PATRICIA CORNWELL. Unnatural Exposure

In addition to his degree in psychology, he no doubt had attended a lecture on profiling, too. He knew it all.

‘Keith lives with his mother, who I think he really resents,’ he went on, smoothing his tie. ‘She had him late in life, is in her sixties. He takes care of her.’

‘Then his mother is still alive and accounted for,’ I said.

‘Right. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t take out his aggressions on some other poor old woman. Plus — and you won’t believe this — in high school, he worked at the meat counter of a grocery store. He was a butcher’s assistant.’

I did not tell him that I did not think a meat saw had been used in this case, but let him talk.

‘He’s never been very social, which again fits the profile.’ He continued spinning his fantastic web. ‘And it’s rumored among the other guys who work at the landfill that he’s homosexual.’

‘Based on what?’

‘On the fact he doesn’t date women or even seem interested in them when the other guys make remarks, jokes. You know how it is with a bunch of rough guys.’

‘Describe the house he lives in.’ I thought of the photographs sent to me through e-mail.

‘Two-story frame, three bedrooms, kitchen, living room. Middle class on its way to being poor. Like maybe in an earlier day when his old man was around, they had it pretty nice.’

‘What happened to the father?’

‘Ran off before Keith was born.’

‘Brothers, sisters?’ I asked.

‘Grown, have been for a long time. I guess he was a surprise. I suspect Mr Pleasants isn’t the father, explaining why he was already gone before Keith was even around.’

‘And what is this suspicion based on?’ I asked with an edge.

‘My gut.’

‘I see.’

‘Where they live is remote, about ten miles from the landfill, in farmland,’ he said. ‘Got a pretty good-size yard, a garage that’s detached from the house.’ He crossed his legs, pausing, as if what he had to add next was important. ‘There are a lot of tools, and a big workbench. Keith says he’s a handyman and uses the garage when things need fixing around the house. I did see a hacksaw hanging up on a pegboard, and a machete he says he uses for cutting back kudzu and weeds.’

Slipping out of his jacket, he carefully draped it over his lap as he continued the tour of Keith Pleasants’ life.

‘You certainly had access to a lot of places without a warrant,’ I cut him off.

‘He was cooperative,’ he replied, nonplussed. ‘Let’s talk about what’s in this guy’s head.’ He tapped his own. ‘First, he’s smart, real smart, books, magazines, newspapers all over the place. Get this. He’s been videotaping news accounts of this case, clipping articles.’

‘Probably most of the people working at the landfill are,’ I reminded him.

But Ring was not interested in one word I said.

‘He reads all kinds of crime stuff. Thrillers. Silence of the Lambs, Red Dragon. Tom Clancy, Ann Rule . . .’

I interrupted again because I could not listen to him a moment longer. ‘You’ve just described a typical American reading list. I can’t tell you how to conduct your investigation, but let me try to persuade you to follow the evidence . . .’

‘I am,’ he interrupted right back. ‘That’s exactly what I’m doing.’

‘That’s exactly what you’re not doing. You don’t even know what the evidence is. You haven’t received a single report from my office or the labs. You haven’t received a profile from the FBI. Have you even talked to Marino or Grigg?’

‘We keep missing each other.’ He got up and put his jacket back on. ‘I need those reports.’ It sounded like an order. ‘The C.A. will be calling you. By the way, how’s Lucy?’

I did not want him to even know my niece’s name, and it was evident by the surprised, angry look in my eyes.

‘I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted,’ I coolly replied.

‘I sat in on one of her classes, I don’t know, a couple months back. She was talking about CAIN.’

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