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The Butcher Beneath Keeper: Doug Iannelli Saturday, January 3rd, 1998. 6:16 a.m. |
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| Keeper: | You stand in your hotel room, freshly showered and dressed, playing host to Dr. Inglewaithe. The man muses at your every movement with a gentle smile on his face, as if everything he observes constitutes some kind of inside joke. It unnerves you a bit. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Well, Agent Piscapello, shall we go?" |
| Piscapello: | I down my cup of OJ. "Ready when you are, Doc." |
| Keeper: | Taking the elevator down to the lobby, you exit the hotel at the front entrance and direct the valet to retrieve your car. When it arrives, Dr. Inglewaithe gingerly climbs in the passenger seat. |
| Keeper: | Pulling away from the Marriott onto West Street, you are forced to squint at the brightness of the snow and the slate-gray sky contrasting with the darkness of the cityscape below. Traffic is light in the Financial District, given that it is a weekend and most of its usual denizens are nine-to-fivers enjoying the day off. |
| Keeper: | Steam wafts from manhole covers and storm drains and the sidewalks are, for the most part, devoid of activity save for the occasional vagrant and a few early-risers out for a morning jog or making their way to the subway system of Manhattan. Snow plows and street salters work to make the roadways more negotiable. The majority of the vehicles that you pass on the streets are cabs, with an occasional limousine and NYPD patrol car here and there. |
| Keeper: | In short order, you find the restaurant and, observing the directions outside, park the car in the adjoining Providian Bancorp parking garage. A short walk up the concrete-laden ramp brings you back to the sidewalk and the entrance to Houston's. |
| Keeper: | An attractive blonde hostess greets and seats you in a window-side booth. The propriety is immaculate and the smell of fresh-cooked bacon and ham inundate your senses from the plentiful breakfast buffet encompassing the central area of the dining room. The place is moderately busy, which at first surprises you before you remember that this is the "city that never sleeps." |
| Keeper: | Taking a seat across from you, Dr. Inglewaithe places his coat and newspaper on the seat beside him. A college-aged waiter dressed in black slacks, starched white shirt, and black bow tie approaches the booth. |
| Waiter: | "Welcome to Houston's Manhattan, my name is Josh. I'll be your waiter. Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?" |
| Piscapello: | "Coffee, please." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Tea, if you please - with cream and sugar." |
| Keeper: | Nodding, the young man disappears to the rear of the restaurant. Dr. Inglewaithe withdraws the newspaper and peruses the pages within, speaking in an almost distracted tone as he turns a page without looking up. |
| Inglewaithe: | "So tell me, Special Agent Richard Piscapello, have you ever been involved in the investigation of a serial murderer?" |
| Piscapello: | "To be honest, no. I've got some background in psychology, though. Obviously, I'm not quite up to your speed, but I don't think I'll embarrass myself too much (smile)." |
| Keeper: | Inglewaithe lowers the pages of the newspaper and peers over them with amused, yet whimsical, eyes before returning the paper to a position that obstructs your view of him. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Good." |
| Inglewaithe: | "I will be relying on your ability to provide . . . unbiased analysis. You see, Agent Piscapello, the agents and law officers involved in this investigation have been pursuing this perpetrator for quite some time now and I, as a member of the ISU, am limited to merely providing an interpretation of the killer's activities based on events that have already transpired or have been previously documented in the exploits of his predecessors. In either case, you can plainly see, there is always the danger that preconceived thought processes might obscure the otherwise plain and simple in the investigation." |
| Keeper: | He lowers the newspaper to the table and looks you squarely with intelligent bespectacled eyes. |
| Inglewaithe: | "That is why I always requisition an outsider - such as yourself - when dealing with cases the likes of which we will be presented with today. You are the litmus paper by which we will measure our collective reasoning, Agent Piscapello. Unencumbered as your perceptions should be." |
| Piscapello: | "I'll do my best. What have you got so far?" |
