Pure Hate Read Online Free PDF Page B

drug
addict progressing from smoking weed to snorting speed to smoking crack. The
killer had developed a tolerance and needed more and more violence to satisfy
his addiction. That explained the multiple victims and the increasing savagery
of the attacks, progressing from stabbing to cutting to dissection to biting
and, finally, to cannibalism. The killer was out of control and making
mistakes.
    In all the other murders, he had been careful to leave no physical evidence.
He wore gloves to hide his fingerprints, and wore a condom to avoid leaving his
DNA traces in his semen. He cut up the bite wounds to make it impossible for
the police to cast the indentations to match against dental records; a remote
possibility, but one that proved “our boy” was careful. They even suspected he
vacuumed the crime scene to remove hair and fibers. But now he had left more evidence
then they knew what to do with, had attacked someone who knew him and could
identify him, and then left that victim alive. It was too good to be true.

VII.
    Detective James Bryant didn’t believe
the Cozen family’s murder was connected to the Family Man. At 45-years old, he
had seen a lot of horrible murders, but the Family Man was by far the worst.
This bastard was careful, cunning, evil. He didn’t buy that degeneration,
self-destruction, downward spiral bullshit. This wasn’t a guy who wanted to be
caught. If he did, he would have been leaving clues all along—notes, taunting
phone calls, any evidence at all. But the monster had never left them anything.
It was the total lack of physical evidence that had marked his crimes as
unique. It was what had first gotten Detective Bryant to thinking all the
homicides were linked. That and the fact that the male victims in each case—the
Pine Street Slasher, the Chaperone, and now the Family Man”—all bore a
remarkable similarity to each other. Of course, no one listened to him. He
didn’t have his partner’s fancy Ph.D. and high-powered IQ. All he had were his twenty-seven years on the force and his instincts. Right now,
his instincts were telling him that there was definitely something wrong with
this latest twist in the case. Killers like these didn’t self-destruct all at
once. There would have been signs that he was starting to slip, that he was
getting sloppy. The murders would have started coming closer together; they would have gotten more and more random, and there would have been little mistakes here and
there. But the murders had stayed two or three months apart, and they had stayed absolutely perfect. They had
certainly grown more savage, but even that was
predictable. Still, there was an element of control, a calculated, premeditated
design to the crimes. This one just didn’t add up.
    He watched the crime scene guys going
over the scene with tweezers, zip-lock bags, Dust Busters, brushes and silver
latent print powder. The forensic photographer was taking his grisly photos
from every conceivable angle. Tight Ass was staring at Linda Cozen’s half-eaten
heart, peering into her vandalized chest cavity, trying to impress everyone
with how calm and detached he could be. Detective Bryant only smiled and shook
his head. He could see how pale the man had gotten and how his hand shook when
he scribbled on his little pad. The cold sweat was another dead giveaway. How
to deal with the smell of a corpse disposing of its waste products was
something they didn’t teach you in Criminal Psychology 101. Detective Bryant
walked outside. For once he was convinced that the answers were not to be found
in the crime scene evidence. The answers were lying in a hospital bed at
University Medical.
    The forensic boys were busy doing their
thing, so James decided to leave them to it and wait for the report. The
Medical Examiner had just arrived, looking appropriately somber. Tight Ass was
still poking around the corpses looking for God knows what. All this would be
fine for convicting the killer once he was