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attempted homicides, particularly those involving abductions or that are apparently random or motiveless or sexually oriented; on missing persons cases, when foul play is suspected; and on unidentified dead bodies, when the manner of death is known or suspected to be homicide. The report is then submitted to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime at the FBI’s academy in Quantico, in an effort to determine if similar pattern characteristics exist elsewhere in the VICAP system.
    “It was submitted.”
    “Have you requested a profile?”
    “Yes, but no profile as yet. Unofficially, the MO doesn’t match. The removal of the faces marks it out.”
    “Yeah, what about the faces?” It was Joiner again.
    “I’m still trying to find out more,” said Wolfe. “Some killers take souvenirs from their victims. There may be some kind of pseudo-religious or sacrificial element to this case. I’m sorry, I’m really not sure yet.”
    “You think he could have done something like this before?” said Walter.
    Wolfe nodded. “He may have. If he has killed before, then he may have hidden the bodies, and these killings could represent an alteration in a previous pattern of behavior. Maybe, after killing quietly and unobtrusively, he wanted to bring himself to a more public arena. He may have wanted to draw attention to his work. The unsatisfactory nature of these killings, from his point of view, may now cause him to revert to his old pattern. Alternatively, he could recede into a period of dormancy; that’s another possibility.
    “But if I was to gamble, I’d say that he’s been planning his next move carefully. He made mistakes this time and I don’t think he achieved the effect he was looking for. The next time, he won’t make any mistakes. The next time, unless you catch him first, he’s really going to make an impact.”
     
    The door of the interrogation room opened and Walter entered with two other men.
    “This is Special Agent Ross, FBI, and Detective Barth from Robbery,” said Walter. “Barth was working the Watts case. Agent Ross here deals with organized crime.”
    Close up, Ross’s linen suit looked expensive and tailored. Barth, in his JCPenney jacket, looked like a slob by comparison. The two men stood against opposite walls and nodded. When Walter sat, Barth sat as well. Ross remained standing against the wall.
    “Anything you’re not telling us here?” Walter asked.
    “No,” I said. “You know as much as I do.”
    “Agent Ross believes that Sonny Ferrera was behind the killing of Watts and his girlfriend and that you know more than you’re saying.” Ross picked at something on the sleeve of his shirt and dropped it to the floor with a look of distaste. I think it was meant to represent me.
    “There was no reason for Sonny to kill Ollie Watts,” I replied. “We’re talking stolen cars and fake license plates here. Ollie wasn’t in a position to scam anything worthwhile from Sonny and he didn’t know enough about Sonny’s activities to take up ten minutes of a jury’s time.”
    Ross stirred and moved forward to sit on the edge of the table. “Strange that you should turn up after all this time— what is it? six, seven months?—and suddenly we’re knee deep in corpses,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. He was forty, maybe forty-five, but he looked to be in good condition. His face was heavily lined with wrinkles that didn’t seem like they came from a life of laughter. I’d heard a little about him from Woolrich, after Woolrich left New York to become the feds’ assistant special agent in charge in the New Orleans field office.
    There was silence then. Ross tried to stare me out, then looked away in boredom.
    “Agent Ross here thinks that you’re holding out on us,” said Walter. “He’d like to sweat you for a while, just in case.” His expression was neutral, his eyes bland. Ross had returned to staring at me.
    “Agent Ross is a scary guy.