| Keeper: | The waiter returns with your coffee and tea and Inglewaithe's attention is momentarily diverted from you. |
| Waiter: | "Will you be having the buffet, gentlemen?" |
| Piscapello: | "What's it have?" |
| Waiter: | "Scrambled, poached, or grilled-to-order eggs and omelets, French toast and pancakes, sausage, ham, and bacon, and an assortment of . . ." |
| Piscapello: | (raising a hand of cessation) "You know what? Just bring me a bowl of oatmeal and a plain bagel. Thanks." |
| Inglewaithe: | "I'll have the buffet, then." |
| Waiter: | (to you) "Oatmeal and a plain bagel. (to Inglewaithe) Please help yourself to the buffet, sir." |
| Keeper: | The waiter once again leaves you and Dr. Inglewaithe rises from the booth. |
| Piscapello: | (smiling) "That buffet'll kill ya, Doc." |
| Inglewaithe: | (smiling) "What are we, if we restrain from all vice?" |
| Keeper: | Leaving you alone at the table for several minutes, the doctor returns with a plate full of fruit and two poached eggs. He meticulously adds a measure of cream and a spoonful of sugar to his tea before trying it with a manicured sip. Setting the cup back down on its plate, he refrains from eating and folds his hands beneath his chin. |
| Inglewaithe: | "You asked, 'What have we got so far.' The facts are, little. I visited the Task Force in the summer, but at that point, the killer was more active. I provided a cursory profile, but the details available were limited at best." |
| Piscapello: | "I'm unsure of the dates of the murders. What were they?" |
| Keeper: | The waiter returns with your order. Only after he is observes that you have begun eating does the doctor shake out his napkin and himself begin to dine. |
| Inglewaithe: | "If we conclude that the authorities have recovered all of the victims - between May and August of last year. There have been no further slayings that fully fit the killer's MO since. At least none that I have been made aware of, that is." |
| Piscapello: | "So he's working over the summer. He's either out of town during other months, he had a run-in that scared him and he's holding back, or there's just something significant about summer in general to him . . . or, we're just not finding the bodies. He could have changed his disposal method if that's not important to him." |
| Piscapello: | "By the way, how many bodies do we have?" |
| Inglewaithe: | "Six, I beleive - all young girls." |
| Piscapello: | "Approximate age range?" |
| Inglewaithe: | "I would have to review the case files, but if memory serves me, between seven and eleven. I haven't been involved with this case since July, and even then, not in an official capacity. We should be provided with data both more salient and accurate this morning." |
| Inglewaithe: | (embarrassed) "I apologize if you are of the impression that I should be more well-versed in this matter. But I must confide that the upper echelon of the Task Force investigating this killer was very tight-lipped when I last visited. Perhaps they thought they were on the verge of a breakthrough. My visit toady will be as much a fact-finding mission for me as it will be for you, I'm afraid. |
| Piscapello: | "That doesn't really surprise me, I suppose. This is going to be a big case for whoever closes it. Is that all we really know? Do we have any idea how these girls were taken from the subway?" |
| Inglewaithe: | "No. And I haven't the foggiest clue. I'm sure they're in fits over that very detail as well. Tube systems are not the easiest environs from which to snatch one's victims, what with so many people about. In a city this size, there would seem to be a multitude of easier and more inconspicuous locales. Yet the fact of the matter remains - the subway is the last place all of the victims crossed paths." |
| Keeper: | Dr. Inglewaithe pauses, popping a bit of apple in his mouth. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Let me ask you a question, now. Of the possibilities you have previously stated for this killer's apparent sabbatical, which do you feel is the most likely?" |
| Piscapello: | (shrugging) "I think that either there's something important about summer or the killer's no longer in the City. The first hypothesis has ritualistic connotations. That might make our job easier, giving us a handle on his motives. Of course, that might just be wishful thinking. I don't want to even think about the second possibility . . ." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Hmph." |
