Good Day to Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

out to cover its ass. Even when covering its ass means sacrificing individual parts.
    “You don’t think this particular serial killer was a problem for the six hundred cops relieved of their regular duties to work on the task force?”
    “You take the man’s pay, you do the man’s job.” The universal cop explanation for accepting distasteful assignments.
    Suddenly, Vanessa Bouton stood up. “You came well recommended, Means. But you also came with a warning. Now that I’ve read the label, I think the possible side effects outweigh the possible benefits.”
    “Wait a second, Captain. You asked me what I knew about serial killers. You didn’t ask me what I know about homicide in general.” You can’t have your bluff called unless you’re bluffing. Which I undoubtedly was. “Tell me why you believe Thong isn’t a serial killer? Please.”
    She stepped forward without resuming her seat. “Thong is a serial killer. By definition, any series of homicides with a cooling-off period between them falls into the category of serial killing. Assassins are serial killers. Hit men are serial killers. What I said to you was that the King Thong murder victims were not chosen at random. Or, at least, one of them wasn’t chosen at random. Now, are you at all interested in how I came to that conclusion? Or do you intend to play your bullshit macho games until I walk out of here?”

THREE
    T HE SNEER ON HER face was truly wonderful. It dripped contempt like the fangs of a rattlesnake drip poison just before they sink into the flesh of a browsing rabbit. I studied that sneer for a moment, realizing that Vanessa Bouton, like any other ranking officer addressing a subordinate, expected me to play the part of the rabbit. To play it consciously and willingly.
    Well, bad for her; good for me. Bad for her because if she wanted anything but the scalp of a serial killer (if for instance, she also wanted my scalp), then she was vulnerable. Good for me because I could be the snake inside the rabbit. Contenting myself with green, leafy vegetables until the opportunity for red flesh presented itself.
    “Please tell me why you believe Thong wasn’t choosing random victims,” I said as sincerely as possible. “If you’re right, it would make police history.”
    That got to her. She managed a broad smile and nodded her head. “So, you finally figured it out. And the best part is that we don’t have to share it. The department is committed to the serial killer theory. If we bring Thong in, you and me, they’ll be talking about us for a long, long time.”
    And visions of the “Today” show danced in her head. Did she want to be promoted to inspector? Chief? Commissioner? Her current rank, captain, was as high as civil service exams could take her. The rest of her career path (if there was to be a rest) would be paved with appointments and politics.
    “I said, ‘ if you’re right,’ Captain. I’m willing to be convinced, but I can’t take it on faith.”
    The perfect mix of respect and skepticism? I felt like I was conducting an interrogation. Trying to coax a statement from a reluctant perpetrator.
    “Rule of thumb: Sexually motivated serial killers begin tentatively. There are no schools for murderers. They learn by doing. The Thong murders were identical. The victims were all street prostitutes, all working at the time they were taken, yet there was no sign of sexual assault. Each was killed by a single shot to the head from the same .22-caliber automatic and the bodies mutilated after death occurred. I don’t want to get into the details—you’ll have plenty of chances to learn them for yourself—but the mutilations were so exact, it was as if the killer was working from an instruction manual. Look at it from your own point of view. You’ve conducted hundreds of interrogations. In the beginning, you must have been tentative. You knew what you wanted, but you had to learn how to get it. It’s the same with serial