Free Splintered by SJD Peterson Page B

Homophobic.
    Single. Introvert with few friends.
    Ritualistic. The ritual is intoxicating.
    “Hey, Byte,” Hutch called out. “Are you absolutely sure you can’t find any cases prior to Jared Martin that we could attribute to our guy?”
    “Nope,” Byte responded without looking up from his computer. “I know it seems impossible, but even with the incompetence, I think this fucker was as good with his first kill as he is with his eighteenth. He’s organized, meticulous, wouldn’t surprise me if he suffers from some form of OCD.”
    Hutch added OCD? to his profile and then tapped his pen against the paper. This killer was smart. Very smart. Hutch had never encountered one as well organized and cunning. In his experience, serial killers evolved, learned from their mistakes, and perfected it. Not this one. This one was special. He’d studied, cultivated his technique even before he struck. But what if the killer wasn’t just smart, but also lucky? Hutch jerked upright as it hit him. Maybe they just hadn’t found the bodies of the first.
    “What about missing gay men prior to Martin?” Hutch asked hopefully.
    “I thought of that too,” Byte admitted. “In 2006 there was a young man who went missing from a gay club. He resurfaced in ’07, however. Apparently he’d gotten hooked on meth and was living and working on the streets.”
    “Shit!”
    Hutch slumped back in his chair and added Above-average intelligence, highly organized, possible military or law enforcement background. Superior knowledge of forensics to his profile.
    Hutch then turned his thoughts toward the condition of the victims. The torture could easily be attributed to a sexual sadist, but the mutilation of the victim’s genitalia screamed self-loathing in the killer, almost as is if he were trying to eradicate the offending organ.
    Raised in a fanatically religious atmosphere. Likely missing or unknown father in the household. Probable mother also absent or incapable of nurturing. Older relative? Aging grandmother? Aunt?
    “Whoa! I got your man,” Byte said excitedly.
    Hutch tossed his notepad aside and jumped to his feet. “Our killer?”
    “I’m good, but not that fucking good,” Byte chuckled. “Check this out!”
    A familiar shaggy-headed man stared back at Hutch through the computer screen. “That’s him! Got a name?”
    “Yup.” Byte clicked a few buttons on his laptop, and the stranger’s history popped up on the screen. “Meet Noah Walker. The interesting thing is I cross-referenced his photo with other crime scene photos and found him among the crowd at many of the scenes.”
    “How old?”
    “He’s twenty-six.”
    A bit younger than Hutch would have thought based on the profile, but only by four years. “What about his profession?”
    “It says student. Hold on,” Byte muttered, and his hands flew across the keyboard.
    Hutch’s pulse began to quicken, and he started to pace. He still couldn’t come up with where he’d seen the kid—the man—before. Why? Why was this guy familiar to him? Where had he seen him before?
    “He’s a graduate student,” Byte informed Hutch. “Hey, this is interesting. He’s working on his PhD in psychology. Criminal psychology, to be exact.”
    Hutch tossed that fact over in his mind. Was that where he’d seen Noah before? Perhaps at a lecture he’d given? During an interview? He’d once worked a case where the psychiatrist stalked and eventually murdered the object of their delusional love interest. There was a second case where a psychiatrist murdered one of her patients when he refused to return her attentions. Not military or law enforcement, but still smart. He would have studied crime and would have an understanding of forensics. Noah, so far, was fitting the profile Hutch had begun to form.
    “What about family history?” Hutch inquired. “Does it say anything about his parents?”
    “Whose parents?” Granite asked as he stepped into the room still towel drying his