| Piscapello: | "Has anyone cross-referenced this MO with crime reports from others states? That might help us figure out if he's on the move." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Ahhh, the vaunted VICAD. A program born of the best of intention and innovation addling away as a result of outdated materials and lack of funding. It's impotent of its originally conceived function these days. Unlike our neighbors to the north, our Department of Justice failed to fiscally nurture it as required and it's now an obsolete piece of furniture at Quantico. As for the NCIC, I'm sure the Task Force is making full-use of it's faculties, but I would venture to guess that we would not be here, in this city, discussing that question had it turned up anything useful." |
| Piscapello: | "So there must be something about summer, then." |
| Keeper: | The doctor removes a section of the Times and gently folds it in half, sliding it across the table to you. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Even if our killer if in fact waiting for the return of the summer months, there's always another waiting in the wings." |
| Keeper: | Scanning the exposed page of the metropolitan section, you see the header to which the doctor is referring: |
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Fingers Found in Cemetery
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| Piscapello: | "What's the link?" |
| Inglewaithe: | "None . . . that is readily apparent. However I do find that all such behavior is interconnected by the diseases of the aberrant human mind." |
| Piscapello: | "Yeah, but is it the same mind?" |
| Inglewaithe: | (finishing his tea) "I'm a criminal profiler, Agent Piscapello, not a clairvoyant! I just wanted to test that 'open mindedness' I so much value in a cohort! (dabbing his lips with his napkin) Well, shall we go and see what there is to see?" |
| Piscapello: | "Absolutely. Let's go." I pick up the tab. |
| Keeper: | Dr. Inglewaithe collects his coat and newspaper and rises and provides the tip. |
| Inglewaithe: | "You have my gratitude for the meal. Tonight will be my treat." |
| Piscapello: | "No problem." |
| Keeper: | By the time you drive out from the garage and proceed north through Manhattan, traffic has begun to assume its more usual nightmarish quality in the City. It is nearly 8:45 a.m. before you reach One Federal Plaza. The drive is made mostly in silence, Dr. Inglewaithe scanning the environs outside in mute observation and you concentrating in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. |
| Piscapello: | "Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig." |
| Keeper: | Checking yourself into the underground garage facility, you quickly find a parking space and make your way up the elevators, Dr. Inglewaithe in tow. The Bureau occupies the 26th floor, but most large Task Forces are run out of the Strategic Investigation Operations Center (SIOC) on the 23rd, so it is there that you direct your car. |
| Keeper: | With a ding, the doors open onto a lobby with a set of double doors leading into the SIOC and another pair straddling a drinking fountain that are clearly marked as restrooms. Two men, one leaning against the faux marble wall, converse near the SIOC doors as you exit the car. |
| Keeper: | Both are dressed in sports jackets and, judging by the opulent badges hanging from around their necks, are members of local law enforcement. One is shorter and balding, with a thick brushy mustache; the other is taller and leans his curly gray head against the wall, cradling an accordion file under his arm under an arm with his hands in his pockets. Neither seems to notice as you unintentionally eavesdrop on their conversation. |
| Short Cop: | "You'da tawt we wuz dere for a disturbance ah dah peace 'steada ah murda colla. I swear ta' Gawd, LT, one of dem fucks gots right up in my face." |
| Tall Cop: | (feigning astonishment) "Spic?" |
| Short Cop: | "Naaaah, naaaah, fuckin' nigga. (making a small space between his thumb and forefinger) Cam widdin dis much ah getting' his friggin' head kicked in." |
| Tall Cop: | (snickering) "Dey sure like tah make ah scene. Hell, ain't no diffrn't wit dem guys in da friggin' black patrolman's union - bunch ah friggin' crybabyin' loudmouths. Neva satisfied wit what dey get." |
| Piscapello: | (to Inglewaithe) "I see Guilliani's doing remarkable things with race relations in the NYPD." |
| Keeper: | Inglewaithe nods seriously, but remains silent. He stands beside you in the lobby taking it all in. |
| Short Cop: | "Dat ain't no shit. Always bitchin' an moanin'. I mean . . . who da fuck do dey tink dey are? Act likes dey own dis city." |
| Tall Cop: | "Ahhh, dey just need ta be shown what's what once in awhile's all. Friggen "Million Man March" - whadda bunch a horsehit. An' whaddabout dem riots in California? Give 'em an inch and dey . . ." |
