Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
T he conference room in the Waverly County Police Department felt unusually small for Brad and John Larson as they sat across from one another, a whiteboard beside them filled with scribbled notes, names, and dates.
Brad leaned forward, rubbing his temples as he studied the list of names underlined on the board, including the nine forensic psychologists who had been murdered in the past three years. Isobel’s name sat at the bottom of the list, circled multiple times in red. She was the only one still alive, and they both knew it was only a matter of time before the killer came for her again.
Larson stood beside the board, arms crossed, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Nine dead psychologists, all forensic experts, all involved in high-profile criminal cases. Whoever’s doing this knows their work inside and out. This isn’t just some random killer.”
Brad nodded, his jaw clenched. “And it’s not just someone obsessed with killing psychologists—it’s someone with a deep understanding of the cases they’ve worked on. My thought, given the contents of the notes, is the deaths surrounding each psychologist were related to their specific cases. Each psychologist’s murder was surrounded by their own separate moons of related murders, but what connects each of the ten?”
“We have Isobel’s profile. Is Kathy the only victim who had a personal connection to the psychologist?” Larson asked.
Brad grabbed the stacks of files and handed half to Larson. After two grueling hours, both men agreed Kathy was the only personal connection to their particular psychologist.
Larson stepped forward and uncapped the marker, writing down the common elements between the victims: Forensic psychology, criminal casework, publicized trials. He drew lines between the words, connecting them to the psychologists' names. “This guy knows Isobel’s cases better than anyone. He’s watching her, studying her, and I don’t think he’s just targeting her because of her recent work.”
“That’s what’s been bothering me,” Brad said, sitting up straighter. “The connection isn’t just with Isobel’s current cases—it goes deeper, back to her early career. Her internship. We need to start looking at people she’s worked with, people who’ve crossed paths with her, and then link the other psychologists. If Belle’s profile is as accurate as I think, the murderer killed Kathy because Isobel hasn’t crumbled.”
Larson turned toward the whiteboard, adding another layer of connections: Shared casework? Conferences? Academic circles? The list of possibilities felt endless, but they had to start somewhere.
Brad’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair. “I spent the last few nights reading every case she ever worked on or contributed to or wrote a paper about. More importantly, Belle adds notations to her notes. References to back up her theories. There’s something I found in her old files—one name that kept coming up in the academic work when she was a student. Dr. Malcolm Hale. He was a big deal in forensic psychology until his reputation went up in flames. Accusations of unethical practices, manipulating results, getting too close to violent criminals. He was basically blacklisted. Then she stopped referencing him unless it was to cite what not to do.”
“Hale? I’m sure she wasn’t the only psychologist who stopped referencing him.” Larson frowned, scribbling the name onto the board. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He was involved in a high-profile murder case about eight years ago,” Brad continued, the pieces starting to come together. “He was an expert witness for the prosecution in the case. The son of a major film actor was convicted of killing his girlfriend. The pair frequented an adult lifestyle club in LA. The conviction was dismissed on appeal. He was disgraced after it came out that he falsified data in his psychological evaluation. In his testimony for the prosecution, it was found he pushed his own theories about Dominance and submission without credible research. He was trying to prove a point about control and the human mind.”
“Was Isobel a student then?”
“Not in graduate school. She was twenty and an undergraduate here.” Brad looked at his notes.
“That was when the trial took place, but when was the appeal?” Larson began typing frantically on the computer. He stared at the screen and growled, “Shit.”
Brad moved around the table to see what Larson was looking at. Three years ago, it was a single line in a column in the LA Times . Dr. Stuart Murdoch testified at the new trial. But Isobel was named as a post-doctorate student who found the anomaly in Hale’s statistics.
Larson’s eyes darkened with recognition. “I remember him now. I came across his name while working one of my undercover cases in L.A. He was tied to some real dangerous circles, people who were obsessed with physical and psychological power dynamics. But I never made the connection before.”
Brad stood up, pacing in front of the board. “I think Hale’s been watching Isobel since her graduate studies. He’s not just obsessed with her work—he’s obsessed with proving his theories. The people he’s targeting are the ones who’ve tried to understand these violent criminals. That’s why he’s going after forensic psychologists. He’s punishing them for getting it wrong.”
Larson nodded, adding more notes to the board. “If that’s true, he’s choosing them based on their work. He’s biding his time. He’s refining his skills. And Isobel—she destroyed him.”
