One, Two ... He Is Coming for You (14 page)

“But don’t they keep records of who visits the prison?”

“Sure they do, but they think I either paid someone off to let me in or
that I know the area so well I somehow knew a way to sneak inside.”

“That sounds like a weak theory.”

“That’s what they are trying to get me to tell them. How I got in.
Apparently someone did visit the prison that morning. Under the name Bjorn
Clausen.”

“You are kidding me. But he’s dead, right?”

“I know. But they think I might have used a false name. You know, it is
a juvenile prison. That means they like to call it an institution. Most of the
inmates are allowed to have visitors and their names are registered in the
computers, but not checked or cleared. With a fake ID, anyone could get in
under a false name.”

I opened my mouth and was about to ask another question when the officer
interrupted us.

“Time is up,” he said.

Two officers came into the room and grabbed Sune by the arms.

“I will get you the best lawyer, I promise you that,” I said to him. “I’ll
get you out of here in no time. You’ll see Tobias soon.”

I looked him in the eyes just in time to see a little sparkle of hope in
them, and then he left the room between the two officers.

On my way home I felt the anger rage inside of me. Didn’t they see the
connection between the killings at all? It was so obvious to me, but it was
like the police didn’t want to see it. Were they really that stupid and
incompetent? I normally wouldn’t believe that about our police force, but this
made me think that there was only one way out for Sune.

I had to catch the killer myself.

25

Back at the office Sara was talking on the phone. She tried her best to
convince one lawyer after another they needed to help Sune. She guaranteed the
bill would be paid and they were sure to win the case since he was not guilty.

But still she had no luck. They were all too busy or they didn’t care
much for a small case like that and they certainly didn’t want to lose.

“What about just helping someone in need?” I heard her yell at one point
and then slam the phone down.

My editor was in a better mood. He called me and said he loved my article
on the boarding school connection and wanted to do more about the serial killer
angle.

“And no one has complained?” I asked.

“About the article? Of course. There is always someone who complains.”
He said. ”But that won’t stop us.”

I was beginning to love my new editor. Nothing seemed to put him down.

“So who was it? Rosenfeldt? The police?

”Ah well, if you must know, both of them.”

“And you’re not having second thoughts?”

“That someone this important is complaining just shows me that we are on
to something really big and that’s what it’s all about. That’s why we hired you
and pay you three times as much as the rest of our staff.”

I was  proud. My new editor had a way of making me feel like I was
the most important reporter on the newspaper. And he said any trouble that
would head my way he would gladly take.

“What about Sune?” I asked.

“The newspaper can’t do much for him. It’s a personal matter. But I’m
very happy to hear you and Sara are working on getting him a lawyer.”

I looked at my co-worker who waved her arms around like windmill while
talking firmly to the person on the other end of the phone.

“Keep me posted on what’s going on with him we stick together at this
paper. We help each other,” he said before he hung up.

I looked at Sara who now gave me two thumbs up.

“We got one,” she said and hung up. “A really good one, too.”

I took in a deep breath. I was so relieved.

“Good job.”

Meanwhile I had an idea for how we should pursue the serial killer angle.
When I was in Iraq I got to know an American named James Wickham who worked at
the base as a psychologist for soldiers in crisis. I knew that he had gotten a
job at the FBI to work as a profiling expert. Over the years he became an
expert in serial killers and how their brain worked. I had used him previously
for another article about the condition of the soldiers when they returned from
war. That’s when he told me about his new job. They knew a lot more about
serial killers in the U.S than we did, so I thought he might teach me something
about them.

I called him at his office in Washington DC.

“Rebekka Franck? I never thought I would hear that beautiful voice
again.”

I loved Americans. They were always so positive and always gave
compliments. Very different from the Danish Jantelov, as we called it, most
popularly described as the belief that people shouldn’t think they are
somebody, because they’re not. It was a way of thinking that often kept us from
complimenting others and led to a low self-esteem. It was a way of thinking
that we Danes had a hard time escaping.

“Well you did,” I said blushing.

“What can I do for you?”

“I think we might have a serial killer on the loose.”

“In Denmark? I can’t believe it. Well it’s about time you guys grew up,
right?” He  laughed.

“You might be right. The thing is we have very little experience with
how this type of killer thinks or acts. The reason for calling you today is I
want to do an article about serial killers.”

“Oh, okay. That shouldn’t be too hard. I mean no two killers are alike,
but there are the general characteristics on how they think and such. I can
certainly help you with that.”

“Thanks.”

“First, I would like to give you a short definition of a serial killer
as we use it here at the FBI. According to our definition a serial murder is
the unlawful killing of two or more victims by the same offender or offenders,
in separate events.”

“We’ve got that. That’s for sure.” I said leaving out that the police
didn’t think that it was the same offender. Not yet at least. Not until I had
proven them wrong.

“Okay, what else can you tell me about the killings?”

I explained the case to him in detail and he was quiet for a little
while afterwards.

“I see. So you have a killer who kills in the same way by ripping his
victims open so to speak? And he has killed three people so far?”

“Yes, that’s right. Also, all the victims know each other from the
school. So what kind of a psychopath do we have here?”

“It sounds to me like what you have here is a very organized offender.
Everything is planned to perfection. He leaves no trace of committing the crime
and he generally kills by the same methods. Generally, the organized offender
commits well-planned and well-orchestrated offenses, whereas the disorganized
offender commits more poorly planned and poorly executed offenses.”

“What does that tell us about him?”

