As he worked through the night, Mike's mind continued to wander to his partner, trying to envision how things were looking on Steve's end by now. As the leads began to dry up the farther along the early morning went, a certain sense of doom could be felt in every corner of the unusually busy bullpen.
Staffing had been increased to maximum levels and not a single active detective was at home that night. It both, instilled a certain amount of pride into Mike, and helped ease some of the incredible worry weighing down his weary soul.
The late-night press conference had done nothing to diminish the anger he was holding within. Anger at himself for letting his partner venture out alone. Anger at their suspect for choosing Steve of all people. Anger at Andre for somehow being involved in this situation and not manning up to it. And anger at both, Steve and himself for letting their personal issues get in the way of a dangerous case that had demanded their utmost attention.
With his mind deeply engrossed in the R&I report in front of him, Mike never heard the knock on his doorframe, until he saw a figure shift uncomfortably in his peripheral vision.
"And just what in the world are you doing here? You're supposed to be home and resting!"
Taking off his thick-framed reading glasses, Mike got up from behind his desk to greet Bill Tanner, who smiled at him faintly.
"Lee called me and told me what happened. I couldn't just stay home and do nothing. I feel horrible about all this. That was our case."
With his hoarse voice and pale features, Bill looked decidedly under the weather still. But Mike couldn't shake the gratitude of having another set of eyes join them in bullpen, one who was all too familiar with their case.
Shaking the African American Inspector's hand briefly, Mike crossed his arms in front of his chest, before sighing.
"There was nothing you could have done. Just…I want you to take it easy, ok? If you start looking any worse, I am going to drive you home personally."
"You have my word…", Bill noted obediently and pointed his chin at the thick file under his left arm, "I might have something. It's a long shot, but it seems to fit every angle of our investigation, although in the strangest ways possible."
"Then I definitely want to hear it."
Feeling some hope return at 3am on that somber morning, Mike circled his desk before leaning against the large outside window, hands behind his back as he watched Tanner intently.
"See, I know you had already checked out all the pharmacies for any sighting of Al previously, but I wanted to go through the records from R&I one more time and change parameters a bit. Lenny said that the hidden hand, the actual killer might be a female, and that the amount of CPZ needed would be considerably high for what they are doing, so I looked through these prescriptions and found a match…I think..."
Accepting and opening the file Tanner handed him, Mike found the profile and image of a delicate red-headed woman inside, whose short record of misdemeanors wasn't exactly making her look like a serial killer. As he reached for the black reading glasses on the desk, Bill cleared his throat, noting his growing apprehension.
"Susan Hamlin, forty-three years old, diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, mostly on the schizophrenic side. Diagnosis happened some fifteen years ago. The psychiatrist listed her symptoms as severely delusional, taking on other personas, holding on to false believes even when confronted with facts to prove the truth, heightened sense of confidence, hyperactive sex drive to a point that she would repeatedly engage in unprotected intercourse with strangers just for the kicks. No criminal record except one breaking and entering when she was a teenager and a disorderly conduct three years ago when she got a parking ticket and decided to beat up on the police officer who handed it to her. They decreased those charges because of her mental condition. Susan's been on meds for her disease, and actually had a decently-paying job as a wellness therapist. Eighteen months ago, she fell off the bandwagon, stopped to take her medication and lost her practice and her apartment, been living on the streets since. But then eight weeks ago, she started to refill her 'scrips again. And she's been eagerly picking them up at the pharmacy ever since."
Scanning the information ahead, Mike pursed his lips, the gears in his mind turning at maximum speed.
"What does a wellness therapist do?"
"I asked myself that same question, Mike.", Bill noted and ran a nervous hand over his mustache, "Sounds like she uses a form of massage and voice therapy to help people with depression and anxiety. In that form of practice, there's a firm belief that a human touch in the right spot and with the right amount of pressure doesn't just relieve physical pain but can also help heal the soul. Some of the better-known wellness therapists can actually use the pitch of their voice to put somebody into a state of deep hypnosis."
"Deep hypnosis, you say…", as his mind was beginning to put the puzzle pieces together, a growing unease began to spread in his gut, "Maybe this isn't all that far out, Bill. Think about it. Between the mind-altering drugs and her training, it would be easy for her to confuse our victims into thinking that she's their safe haven. Just like Lenny said, this might give her a false sense of being in control of somebody else. She may have lost her practice, but she might still crave that level of control she bestowed upon her patients. Except now she's using it to control Al and to manipulate her victims."
"But why the killing? And why the repeated kidnappings?"
"I am not sure. Something could have happened during that time she lived on the streets. She could be so bent that she doesn't realize that she's killing those people. This whole case could be her self-endowed fantasy world and she's using Al to bring her human trophies of sorts. Tell you what, call up Murchinson, pull him out of bed if you have to. I want him to look at this profile, because I think you hit gold, my friend."