"I think she represents something to him," Brad said, his voice rough. "Maybe she’s the ultimate test. With every victim, he’s been measuring how far he can push, seeing how much they can take before they break. We need to look at the other deaths. Were the other psychologists naturally submissive? Did they fold under pressure? What was their mental state leading up to their deaths? Were there signs they had already been crushed before he even laid a hand on them?"
His eyes narrowed as the details began to fall into place in his mind. "It’s not the kill. It’s about the process of breaking them down, piece by piece. Once they gave in, he killed them. He waits for the moment they’re at their lowest—the trigger."
Brad shifted his stance, frustration evident in the tight set of his shoulders. "But Isobel’s different. She’s still standing. She’s the only one he hasn’t broken yet." His eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. "That’s why he’s escalating. Every move he’s made, every step closer, it’s all leading to this. Kathy’s murder wasn’t random—it was a message, a sign he’s closing in on finishing what he started."
Brad’s chest tightened. "He’s not going to stop until he wins—or we take him down first."
Larson leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he considered Brad’s words. He exhaled slowly, as though weighing each word before speaking. “He’s got to be close when it happens,” Larson said, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s not enough for him to hurt them from a distance, to wait for them to crumble on their own. No—he needs to see it. To feel it.”
Brad frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece it together. “See what?”
“The moment they break,” Larson replied. “That’s what he’s watching for. He doesn’t just kill for the sake of it. It’s about control—about domination. He needs to be close enough to witness it. Every victim, every psychologist... he gets close enough to see them unravel.”
Larson leaned in closer, his eyes dark with understanding, as if he'd seen this kind of evil before. “Think about it, Brad. He’s watching them, stalking them—looking for that crack. They put on brave faces, try to hold it together. But he knows the signs. Maybe it’s the way their hands start to shake, or how their eyes dart around the room like they can’t find a way out. He watches them break piece by piece. That’s what he’s feeding on.”
Brad’s stomach twisted. “It’s not just physical. It’s mental. He gets close enough to watch them collapse under the pressure.”
“Exactly,” Larson confirmed. “He’s probably watching them for days, weeks even, waiting for that moment when they can’t take it anymore. Maybe they miss a step in their routine, or they start withdrawing from the people around them. And when he’s sure they’ve lost that last bit of strength, when he knows they’ve given up, he strikes. That’s the trigger, Brad. When they’re at their weakest. That’s why he had to kill Kathy, and that’s why he’s so obsessed with Isobel. She’s still standing. He’s been close enough to see it, but she hasn’t broken. Not yet.”
“Isobel isn’t just another victim to this monster—she is the ultimate challenge. The one who refused to fall.”
Larson nodded grimly. “Yeah. Now we have to find him.”
They both fell into a tense silence.
Brad and John had uncovered key pieces of the mystery that had eluded them for weeks, but one critical question remained: how had Malcolm Hale managed to stay hidden for so long, moving from city to city, leaving bodies in his wake, and avoiding detection?
Larson tapped his pen on the table, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Malcolm Hale hasn’t vanished. To murder like this, he’s been using aliases. There’s a pattern we’re missing. We need to figure out how he chooses these identities and where he’s been hiding.”
Brad nodded. “Hale is a man of intelligence and obsession—meticulous in planning every move, but even the most careful man leaves traces. Let’s go over what we have on his past," he suggested. "We know he was discredited and ruined in the professional psychology world after those accusations of unethical practices. He disappeared after that scandal, right?"
Larson nodded, pulling up Hale’s background on his laptop. "Exactly. His academic career ended when the fallout from his falsified reports went public. But that’s when things get fuzzy. He didn’t just disappear—he erased himself. Possibly changed identities. Moved in the shadows.”
Brad glanced at the whiteboard filled with connections, his gaze locking onto the timeline they had built. "Follow the money. How is he supporting himself? If we can figure out how, we can trace him. The cases he imitated started five years ago when Isobel was in grad school. We need to do a search to see if there were any deaths of psychologists in that time frame.”
“That would predate the first murder we know about by two years. Has it always been leading up to Isobel?” Larson stared at the whiteboard.
Larson flipped through the folders in front of him, scanning old witness reports, travel records, and interviews. "I’ve been working on this for three years. The LA murders were meticulous. The crime scenes gave nothing. The witness statements of people in the area were varied. By then I had three dead psychologists.”
"Let’s start with the first murder," Brad said, his voice steady as he leaned forward. "The first forensic psychologist who was killed—Dr. Elaine Spencer. She was in LA, right?"