| Keeper: | The short, pudgy cop suddenly recognizes your presence - more precisely, Dr. Inglewaithe's presence. His eyes go wide in feigned embarrassment and a finger goes up to his lips. |
| Short Cop: | "Shhhhhh. We got us anotha' challenga here. . ." |
| Keeper: | Both cops just stare at Inglewaithe, taunting him with their silence. The doctor, to his credit, holds his ground; a restraining hand on your shoulder. Apparently, by virtue of his peculiar stare, Inglewaithe is victorious in this minor battle of the evil eyes, and the two detectives trade glances before parting company - one into the SIOC and the other to the elevator bank. The doctor pushes his way through the double doors, ignoring them. |
| Piscapello: | I follow him in. |
| Keeper: | The SIOC of the New York Division contains thirty government-issue metal desks, twenty face-to-face in a row down the middle and the rest in pairs along the right wall. If your recollection of the room's situation from the Trade Center Task Force serves you, the office in the far-left corner is reserved for the SAC over the Bureau end of the Task Force. Just outside this door is another desk that should be reserved for the senior NYPD Detective on the Task Force. It is set at a right angle to denote stature and faces down the room so that he (or she) can keep an eye on the other cops. |
| Keeper: | Inglewaithe, apparently spotting some quarry at the far end of the SIOC, heads toward a rear alcove housing a VICAD and several NCIC terminals. |
| Piscapello: | I continue following Inglewaithe. "Checking on the fingers?" |
| Inglewaithe: | "All in good time, my friend. All in good time. Let's see what SAC Raley has for us." |
| Keeper: | As you follow the doctor through the crowded aisles of the large room, you see several agents and cops studying a bulletin board that runs the entire length of the room. The board is cluttered with overlapping information. A map of Manhattan Island, pinned and flagged. Documents and photographs culled from promising criminal records files. A glossy snapshot of three men standing outside a bar, one man's head encircled in a halo of red crayon. A list of official interpreters and the forensics duty roster. Identikit and Photofit composites drawings. Divisional Crime Information sheets to update the Task Force on criminal arrested within their jurisdiction over night. A copy of the Bureau newspaper, plus several data sheets sent over from the Division's TSS boys and personal messages for specific agents and police officers. |
| Keeper: | Phones ring, keyboards and word-processors clatter and personal radios squawk. As you move along the rows of desks, you hear snippets of conversation. The SIOC is exceptionally busy for a weekend morning on a four-month-stale case. |
| Agent: | ". . . guy doesn't get along with his Supervisor, who's fault is it? His or hers?" |
| Cop: | "Yo! Crawford, come 'ere! Ya got dah name right, but ya left off dah charge you stunada . . ." |
| Cop: | " . . . can I have dat numba' again, ma'am?" |
| Agent: | "Next to other guys wives, more agents get in trouble with the Bureau over. . .Hey, take a look, the rent-a-goons have arrived." |
| Keeper: | Wading through the traffic and bumping your knees several times on chairs and desks in the process, you finally catch sight of Inglewaithe's target - a tall, thin woman of about fifty. She is dressed in a gray flannel suit with a plain white blouse. Her face is devoid of makeup but for a touch of red lipstick and her hair is dark and cut conservatively short. Recognizing the doctor, she turns from the object of her previous attention and walks towards you both, hand extended. |
| Raley: | "Ahhh, Dr. Inglewaithe, Agent Piscapello. You made good time." |
| Keeper: | After she shakes hands with the doctor, she offers her hand to you. |
| Piscapello: | I return the handshake. |
| Keeper: | Despite her thinness, Heather Raley is anything but frail - a tough lady with shrewd, piercing, china-blue eyes. Your first impression is that it's as if she knows what you're thinking. Shaking your hand, she watches intently for some slight subconscious giveaway, until the pressure of her stare and the absence of conversation make you give in. |
| Piscapello: | (smiling) "Should I blink first?" |
| Keeper: | She returns the smile, but it seems subdued and her mood serious. |
| Raley: | "I was just about to take a coffee break. Care to join me? (to Inglewaithe) There's tea, too, if you prefer." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Tea would be fine." |
| Piscapello: | "Coffee sounds great, thanks." |
| Raley: | "Have you read the morning papers?" |
| Keeper: | Inglewaithe nods, smiling at you. |
