Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page B

Detective Sill, his partner, and at least half a dozen flashlights were busy sweeping the newly expanded crime scene, Morris and I recapped my theory while sharing a box of Cheez-Its.
    “So, you think he cleared away the foliage on the ground to make room for a tripod,” Morris said.
    “Possibly. You saw the ground—lots of twigs, rocks. He’d want the tripod to be as steady as possible to capture his trophies, wouldn’t he?”
    “And he’d want the lens to be as clean as possible,” Morris said, alluding to the microfiber cloth and the smell of rubbing alcohol.
    “Right.”
    “But I didn’t see any little holes in that circle he cleared, did you? Little holes that the legs of a tripod might make? We didn’t see any indentations in the circle, hence, your ruling out local PD’s theory about the victim kneeling before he was killed.”
    “Okay, so he clears the spot on the ground first, cleans his lens, but then gets interrupted before he can set the tripod up,” I said.
    Morris took the Cheez-Its box out of my lap. “Okay then, he’s interrupted, has to kill the guy quickly—”
    “Why?” I interrupted.
    “Huh?”
    “Why kill him?” I said.
    Morris frowned. “Because that’s what he does.”
    “No—no, he didn’t do what he does. No caveman job on the head, no marks on the right palm. Why take the chance of killing him at all when a group of teens are approaching? Why not just get the hell out of there ASAP?”
    Morris’ frown dissolved. He knew what I was getting at. “Because the victim could’ve ID’d him,” he said.
    “Exactly. Which could mean two things. One, our guy doesn’t wear a mask or conceal his identity in any significant way. Or two, the victim knew our guy, which would make a decent answer to the ‘why bury this one?’ question. He didn’t want any connection between him and the victim to be investigated.”
    Morris, munching away as I spoke, washed it all down with a swig from his bottle of water and said: “I’m sold on the no mask thing. But I’m not so sold on the he knew the guy thing. Why would victim number six be someone he knew? It’s too risky. Usually victim one has some kind of significance, not victims four, five, or six. And so far we’ve gotten zip on victim one.”
    “His cooling off period between victims is getting shorter and shorter. Maybe this was opportunistic, something he couldn’t pass up,” I said.
    “The grave had already been dug. That’s premeditation at its best.”
    He was right. I took the Cheez-Its back and stuffed a handful into my mouth.
    “Let’s stay with the evidence and your theory for a minute,” he said. “Our guy has the victim cuffed and gagged and ready to go into the hole he’d already dug. This one, unlike the other five, was likely gagged because they were outdoors. That and time of death tells us the victim was still alive. It also tells us that the last five were killed someplace that offered exceptional privacy, a place where screaming would go unheard.”
    I chased my mouthful down from my own bottle of water and nodded. Morris continued.
    “All right, so he clears away a spot for his tripod, and then starts cleaning his camera lens with the alcohol and cloth before setting everything up. He hears the teens in the distance, panics, picks up the shovel and whacks the victim just enough to do the job—nothing excessive—and then kicks him into the hole.”
    I came in. “He doesn’t even have time to lob a few shovels of soil onto the victim. He packs up his gear lickety split and bolts north, dropping the microfiber cloth en route.”
    “No time to snap photos or record video.”
    “And no time for the right palm to be damaged.”
    “His fantasy has been cut short. He’s got metaphorical blue balls now.”
    I gave Morris a look that told him he was a perv.
    He rolled his eyes and amended it with: “He’s frustrated now—does that mean we can expect another sooner than later to compensate?”
    “I