River paused a moment before saying, “This may be a waste of time, but let’s give it a go.” She thought for a moment before saying, “Okay, the killer would have to be a younger man since he was able to overpower these teenagers. He probably presented himself as someone non-threatening. These parks were basically empty of people or traffic. Perhaps he told them he worked for the park. Like a security guard. Or he could have been dressed like a police officer who was there to tell them they needed to move on.”
“Like Dennis Rader,” Tony interjected. “He was a city compliance officer. That made it easier for him to get close to his victims.”
“Exactly.” River couldn’t stifle another yawn, but she wanted to keep going. She and Tony had worked on a lot of profiles for the FBI. It was a part of her. She couldn’t help but think along those lines.
“He’s probably white since most serial killers are Caucasian. My guess is he chose young lovers probably out of some kind of jealousy.”
“Which means he may not be that attractive,” Tony said. “Or he has something that makes him feel inferior. A disability? Perhaps he’s a stutterer? We’ve seen that combination before.”
“Possibly,” River said. “Honestly, we may be reaching. I couldn’t find much to convince me these cases are related. We can talk about it more tomorrow. I’ve just begun to look through everything. April’s notebook is pretty big. Every page filled, plus notes, articles, and photos stuffed into the sleeve in the back. Like I said, this will take some time.”
“Well, I copied the files from both the laptops to a USB drive.”
“Good. So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
There was a short pause before Tony said, “Yes. Are you still upset about having your own personal chauffeur?”
“I know you’re trying to be careful, but why do I have this picture in my mind of being eighty years old and waiting for you to take me to get my blue hair permed?”
“You plan to have blue hair?” Tony said. “Not sure that would be a good look for you.”
River sighed loudly.
“Look, once the Strangler’s accomplice is behind bars you can drive anywhere you want,” Tony said, his tone firm. “But until then . . .”
“I know, I know. Big Brother is watching out for me.”
Tony chuckled. “I think the phrase is ‘Big Brother is watching.’”
“I edited it. Fits my situation better.”
This time, he laughed out loud. Tony’s laugh erupted from somewhere deep inside him and then bubbled up to the surface. River hadn’t laughed a lot before she met him. Even when they were working at the BAU, he had the ability to break the tension of the job with a dumb joke or by kindheartedly teasing someone in a way that would make everyone laugh. He was able to bring a touch of healing to the horror they faced on a day-to-day basis. River had never really poked fun at anyone before Tony taught her how. Now, she felt free to tease him whenever she wanted to. There was no way to explain the joy he’d brought into her life, or how he’d helped her find her way to a God she’d never really known.
“I need to go,” she said. “My mother wants me to come by her room and say good night. After that, I’m going to look through this notebook a little longer. As long as I can stay awake, that is. April could have worked in law enforcement. Her instincts were excellent. She was a natural.”
“We can talk about it more in the morning,” Tony said. “Breakfast before or after we go by Nathan’s place?”
“If we have to be there by eight o’clock? After, please.”
“I second that.” Tony yawned, which made River do the same. “Good thing you yawned. I’m always watching people. If someone yawns and anyone around him doesn’t . . .”
“You decide they’re most likely a psychopath?”
“Yep.”
It was River’s turn to laugh. “Side effects of the job. I’ll see you about seven-thirty?”
“I’ll be there.”
River disconnected the call. Training as a behavioral analyst came with certain side benefits. Or maybe disadvantages. Being able to interpret physical reactions was a blessing since they could tell if someone was lying to them. But watching to see if people yawned when another person did was . . . nuts. Yet, it was a known fact that most of the time psychopaths didn’t yawn in response to the same reaction in someone else. They lacked empathy—couldn’t connect to other people. It worked with emotional responses as well, like crying or laughing. Some psychopaths learned to laugh or pretend to cry. But it was much harder to pretend to yawn.
River got up from the desk in her bedroom and went to her mother’s room. She knocked softly on the door.
“Come in.” She could barely hear her mother’s thin, thready voice. Sometimes it felt as if everything about Rose Ryland was slowly disappearing. Her memory, her voice, and even her body. Rose was naturally thin, but lately her cheekbones had become more pronounced, accenting her Vietnamese features. Her mother had always been a beautiful woman, but even though her dark hair was peppered with silver, age had only given her a more ethereal look. As if she were closer to heaven than anyone around her.
River opened the door and found her mother in bed, her small TV turned on. She picked up the remote and turned down the sound. There were two bookshelves in her room. Rose had always loved to read, but River couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a book in her mother’s hands. Was it because the words no longer made sense? Although River had an urge to ask her about it, she had a feeling the answer might break both their hearts.
“Mrs. Weyland said you wanted me to say good night,” she said.
“Yes, dear.” Rose patted the bed next to her.
For a moment, River was stunned. She couldn’t remember her mother ever asking her to sit on her bed. Even when River was a child. Rose was always concerned she would mess up the covers.
She walked over and gingerly lowered herself next to her mother.
“You need to get some sleep, tình yêu. Why are you up so late?”
River was surprised to hear her mother use a Vietnamese term that meant love. Rose had called her tình yêu when she was very young. But not after her father left. She forced herself to respond to her mother’s question.
“Just trying to get some work done,” she said. “I’ll go to sleep soon.”
“Good. You need to get plenty of rest before school tomorrow.”
River opened her mouth to remind her mother that she wasn’t in school any longer, but then she remembered Mrs. Weyland’s admonition not to correct Rose when she was confused.
Just go with her wherever she is, she’d said. If you try to straighten her out, it will confuse and frighten her.
“You’re right,” River said, fighting back sudden tears. “I’d better get back to bed, Má.” It felt odd in one sense to use the Vietnamese term for mother, but River was certain that in this moment it was exactly the right thing to do.