| Raley: | (gesturing to the wooden door in the corner) "Then may I suggest we talk in my office?" |
| Keeper: | Turning, she leads you past the desk on a civilian-attired NYPD officer whose desk plate reads "DET LT DEREK HORNER" and into her office. To the right of the door stands an old oak desk in front of another dry erase board above which is a rolled-up projector screen. Six chairs in two rows of three are lined up in front of her desk. The long wall opposite the door is a bank of windows that overlook the plaza below. Heavy gray clouds weigh down the sky and threaten snow. A bulletin board as cluttered as the one outside covers the wall opposite the windows, while a trophy case gleaming with polished brass stands to the left. Because Raley holds the rank of SAC, she has the luxury of a leather armchair and wall-to-wall carpeting in her office. |
| Keeper: | Dr. Inglewaithe studies a series of photographs pinned to the bulletin board. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Quite a change since I was here last summer." |
| Piscapello: | I follow Inglewaithe to see what he's looking at. |
| Raley: | "Yes. Sometimes I feel my job is more akin to horror fiction than it is to the world of fact." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Special Agent Raley, you sound like . . ." |
| Raley: | "Heather. Please. The same goes for you, Agent Piscapello." |
| Keeper: | The psychiatrist nods, flashing his gold tooth. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Alright. Heather, you sound more like a patient than you do a seasoned criminal investigator. You should try giving my profession a try. It's all fantasy." |
| Raley: | "Thank you, doctor, but . . ." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Benton, Please." |
| Raley: | (nodding at the verbal tryst) "Thank you, Benton, but your offer I decline." |
| Keeper: | Following Dr. Inglewaithe's attention, you see that the bulletin board is adrift with color photographs on mangled young girls. You count eight separate victims. Raley sighs audibly and closes her office door, then crosses to the tea and coffee tray on her desk. |
| Piscapello: | "There are eight girls here. I thought there were only six. Are these others recent?" |
| Keeper: | Pouring you both a cup of coffee and steeping several tea bags in a small pot atop a custom made heating element, she withdraws a bag from behind her desk. |
| Raley: | "Eight is the accurate count to date, but the last victim was murdered in August of '97." |
| Keeper: | Opening the bag, she removes several bagels and prepackaged containers of assorted spreads and lays them out on her desk. |
| Raley: | "I hope you like poppyseed." |
| Inglewaithe: | "That will be fine." |
| Piscapello: | I happily take a bagel. "Thanks. By the way, the name's Rich." |
| Keeper: | As you pull a chair up to the desk and take the proffered snack, you realize how very cold it is in the room . . .almost as if the woman's actually shut off the heat to keep her thoughts crystal clear or anyone else in the room focused and wide awake. It isn't an environment you're inclined to waste much time in. |
| Keeper: | Tea served and coffee drank, the three of you eat in silence. Raley is trained, you can see, in the Bureau art of giving nothing away. Bureau agents neither look nor act like ordinary people. Through conscious effort, you are trained to prevent the muscles around the mouth from displaying normal emotion. The face then becomes expressionless, throwing others on the defensive by allowing them no insight as to the agent's true thoughts. |
| Keeper: | Finally, sipping the last of her coffee, the SAC places the china cup on a saucer and wipes the crumbs from her lips with a paper napkin and looks intently at you. |
| Raley: | "Are you gentlemen familiar with the term 'Queen Bee'?" |
| Piscapello: | "Yes. It's not a particularly nice one." |
| Inglewaithe: | "That's Bureau slang for a senior female agent." |
| Keeper: | Raley raises her eyebrows. |
| Inglewaithe: | (clearing his throat) "We keep our ears open." |
| Raley: | (bluntly) "Well, Rich, Benton, I need your help. And your discretion, so I'll be frank with you. The Bureau - as you may know or suspect - is not an open and friendly place for a woman." |
| Inglewaithe: | "I have no doubts about that . . ." |
| Raley: | "Most senior agents have never worked with, let alone for, a qualified woman. They've simply known us as secretaries, lovers, and wives. It was only fairly recently that we were even fully integrated into the Bureau." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Little Sister Syndrome." |