“The more organization demonstrated by an offender, the more likely the
offender will be intelligent, socially competent, capable of skilled
employment, conscious of evidence, controlled, and able to avoid identification
while accounting for a greater number of victims. They lack feelings of guilt
or remorse and view their victims as mere objects that they can manipulate for
their own perverse satisfaction and sense of power, control, mastery, and
domination. Organized serial murderers may kill in such great numbers due to
fantasies that feed their predatory desires and lead them to compete with
themselves in a perverted contest of ’practice makes perfect.’ In other words,
they continue to kill, in part, due to a desire to improve upon their last
murder. In addition, they understand their misbehavior, know the difference
between right and wrong, and can choose when and where to act upon their
urges.”

“So who is he? What kind of person are we talking about?”

“On television and the silver screen, serial killers are usually white
males and dysfunctional loners who really want to get caught. Or, they’re
super-intelligent monsters who frustrate law enforcement at every turn. That’s
not the case though. Serial killers are not all dysfunctional loners. Some have
wives and kids and full-time jobs and active in their community or church or
both. This man lives in your midst as a normal person. He does things that
normal people do. He goes to the bar to have a drink. He goes to restaurants
the same as we all do. Nothing in his everyday behavior will indicate that he
is killing people.”

I wrote in my notebook while the thoughts of Giovanni kept messing with
my mind. He seemed perfectly normal. He was intelligent and very good at
manipulating. He seemed like a fit for the profile. But then again so did Sune.

“So what kind of a person becomes a serial killer? Someone who has
experienced childhood abuse?” I asked.

“Many individuals have experienced childhood abuse, and the vast
majority don’t become criminals, much less serial murderers. Most abused
children adjust and, as they mature, progress past their traumatic experiences.
However, those individuals who become serial murderers do not adjust and put
the trauma and its influence in the past. They ruminate about their
mistreatment; dwell on their past experiences; and become frustrated, angry,
and depressed.”

“Is he a psychopath?”

“The relationship between psychopathic and serial killers is
particularly interesting. All psychopaths do not become serial murderers. Lucky
for us, because there are a lot of them out there. But serial murderers may
possess some or many of the traits consistent with those of a psychopath.
Psychopaths who commit serial murder do not value human life and are extremely
callous in their interactions with their victims. This is particularly evident
in sexually motivated serial killers who repeatedly target, stalk, assault, and
kill without a sense of remorse. However, being a psychopath alone does not
explain the motivations of a serial killer. Psychopaths are not sensitive to
themes such as sympathy for their victims or remorse or guilt over their
crimes. They do possess certain personality traits that can be detected,
particularly their inherent narcissism, selfishness, and vanity. Psychopathy is
a personality disorder manifested in people who use a mixture of charm,
manipulation, intimidation, and occasionally violence to control others, in
order to satisfy their own selfish needs.”

I had to take a deep breath to calm down. All he said fit perfectly on
Giovanni. The narcissism, the vanity, the manipulation, and the selfish needs.

James  continued, “If a violent offender is psychopathic, he’s able
to assault, rape, and murder without concern for legal, moral, or social consequences.
This allows him to do what he wants, whenever he wants. The way he kills is an
indication of who he is. It’s clearly a ritual to him and has a special meaning
to him, though we don’t know what the meaning is. He knows the meaning and
maybe his victims do too.”

“So how do we stop him?”

“Unlike what they say in the movies, the serial killer does not want to
get caught. Over time, as he kills without being discovered, he will get
careless during his crimes.”

“So what you are basically telling me is that we have to wait for him to
make a mistake?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I wrote the article and found a nice picture on the Internet of my
American friend to put next to the story. Then I pressed the “send” button and
mailed it to my editor. I leaned back, satisfied with myself. I had left one
part out of the article, though, something James told me just before we hung
up. A serial killer often had a “cooling off period.” Often he would commit his
first murder and then have a long period maybe of ten or more years before he
would kill again. That substantiated my theory that Bjorn Clausen didn’t commit
suicide but was killed by the same perpetrator. But I had no documentation to
prove it. So I left it out of the article.

But I still kept thinking about Sune. In my book there was no way he
could be the killer. He was only three years old in 1987. But as long as the
police didn’t recognize the connections between the killings, that argument
would do him no good.

I sighed and looked at Sara. She had gone back to listening to the
police scanner again while she typed on her laptop. She had a half-eaten piece
of cake on her desk.

Then I looked back at my own desk and my eyes caught a little yellow sticky
note that Sune must have put there some time before he was arrested.

It was the address of Christian Junge-Larsen.

The last guy in the picture.

26

Christian Junge-Larsen looked at himself in the mirror.

“My God, I look like I could be dead.”

Not that it was that big of a surprise to him since he hadn’t slept in
days. He didn’t even know what time it was any longer, whether day or night
outside Marienlyst Casino. He remembered this morning he went home to his
apartment in Elsinore—the famous city of Shakespeare’s Hamlet—and
got a few hours of sleep. Dead drunk, he collapsed over the bed. But it didn’t
erase the circles under his eyes or give him the color back in his face. He
looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in days, which he actually hadn’t. The
dimmed light in the bathroom of the fancy casino was kind to him, he knew. He
looked much worse in real light.

He splashed some water on his face and washed it with the casino’s hand
soap. It smelled like lemons and with that, he thought he was ready for another
couple of hours by the blackjack table or at the roulette. The casino wouldn’t
close until four in the morning.

He went out and sat with the other men just like him. Men with a
feverish look with eyes that wouldn’t let go of the ball around the wheel.
Christian Junge-Larsen put everything on red 9 knowing deep down in himself
that he was about to pave another mile of his road straight to hell.