Signature Kill by David Levien Page A

as she reviewed the case files. Behr figured she’d worked some of the bodies over the years when she was with the coroner’s. Finally, Jean closed up the folders and removed her reading glasses. She leaned back and stretched in her desk chair.
    “You are a messenger of delight, aren’t you?” she said.
    “Nothing but,” Behr said. “What does it say to you?”
    “My opinion? If these are random kills, the world has officially gone to shit, and if this was done by one person, you’re dealing with some kind of fucking monster.”
    “Is that the clinical assessment then?” Behr said. “Glad to see all that higher education put to use.”
    “Hey, I calls ’em as I sees ’em,” she said. “Seriously, what’s your interest with all this?”
    He told Jean about the billboard and Kendra Gibbons and how he’d come to this point.
    “Bit of a ‘Hail Mary,’ isn’t it, Frankie?” she asked. “But I guess that’s you in a nutshell.”
    He let that one pass before he said, “Even though a lot of the details are different case to case, you see certain related factors like I do?”
    She nodded. “You know it wasn’t exactly my bag, but there’s at least a few, if not more, common elements to these.” She patted the stack of files.
    “Is there any direction you can point me in?” he wondered.
    She twirled a pen around her fingers and thought for a minute.
    “Not me. But I know someone who may be able to help you,”Jean said, taking out her cell phone and scrolling her contacts. “You may like her too. Most people are scared shitless of her, but you won’t be. She’s a criminal psychologist. From New York, relocated here a few years back. She’s got experience with this stuff. Worked with the FBI and NYPD.”
    “A profiler?” Behr asked.
    “You could call her that.”
    Jean dialed a phone number. “Hi, Lisa? Jean Gannon here,” she began. “Yeah. No, you heard correct. No longer with the office …” There was a pause and Jean laughed and said, “I’m over at Scanlon Brothers, making ’em look pretty before they get planted.”
    Jean listened for a moment, and then spoke. “Look, I’m calling because my friend—he’s an investigator on a case—could use your type of help. It’s kind of a fun one.”
    Jean listened again, pulling the phone away from her ear and covering the receiver. “She’s saying she’s busy and doesn’t really do this type of thing anymore.”
    “So it’s a no-go?” Behr asked.
    Jean shook her head and whispered, “Blah, blah, blah. It’s the same shit every time. She’ll do it.”
    “Yeah, no, listen, I hear you. But this is a really good guy, my friend. You’ll like him. Just give it a look. For me, all right?”
    Gannon nodded, then handed Behr the phone.
    “Frank Behr here,” he said.
    “Lisa Mistretta, nice to meet you over the phone,” a forthright voice with a hint of an East Coast accent said back. “What do you got?”
    “A bunch of murders that I think are related.”
    “We’ll see about that. You got case files?”
    “A mess of ’em,” Behr said.
    “If the files are too big to e-mail, send me hard copies along with a CD-ROM.”
    “I’ll compress ’em and send ’em,” Behr said.
    “Fine. Send the hard copies anyway, please. I don’t like fucking with my printer if I can avoid it. The thing has it out for me.”
    “Sure,” Behr said. “How long before we have a follow-up meet or whatever?” Considering the volume of material he was sending, he imagined it’d be at least a week.
    “Well, I won’t know that until I see what you send,” she said.
    “Of course,” Behr said. “And—” He looked to Jean, handing her back the phone. “She hung up. You want to give me her info?”
    Jean scribbled down an address and an e-mail and handed it to him.
    “Really appreciate it, and owe you one, Jean,” he said, standing.
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “Why are people scared of her?” Behr wondered on his way to the door.
    “You’ll