| Raley: | "Yes. Bad enough that a male agent might encounter dangers in this job, but God forbid a female agent comes to harm. At least that's the party line. There are still a lot of people who say the Bureau's no place for a woman. I need to know honestly if either of you fall in with that crowd." |
| Piscapello: | "Not me." |
| Inglewaithe: | "Certainly not. So, how did you advance?" |
| Keeper: | The woman smiles wryly. |
| Raley: | "I opted to capitalize on my differences rather than wallow in self-pity. First, I used my inherent 'female problems' - in that case a trip to the powder room with an important suspects very worried and very talkative girlfriend - to blow the lid on a Chicago murder for hire case." |
| Raley: | "Then, as 'Token Woman' of the 80s, my promotions were good for PR." |
| Raley: | "And finally, because I'd like to think I do my job well (smiles) - and humbly, of course - which makes the honchos in D.C. look good." |
| Piscapello: | "Why where you put in charge of the Subway Butcher Task Force?" |
| Raley: | "Because at the time there were only three victims, all pre-adult girls. The boys on the 26th Floor thought I'd be a shoe-in for the job." |
| Inglewaithe: | "I see." |
| Raley: | "We all know, though, that women - (eyeing Inglewaithe) and minorities, for that matter - haven't gained full acceptance in the Bureau to the extent that the public is lead to believe." |
| Keeper: | Inglewaithe nods, then looks to you as you recall the incident outside the Providence RA and the lobby outside the SIOC. |
| Raley: | (looking to you) "Even for a white male, the system isn't set up so that talent and qualifications are the only characteristics that determine who moves up. So, I suppose, in a sense, I've been lucky. At least up until now . . ." |
| Piscapello: | "Now . . . ?" |
| Keeper: | Beside you, Inglewaithe nods and smiles, as if comprehending the heart of the matter. |
| Inglewaithe: | "Ahhhhh . . ." |
| Raley: | "Was it C.K. Chesterston who said, 'Society is at the mercy of the motiveless murderer'? Well, . . . so it appears, am I." |
| Inglewaithe: | (deductively) "You're about to be sacked because the Subway Butcher case has stalled . . ." |
| Raley: | (sitting back heavily in her chair) "Yes. And soon. Which, it has come to my attention, will put me back in my rightful place as a woman and restore the 'natural harmony' of things." |
| Inglewaithe: | (whistling under his breath) "That ol' natural harmony, eh? Where would we be without it?" |
| Keeper: | Raley rubs her temples, obviously under a lot of strain. |
| Raley: | "Who the hell knows . . ." |
| Inglewaithe: | "I do think Chesterston was wrong, however." |
| Keeper: | The besieged SAC looks up at the doctor in wonderment. |
| Inglewaithe: | "There is always a motive for murder once you understand what motivates the murderer. It would have been more accurate had he said, 'Society is at the probable mercy of the irrationally motivated murderer." |
| Raley: | "Point well taken. Which happens to be the reason you two fine gentlemen are sitting before me today." |
| Keeper: | Inglewaithe nods knowingly and grins once more. |
| Piscapello: | (fidgeting in his chair) "Looks like we're on a deadline. Let's get to work. What do you need?" |
| Raley: | "What I need is a better idea about this killer. (to Inglewaithe) Benton, when you were here last summer our investigation was full of leads. As a result, you gave us a cautious and conservative psychiatric opinion." |
| Inglewaithe: | (nodding) "That I did." |
| Keeper: | SAC Raley rises from her chair and paces slowly behind her desk. |
| Raley: | "All that time, I'm sorry to say, we were not given all of the facts. As is usual in these multi-jurisdictional investigations, NYPD was playing their cards close to their chest." |
| Inglewaithe: | "For fear of a copycat killer?" |
| Raley: | "Possibly. But more likely out of historical rivalry with the Bureau and many other reasons. To their way of thinking, the more people that know the facts, the weaker the trap that can be set if an arrest is to be made. The Mayor is riding their Chief pretty hard on this one. Any detail that slips from the suspect's lips that only they know ensures an airtight charge, and both the Mayor and the Chief are politically anxious to shut the books on this one." |
| Inglewaithe: | "I understand." |
| Raley: | "I'm sure you do. But with their backs up against the wall as badly as mine, they're finding that kind of caution is a luxury they can live without." |
| Keeper: | Reaching into a desk drawer, the SAC withdraws a thick pile of paperwork and slides it across the desk. |
| Raley: | "This is the extent of what we know to date." |