As expected, Rod Dutt was not the killer. His alibi was solid: on the night of Beatriz Santos' disappearance, he had been drinking at a bar with friends. Jubal contacted the local police, who provided surveillance footage from outside the bar, confirming Dutt's claim.
However, Hannah ensured that Dutt wouldn't walk free. She contacted his parole officer, and he was promptly sent back to prison for violating his parole. His new offense? Taking people's social media photos, maliciously editing them, and spreading them online—a blatant breach of his release terms.
While Hannah and Aubrey didn't uncover a direct link to the murders, they did extract a key lead from Dutt. He confessed to resenting Beatriz Santos after she rejected his advances, which led him to create maliciously edited images of her. These images were shared in a notorious Incel-type online chatroom.
The term "Incel" is short for "involuntarily celibate." Originally a self-deprecating term for people who struggled to find romantic partners, it has since become associated with misogynistic men who harbor resentment against women.
In these online communities, women are referred to as "Stacys"—symbols of physical attractiveness and dismissive superiority—while successful men are labeled "Chads." Stacys are simultaneously desired and scorned, perceived as being only interested in Chads, while viewing Incels as beneath them.
To Dutt, Beatriz was a Stacy who looked down on him, a "lowly" man. Meanwhile, someone like Aubrey—wealthy, charming, and successful with women—was a classic Chad.
Dutt's malicious behavior didn't stop at photos. He had also uploaded personal information about Beatriz, including her measurements, workplace, address, and fabricated accusations, such as calling her shallow and suggesting she would have reciprocated if a wealthy, attractive man had approached her instead of him.
Surprisingly, analysts at the operations center found profiles for the other two victims in the same chatroom. It became clear this forum was where the killer selected his targets and gathered information about them.
However, this discovery presented a challenge. Although the website wasn't large—it had fewer than 10,000 active users—everyone used anonymous accounts. No one was foolish enough to register with their real names.
Obtaining a search warrant for the site was unlikely. The court would hesitate to infringe on privacy rights, especially since this was a serial killer investigation, not a counterterrorism case. While the FBI's IT department could hack the site's firewall and retrieve user IPs, doing so would violate due process, rendering any findings inadmissible in court.
The only viable option was to seek the site's cooperation. This unenviable task was assigned to Isobel as her first test in the field.
That evening, Jack was about to head to his new apartment at the Long Beach office when Jubal invited him to a bar.
Over a glass of bourbon for Jack and a glass of iced lemonade for himself, Jubal hesitated before speaking. "I need your help with an old case."
Jack had sensed this coming and sipped his drink. "Is it connected to today's case?"
Jubal's expression turned uncertain. "I'm not sure. Three years ago, I worked on a rape and murder case. A guy named Keri McMay was convicted of assaulting and killing a young woman in North Westchester."
Jack immediately understood why Jubal had seemed so distracted earlier. "The methods and tools used in that case are similar to today's murders? Using wires to weigh down the bodies and tying square knots?"
Jubal nodded, relieved to have someone on the same wavelength. "Same cause of death too—strangulation. And the victims' wedding rings were also missing. But back then, we didn't think much of the missing rings."
Jack mused, "If this was three years ago, McMay shouldn't be eligible for parole yet. What's troubling you? A copycat? That wouldn't explain much, considering McMay only killed one person. Was there something unique about that case?"
Jubal sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "That's the thing. The case wasn't particularly high-profile or unusual. The evidence was solid: we matched the killer's DNA to what was left inside the victim."
Jack had an inkling of where this was going but pressed on. "Are you saying there's a chance Keri McMay was wrongfully convicted? That he wasn't the real killer?"
Jubal hesitated before admitting, "I've considered that possibility, yes."
Jack leaned back in his chair, puzzled. Mistakes happen, but they're part of the job. As long as protocol is followed, errors can be corrected. Why was Jubal so conflicted?
"McMay was a violent drug addict with a criminal record," Jubal explained. "When he was arrested, he ranted incoherently, and the DNA evidence was irrefutable. His sister provided an alibi, but it wasn't credible enough for the court."
His tone was more like someone trying to convince himself than explaining to Jack.
"What really happened?" Jack asked, sensing more to the story.
Jubal hesitated, then confessed, "I've told you before about my drinking problem."
"Of course. You even showed me your sobriety chip. Said you hadn't touched even an Irish coffee since then," Jack recalled.
"That time in my life was a mess. My marriage was falling apart, I was drowning in alcohol, and…" Jubal trailed off, his face reddening slightly.
"And what?" Jack's curiosity was piqued.
"I cheated. My wife and I were separated, but still… I was a wreck."
Although Jack was the one drinking bourbon, it was Jubal who looked like he needed it more.
"So, you're worried your personal issues clouded your judgment on the case?" Jack asked, touched that Jubal trusted him enough to share this.
Jubal slumped in his chair, hands running through his hair. "I'm not sure. But what if?"
Jack, moved by his friend's honesty, didn't hesitate to agree. "Alright, I'll help. Bring me the case files and interrogation footage tomorrow. I'll go over everything and figure out where to start. Theoretically, even DNA evidence doesn't guarantee guilt—there's always room for doubt."
But Jack's tone grew serious. "You need to understand something. If this turns out to be a wrongful conviction, your entire investigation will be scrutinized. If they find any slip-ups, your FBI career could be over. I won't be able to shield you from that. You should inform Director Moje."
Jubal's expression softened. "McMay was sentenced to 30 years and has already served three in maximum security. If this is a mistake, we need to correct it and find the real killer. That's what matters. If you uncover anything, let me know right away. I'll handle Moje personally."
(End of Chapter)
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