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“Good evening, I’m Tyler Hudson, and you’re watching Crime Bites, the show where we pull back the veil over the world of crime and reveal what evil lurks in the shadows. Today, well… I think we all know what case we’re talking about today.”

"No, please, Tyler," Faith said drily. "Tell us."

“On July 21, 1988, jury selection for the Night Stalker case began and some say what we’re seeing in the West trial is eerily similar. We have a great friend to the show, Benjamin Trainor, legal historian, with us today. Bennie, welcome.”

“Thanks for having me.”

Turk put his head on FBI Special Agent Faith Bold’s lap and looked up at her. She ruffled the big German Shepherd’s fur and grumbled, “I know. But I’m not going to turn it off, so deal with it.”

Trainor, the latest in a long line of vapid talking heads Tyler Hudson had chosen for his show, began to offer his typically bullshit opinion of something he knew far less about than he thought he did. “A lot of the talk is just a lack of knowledge. Certainly, it will take a lot of work to seat a jury but most people forget that when the jury selection started with Richard Ramirez, jury selection was also starting for Randy Kraft.”

“Randy Kraft? I’m not familiar.”

“He was known as the Freeway Killer,” Trainor explained. “Some called him the Southern California Strangler or the Scorecard Killer. He was a far more prolific killer than Ramirez. Ramirez is credibly connected to fourteen murders and was convicted in one. Kraft may have killed as many as sixty-seven.”

“So the point is there were two very significant serial killer trials going on at the very same time in a small geographical area. Los Angeles County and Orange County in Southern California. They were expected to interview more than two thousand potential jurors just to seat the jury—they ended up with sixteen hundred interviews."

She sighed and stood. “I’m gonna make some food. You want something?”

In the two and a half years she’d known Turk, he had not once refused food. He barked happily, and she chuckled and ruffled his fur. “Call me when they get to the West case.”

She made a TV dinner for herself and opened a can of food for Turk. When she cooked, she would usually cook some meat for him, but that wasn’t very often. Fortunately, the Bureau paid for the expensive dog food she had chosen so she could feed him something natural and healthy instead of the processed crap they sold in supermarkets.

The host continued to drone about the Richard Ramirez case, and Trainor sprinkled in anecdotes about the Scorecard Killer. Faith chuckled and shook her head as she brought their food back to the living room. "It's always the same," she said, once more disturbed by how jaded she sounded.

It was true, though. The media loved making serial killers celebrities. They gave them colorful names—the Night Stalker, the Vampire of Twin Cities Terminal, the Son of Sam, the Donkey Killer—and talked about them like they were movie stars. It was gross, and it was even grosser that so many people consumed this kind of entertainment.

But what really pissed Faith off was how much they got wrong.

“What we have with West,” Trainor said, “Is a very similar case to that of Ramirez but in a package as prolific as Kraft.”

“You believe West is similar to the Night Stalker?”

“Oh yes. He’s a violent sexual deviant, likely impotent, who causes pain as a substitute for pleasure and uses a knife to penetrate victims rather than… well, I think we can guess.”

The host laughed politely. Faith laughed, too, but hers was bitter and contemptuous.

“West is nothing like Ramirez.”

Turk whimpered and lifted his head to look at her again. She patted his head and tried to control her breathing so she wouldn’t seem distressed. It occurred to her that watching news coverage about the proceedings might not be a smart idea. She’d already given her statements and exercised the option—as one of West’s victims—to avoid seeing him in court. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore, but she hated courtroom work when she didn’t have a personal connection to a case. She had no desire to deal with the stress of the courtroom when the case was a core part of who she had been for the past two years.

She would watch the case, though. Smart or not, she was pretty sure she couldn’t resist it.

"The actual means by which West kills his victims calls to mind killers such as Dennis Rader, the infamous BTK killer. In fact, I believe he shares as much in common with Rader as he does with Ramirez. Bind, Torture, and Kill could just as easily describe West's MO as Rader's."

“God, you stupid prick.” She scratched the top of Turk’s head to forestall any concern he might show.

But they were just so stupid. How could they say that West was anything like Rader? Just because he tied his victims up? Bondage was something many serial killers used as part of their MO. More often than not, it was for practical reasons, not psychological reasons. It was easier to kill someone who couldn’t fight back.

They were just namedropping serial killers like they would name drop movie stars. “God damned parasites.”

Faith reached for the remote, but when she heard her name, she stopped.

Tyler, the host, was speaking. “I’m particularly fascinated by his obsession with Special Agent Faith Bold of the FBI’s Philadelphia Field Office. According to our sources, she’s testified in a written statement that West tormented her for years, even posing as her therapist for months. Do you believe this was motivated by sexual attraction for Special Agent Bold?”

“Oh, certainly, Trainor replied. “And I believe it was exacerbated by her position as an authority figure. I postulate that West has harbored deviant attractions to female authority figures in his past. This draws parallels to cases like that of Ed Kemper—”

Faith switched the TV off and resisted the urge to throw the remote at the tv.

Why did everything come down to sex when people talked about killers? West wasn’t obsessed with Faith because he wanted to screw her. In fact, Faith was pretty sure West wasn’t interested in sex at all.

West wasn’t using murder to substitute for sex. He was using it to play God. He wanted to dominate people completely, to render them nothing more than toys subject entirely to his will. In a way, she supposed, that was similar to Rader, but there was no sexual motivation at all in his actions.

He was obsessed with Faith because she had escaped his god. He believed that Jethro Trammell, the original Donkey Killer, had failed to break Faith’s spirit. He wanted to surpass Trammell by breaking Faith’s soul before he broke her body. In fact, Faith wasn’t even sure he intended to kill her. He’d passed up several good opportunities to do just that. He was more interested in destroying her will.

He had failed at that too. But he had come damned close to succeeding, and he had left deep scars in his wake.

That was what made him different from Rader or Bundy or Ramirez. They all wanted to possess their victim’s bodies. West wanted to possess their souls.

She stood and sighed heavily. She was right. She shouldn’t have watched that damned special. “You want to go for a run, boy? Mommy needs to work out some negative energy.”

Turk, his belly full from his meal, whined plaintively.

“A walk, then,” Faith amended. “That sound good?”

Turk barked approvingly and got to his feet. Faith smiled at the overgrown puppy, and the tension in her shoulders faded.

It didn’t matter anymore. Let the tabloids and the shock shows have their fun. Let them spout whatever bullshit they wanted. They couldn’t hurt her. West couldn’t hurt her.

She had won.

She pulled on a sweater and shoes, then laced her hair up in a ponytail. Turk waited for her by the door, tail wagging happily, eyes as bright and sweet and loving as ever.

She grinned and ruffled his fur again. “Just a nice easy walk, boy. No bad guys to catch tonight.”

Turk seemed happy with that, but as Faith led him down the stairs and out into the city, she found herself wishing some villain was out there on whom she could release her frustration.