Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

there all day. Lola Rodriguez said she served him a funnel cake around lunchtime. Meaning that he’s out and about doing his scouting in the daytime, probably because his prey will have usually gone to ground at night.  Unless they’re real street walkers, and that’s not the type he wants.  He wants girls who have at least an air of innocence, for his own need and for the clients’.  It feeds the pedophiles’ fantasies, and makes him feel better about his own. So my guess is that’s his usual pattern.  And if his usual pattern is to be outside, but he’s avoiding the sun so assiduously, he probably has to have a good reason.”

“Do you think he’s allergic to sunlight?” Josh asked.

“Good question,” Clay admitted.  And one that he had considered.  “But I don’t think it’s that extreme.  People with sun allergies usually can’t risk even the kind of exposure I saw him getting.  I think it’s a little more mundane, but probably equally uncommon.”

He waited to see who’d arrive at it first.

“He’s an albino,” Kim concluded.  “How very Da Vinci Code.”

“Well, that would certainly set him apart.” Callahan shook his head.  “And explain his feelings of inadequacy, because kids were almost certain to have teased him about that.”

Clay agreed with the sheriff’s assessment. “It explains his motivation, so to speak, and was probably a bone of contention with his parents.  I’m theorizing, in this case, that his problem stemmed from his father, who probably didn’t deal well with the fact that his son was somewhat of a freak. Almost like some men overreact when their boy shows an inclination toward effeminate behavior or another so-called undesirable characteristic.  If the son is a reflection of the father, some men can’t handle that kind of ego blow, so they take their frustration and disappointment out on the kid.  That could explain the excessive weightlifting, which was either forced upon junior as a means of making him into an acceptable man, or was his own attempt to garner his father’s favor.”

“Not to sound like a broken record,” Josh interjected, “but how does that assist the investigation?”

Again, Clay turned to address Harding.  “If my speculation is correct, our offender’s condition should still be something of a sore point.  He covers it up with disguises out of a necessity to blend into a crowd, but at the same time he resents the disguises because they remind him that he’s somehow inadequate.  It would bring up the hurt and rage he felt over his father’s disapproval, and he’d feel the periodic need to rebel.  And by rebelling, I mean that there will be times when he goes into the public eye au natural.  When he does, his hostility will be right under the surface, like he’s almost daring anyone to make a comment.  It’s his way of asserting control, of thumbing his nose at his father, and reassuring himself that he’s not really a freak.  Of course, he’s likely to encounter some curiosity or negative attention during these outings, which is really defeating his purpose.  One, because that only serves to reinforce his subconscious fear that he’s totally different from others; and two, because people are much more likely to remember a huge albino than a dark-skinned, attractive weightlifter.”

“And when he encounters that curiosity,” Josh surmised, “he’s likely to react with hostility.  Which would make him even more memorable to whoever saw him.”

“Exactly.”  Clay began to feel a grudging respect for Harding.  The man was a good cop.

“I should do another composite,” he told Clay.  “One that depicts our guy with his albino coloration.  We can distribute the two together, and might be able to generate even more leads.”

“We’re talking about a pretty large area of distribution,” Sheriff Callahan said.  He slid off his desk to stroll over toward the map of Charleston and its surrounding counties which they’d taped to the wall of the office.  Multicolored pins stuck out from various locations, indicating girls whose disappearances they were questioning.  “Hit the lights, will you, Harding?”

Josh reached behind him to flip the switch, so that the office was bathed in florescence.

“These pins represent quite a number of jurisdictions. Janie Collier was reported missing here,” Callahan pointed to a red pin on the map, just south of Charleston proper, “whereas Casey Rodriguez was abducted from here.”

“Yes, but the fact that Janie’s body – and I’m going to go out on a limb here and state for the record that I believe she’s our vic – was located in your jurisdiction, only a few miles from where the Rodriguez girl was abducted, leads me to believe this area right around here,” Clay stood up and crossed toward the map, motioning to a blocked-off area “is in the vicinity of our guy’s home base.”

“So he was bringing Janie Collier back here when she attempted to escape.”

“It makes sense,” Clay agreed with the sheriff.  “These guys need to have a safe, quiet place where they can keep the girls until they deliver them to their clients.  Something out of the way, so that nosy neighbors can’t get all in their business.”

Clay swung his gaze to Harding.  “Deputy Harding, make sure you post both composites. This is our perp’s temporary home base, his comfort zone, and this is where he’d most likely be seen in public as an albino.”

“That’s completely contrary to logic,” Deputy Jones commented.  “You would think this would be where he’d be most cautious about being recognized.”

“If he were merely criminally minded, I’d be inclined to agree.  But as I said, this guy has some serious psychological issues that drive him to be not always prudent in his behavior.  Being seen in public in his most recognizable state is just another way that he’s seeking control.  It’s his way of refusing to be held captive to his condition.”

“So in other words, it’s his hang-ups that will eventually hang him.”

Clay’s mouth tugged into a smile at Josh’s observation.  “It usually is.  That’s why profiling can be such a