Larson nodded. "Yeah, she was the first I know of. Heavy sexual undertones. That’s when I found the first array of deaths tied to her. The canvas results are burned into my eyelids. We talked with over one hundred people. Hale must have been in the area in a new alias and disguise. For all I know, we spoke with him.”
Brad tapped the table, deep in thought. "Hale’s a man obsessed with control, with dominance. He wouldn’t pick random aliases. There has to be something personal about the names he uses—something that ties them to his identity, but in a way only he understands."
Larson frowned, leaning back in his chair. "You think he’s using variations of his own name? Like playing a game with himself?"
"Exactly," Brad replied, his eyes lighting up. "Hale’s egotistical, but he’s also calculated. He wants to hide, but not too much. He’d use names that mean something to him, but only subtly—enough to feel like he’s still in control, still leaving his mark."
They both turned to the files in front of them. Larson began typing, pulling up every name they had discovered connected to the murders in the cities that had taken place. After a few minutes, a list of names appeared on the screen. Then they sifted through names close to Malcolm Hale: Marius Haven, Martin Hall, Max Healy, Mal Hays, Micah Huxley.
"All MH," Larson muttered, shaking his head in frustration. "It was right in front of me, but I didn’t see it.”
“John, don’t blame yourself.” Brad leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "We now have the data in front of us. That’s why it pops. Every murder has a potential witness with names starting with M. H. He’s keeping his initials in every alias. Now we need to run each of them to see if they exist.”
"Son of a bitch," Larson muttered, realization dawning on him. "He’s arrogant enough to stay close to his real identity."
"And it’s why the people who knew him professionally didn’t recognize him," Brad added. "He’s been hiding in plain sight, attending conferences and seminars, still connected to the psychology world, but under these new names along with a disguise."
Brad and John spent the next two hours pulling up more records on his laptop, cross-referencing the names they had with travel records and academic conferences. "Hale’s been to Waverly County before. He lectured under the alias ‘Marvin Hays’ three years ago.” He growled. “Look at his curriculum vitae. He gave them his own but changed the name and photograph.”
“And no one confirmed it as true.” Brad’s heart pounded in his chest as the pieces clicked together. "He’s been in her circle for years. It’s a small cohort in forensic psychology. He’s been watching forensic psychologists for years."
Larson nodded grimly. "He’s been tracking her, learning everything about her—and now, he’s targeting her personally."
Brad’s face hardened with resolve. "Isobel’s next, especially if he saw her fall apart in the lobby of her office yesterday. We have to get to him before he makes his final move."
Larson closed his laptop, standing up. "I’ll get a rapid response team together."
Brad’s shoulders tightened. “He’s not popping up as a commonality in police department screen grabs from the murder scenes because he’s altered his appearance. We need to also run any real estate holdings in his name and any of the aliases.”
“That’s a lot to look at.” Larson nodded, pulling up records of forensic psychology conferences from the past few years. They worked in silence, the clattering of keys the only sound in the room. Then, he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the screen.
“Brad, look at this.” Larson turned the laptop toward him. “Dr. Max Healy attended a psychology panel discussion in Sioux Falls five years ago. Isobel Everhart was awarded a scholarship for post-graduate education. And the timeline matches with when the murders started happening.”
Brad’s heart pounded. “She wasn’t working then. It’s been her. Not for her work—just her.”
Larson leaned back, exhaling slowly.
The pieces were finally falling into place. Hale had been living in the shadows, targeting forensic psychologists one by one, studying them before striking. His obsession with control and dominance had evolved into something far more dangerous—something personal.
“We need to track down anyone who knew him closely back then,” Brad said, determination flooding his voice. “Find out if they know anything about where he’s been staying, and who he’s been in contact with.”
Larson nodded. “I’ll start reaching out to some of the witnesses from the cases. I’ll get them to work with a sketch artist. We can look for common features. And you can reach out to see if anyone remembers him from the panel that took place in Sioux Falls. We also need to check in with every adult lifestyle club in the area. They’re long shots, but someone may know something.”
Brad frowned. “As far as the adult scene, I’d like to check in with Jesse Gentry. He owns The Loft. He’s also a psychologist.”
Larson agreed.
As they worked through the afternoon, the picture of Malcolm Hale became clearer. His fall from grace had led him down a dark path, and now, his obsession with proving his twisted theories had turned into a killing spree fueled by revenge.