Ten Plagues

With one glance, Keren decided Dyson must be extremely good at what he did or the FBI would never put up with him. Agent Dyson towered over all of them, six foot six and beanpole thin. His long hair was bleached white. He had manic curls almost as wild as hers, pulled back into a ponytail. He wore wire-rimmed glasses so thick they magnified his light-blue eyes, hole-riddled jeans, and a green button-down shirt with the sleeves turned up to his elbows. The shirt was a mass of wrinkles, and it hung, untucked, most of the way to Dyson’s knees. He clasped her hand in both of his, and Keren had the weird feeling that the guy could profile her just from the way she shook hands. His magnified eyes seemed to penetrate her mind rather than look at her face.

“I’ve been combing the Pravus file for over an hour,” he murmured. “I have questions.”

He waved them into three folding chairs. The FBI agents all stayed on their feet. “You’re sure it’s a man?”

“Yes. The voice is soft, but it’s definitely male,” Keren answered.

Dyson periodically glanced at Paul or O’Shea. Keren felt like the guy was boring into everyone’s brain, reading every changed expression. But he aimed all his questions at Keren. She felt like she was connected to a human lie detector and fought down a mild resentment. Surely Paul was the one who ought to be questioned.

“The first murder victim is Hispanic, the second black.” Dyson tried to drill into her brain with his eyes. Keren could feel the bore holes.

“There’s only one murder victim,” Paul snapped. “The second is still a kidnapping. We hope that she can be rescued.”

“We should be going through Pastor Morris’s case files,” O’Shea said impatiently. “You don’t need to talk to all of us at once.”

“Most serial killers pick victims of their own race.” Dyson ignored Paul and O’Shea to focus on Keren. “Usually they’re acting out rage against an abusive childhood, and they’re trying to punish their mother or father or some significant person in their lives.”

“Obviously that’s not the case here, Agent Dyson,” Keren said with some sting, “since he’s already picked girls of different races.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Detective Collins. Maybe his mother was biracial, or maybe his mother was one race and his father another. Those are the kinds of details that could identify him for us.”

“Great.” O’Shea rubbed his hands together as if preparing to dig into a great meal. “If you can guarantee he’s biracial, we can throw out all the files except those.”

No one missed his sarcasm.

Agent Higgins said, “Not helpful, Detective.”

O’Shea rolled his eyes.

The interrogation went on and on. It took Keren about five minutes to realize every question Dyson asked was already answered in the file he’d been studying. Keren saw Paul grow fidgety and begin glancing at his wristwatch.

An hour had crept by when Paul lunged out of his chair. “We can’t sit here anymore. You’ve got enough. Pravus could be out there right now killing LaToya. I have to do something besides talk!”

“If our profiler can narrow this down, we could go straight to the person responsible for this.” Higgins glared at Paul.

Paul grabbed the doorknob. Keren could see him trying to force himself to stay in the room. He said through clenched teeth, “Agent Higgins, you’re right to an extent. Agent Dyson can help. We know how profiling works. But this is a pure waste of our time. There is nothing we’ve said that isn’t in our report.”

“That may not be true.” Higgins stood and went to the door to stand close to Paul. “Sometimes people have impressions that they haven’t put in their report. You may not even be aware of them, but they can come out under questioning.”

“Yes, I know that, but we’re trained policemen.” Paul stopped talking for a long minute, then he went on. “I mean they are trained policemen and I used to be one. We know how instincts work and how to pinpoint minor clues from tone of voice and background noise. Your methods are very useful with civilians, but they are a waste of our time.”

“You’ve been a minister for five years, Reverend Morris. You haven’t used those instincts for a long time.”

“Oh, but they’re still there.” Paul stood away from the door and crossed his arms, his head hung down until his chin nearly rested on his chest. “Despite my best efforts to rid myself of them, all my old habits are right there, dying to spring to life.”

Dyson seemed to have ignored the whole exchange between Paul and Higgins. “I want to listen to the recorded messages again. I heard the ones from last night, but the one you brought in this morning is new.”

“Fine.” Keren rose from her seat. “Listen to the tapes while we get to work.”

“Sit down, Detective.” Higgins wasn’t making a suggestion.

Keren didn’t answer to the FBI. Despite the strong first impression of Higgins’s competence, she longed to shove his orders down his throat. But she did want to hear this morning’s tape, so she sat.