off body parts or snatch bloody panties to hide in their walls. They don’t have to escalate to garner attention, which is how we’ve always caught them. They deliver visual evidence to the whole world of what they do like some Hollywood mogol premiering a new movie, and we are never going to catch these people again.”
Magozzi blinked at her. “That’s really negative.”
She leaned back as the waitress slid a plate piled with poison food in front of her. “Well, that’s a shame, because that was the good news. Just what serial killers might do with the Web. Too bad I don’t think that’s what’s happening here, because it’s much worse.” She picked up an onion ring, took a bite, and closed her eyes. “Oh, God, that’s good. I haven’t had one of these in years.”
“Wait just a minute. Put down that onion ring.”
Once she started giggling, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh, Lord, cops really talk like that, don’t they? I feel like I’m in a movie. And I also think I may have had a bit too much to drink.”
“You’ve had a beer and a half.”
“I know. But I’ve never actually had a whole entire beer before. Ever.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m Mormon. At least I used to be.” That made her laugh, too, and she covered her mouth with her hand like a kid with braces. “Do
Magozzi stared at her. “Bragging to whom?”
“The whole world. The point is, the FBI has confirmed five actual homicides with posted videos—six, counting your river killing—all of which have happened within the last four months. This is truly chilling.”
Well, yes, it was, but in spite of that fact, Magozzi had part of a beer inside and a warm environment outside and a pretty woman across from him, and he was starting to get a little too comfortable. He waved over a waitress and ordered hamburgers and onion rings. This was bar food—bad food—and he was salivating like Pavlov’s dog waiting for it. He tried to remember the last time he’d stopped at a bar on the way home for a couple of brews and some saturated fat, and couldn’t. “You and my partner think alike.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Bad. You’ve just given validity to his theory that it’s a traveling serial killer taking advantage of a worldwide audience.”
Dr. Chelsea Thomas shrugged out of her blue suit jacket and showed a white blouse with little frilly ruffles around the collar that interested Magozzi not at all, because Grace wasn’t wearing it. “Let’s hope so.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look at it this way. Take your average serial or thrill killer. All that bullshit—” she stopped abruptly and blinked. “Oh, dear. Sorry about the language.” She pushed her beer away. “Anyway, all that dogma about killers waiting to get caught, wanting to get caught, makes people think they’re remorseful and need to expunge their guilt. Pure nonsense. They’re looking for the celebrity. Heck, some of them repeat like they were going for the Guinness Book of Records title for most hits, or most horrible hits, whatever. Trouble with a career like that is you can’t show off how good you are.”
“So this killer is looking for attention.”
“Not attention. Fame. There’s a big difference. Attention invites scrutiny, and, like I said, these sickos don’t want to be caught. From the conception to the crime, to the fear they create in the public and the frustration they cause the cops, this whole process is all about power. But we’re a visual society now. Headlines don’t cut it because nobody reads anymore, and cops never show the butchered victims on the nightly news. Enter the Internet. ‘See what I did? See what I can do to you ?’ ”
Magozzi actually felt his face crinkling up, which, for some inexplicable reason, made her smile again.
“So. If serial killers can show their work on the Net, the power surge intensifies. The film is the new trophy. They don’t have to cut off body parts or snatch bloody panties to hide in their walls. They don’t have to escalate to garner attention, which is how we’ve always caught them. They deliver visual evidence to the whole world of what they do like some Hollywood mogol premiering a new movie, and we are never going to catch these people again.”
Magozzi blinked at her. “That’s really negative.”
She leaned back as the waitress slid a plate piled with poison food in front of her. “Well, that’s a shame, because that was the good news. Just what serial killers might do with the Web. Too bad I don’t think that’s what’s happening here, because it’s much worse.” She picked up an onion ring, took a bite, and closed her eyes. “Oh, God, that’s good. I haven’t had one of these in years.”
“Wait just a minute. Put down that onion ring.”
Once she started giggling, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh, Lord, cops really talk like that, don’t they? I feel like I’m in a movie. And I also think I may have had a bit too much to drink.”
“You’ve had a beer and a half.”
“I know. But I’ve never actually had a whole entire beer before. Ever.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m Mormon. At least I used to be.” That made her laugh, too, and she covered her mouth with her hand like a kid with braces. “Do
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