Author: Sidney Sheldon
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/38519_44
“Precisely. It occurs to me that the most effective way for us to assist a member country in actually apprehending this individual would be to anticipate his next move and prepare for it. Of course, we can’t say who specifically his next victim will be. But we can predict that individual’s age, net worth, geographical location, most likely wedding date. There is a plethora of factors that can be statistically determined, telling us how the killer will behave in the future based on how he has behaved in the past.”
Danny stared at the jagged yellow lines and for some reason thought of the Wizard of Oz. Is that how we’re going to find him? By following Sturi’s yellow brick road? Perhaps we’ve had the answers all along, like Dorothy and her friends. We just didn’t know where to look.
Beneath the graphs were numbers, pages and pages of them. Statistical analysis of everything from the DNA evidence, to the dates of the bank transfers, to comparative data about each of the children’s charities, to the four vict
ims’ dates of birth. A sea of numbers that all but made Danny’s eyes cross.
Richard Sturi concluded, “In my opinion, it is a poor use of our limited time and resources to focus on who the killer might be and why he does what he does. We simply do not have enough factual evidence to answer those questions. This data tells us how he operates, when and where he kills. Look here.” Sturi flashed between screens so fast that Danny saw nothing but a blurry rainbow. “The rate at which he commits his crimes appears to be increasing rapidly.”
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“No ‘appears’ about it,” said Danny. “Nothing happened for four years after the Jakes case, but the Baring murder occurred a year after Didier Anjou’s.”
“Ah. But you are assuming that Sir Piers Henley was his first kill after Andrew Jakes.”
Demartin’s eyes widened. “You think there was another murder in between? One that we don’t know about?”
“I don’t think anything. Thinking’s not my job. But statistically, such a case is likely, yes. Probably in South America, in 1998 or early 1999. I’m looking into it.”
“Jeez.” Danny whistled. “Okay. Go on.”
“He kills every two to three years, moving east around the globe, changing his identity, and possibly his appearance, between each strike. He is highly intelligent and a skilled manipulator. The age difference between his victims and their wives is dropping an average of five years with each murder.”
“The victims are getting younger?”
“No. The wives are getting older. As, of course, is our killer.”
Danny thought about this, grasping for something that had eluded him up to now. The age thing felt significant, but he didn’t know why. After a long silence, he asked, “Do you think the wives are dead?”
Richard Sturi hesitated. “Probably. There is no plausible reason, at least none that I can think of, for him to keep them alive.”
“Except for Lisa Baring,” Demartin said again.
Except for Lisa Baring. How Danny wished Matt Daley had gotten further with Mrs. Baring. He’d picked a hell of a time to drop off the radar.
“Okay. Division of labor. As you know, we’ve only been allotted eight hours per week of official work time on Azrael. We all have other cases that need our attention, so I don’t want to overload you. Richard, I want you to keep doing what you’re doing. But nothing goes directly onto the I-24/7 database. Any stats and projections connected with this investigation come to me first. Understood?”
The German raised an eyebrow but nodded his consent. Delaying the inputting of data onto Interpol’s systems was highly irregular. But not as irregular as disobeying a direct instruction from a superior officer.
“Claude, for now I need you to focus on forensics. See if there’s anything in the semen, blood or fingerprint analyses that the local police missed.”
“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind my asking, what will you be working on?”
“I’m going to make a few inquiries in Los Angeles,” said Danny. “There’s a man there I’d like to talk to again. An attorney by the name of Lyle Renalto.”
INSPECTOR LIU COULD NOT REACH ASSISTANT Director Danny McGuire. According to McGuire’s secretary, an obstructive French matron named Mathilde, McGuire was at a meeting and was not expected back in the office “for some time.” So much for Interpol’s promised 24/7 support.
Irritated, Liu left a message.
Mrs. Baring had a lover whom they now suspected of involvement in her husband’s murder. As such, Mrs. Baring herself was now a suspect in the investigation. She remained in Bali, and photographic evidence suggested that this man was staying with her there. Could Assistant Director McGuire organize an Interpol response team to help Liu and his men gain access to the villa and, if necessary, arrest the suspects? The Indonesian authorities were being less than helpful.
Hanging up, Liu looked at his watch. Four P.M., Hong Kong time.
If he didn’t hear from McGuire by morning, he’d take matters into his own hands.
CÉLINE MCGUIRE WAS NOT A HAPPY woman.
She was not happy because the boeuf bourguignon she had so painstakingly cooked for her husband had been reduced to a viscous, charred mass at the bottom of a casserole dish.
She was not happy because she’d done her hair and put on her prettiest dress, all for nothing.