"SUSPECT ZERO" Screenplay by Paul Schrader 1998 Draft Script UNPRODUCED CREDITS Intercut male faces from all around America: mostly white, mostly 20-35. These are the killers in our midst. Varying film stocks and formats: video, telephoto, digitized -- some anecdotal, some subliminal. Over the images a montage of speech synthesized voices from Internet chat rooms: "Got a nice package," "...the look in her eyes -- the wild look that says please, I'll do anything," "Friday is my day," "item's fingernails had cyanotic hue," "nylon sports pants," "screaming like a little piggie." END CREDITS EXT. NUEVO AMERICAN DINER MAGIC HOUR A gas station/diner combo on a deserted stretch of US 54. Bluish fluorescents over the pumps contrast with incandescent light from within the diner interior. Cars and pickups with Texas and New Mexico plates and bumper stickers ("I'm Texican and Proud of It") parked outside. CUT TO: INT. NUEVO AMERICAN MAGIC HOUR HAROLD SPECK, 35, a fleshy man in a tired brown suit, sits in an orange vinyl booth sipping coffee, poking at a piece of coffee cake. A large salesman's case rests on the seat beside him. Harold's POV: JANITA, a thirtiesh waitress stands by the cash register, looks at her watch, looks at the clock (7:30), looks back at her watch. An older couple sits in a booth away from Speck; a solo trucker at the counter motions to Janita. She refills his coffee. A poster, "Rattlesnakes of the Southwest," hangs beside community notices and "For Sale" advertisements. A slouching man, 45-55, wearing soiled Sears work clothes and an orange hard hat, slips into the seat across from Speck. At the moment his name is unknown to us; later we will discover he is RICHARD LOW. Harold looks up, startled: HAROLD Jesus. LOW Hi. What's in the case? Speck glances around; there are plenty of open tables. HAROLD You... surprised me. LOW Sorry. I've seen you in here. Always lugging that case around. (Harold nods) Whatja sell? HAROLD Ah... restaurant supplies. I didn't get your name. LOW You must travel a lot, huh? HAROLD Yeah. LOW Whole country or just hereabouts? HAROLD I don't mean to be rude, but... LOW Just gettin' a jolt of java before headin' on home? (beat) How does your wife feel about it? HAROLD What? LOW About your being away all the time. Must get lonely. HAROLD Look... LOW You must get lonely. You ever think about, you know... (winks) HAROLD Excuse me? LOW You know, you ever think about other women? Talking, Low reaches into his right pocket, pulls out 3x5 photographs, places them on the table. Low's fingertips have a waxy sheen. HAROLD What are you...? LOW Fucking. I'm talking about fucking, Harold. You ever think of fucking other women? Speck, fixed on the photos of naked women, glances up at the sound of his name: how did he know that? HAROLD Look, mister... LOW Take a look, Harold. Tell me if you see anything you want. You do like to look, don't you? Low points to a particularly explicit photo, all the while reaching with his other hand into his left pocket. LOW You like? If not, I've got these. Low places a second collection of snapshots on the table. The top picture, difficult to make out, shows something far more graphic than the others. Speck goes white: HAROLD My God. LOW Not bad, huh? HAROLD (eyes on photos) You're a... you're sick. LOW What's wrong with me? Low reaches for Speck's hand. Harold, pulling his arm back, knocks over his coffee. Low quickly collects the pictures (one falls to the seat), gets up, walks out. Harold, turning his head, spots Janita. She steps over, her eyes asking: "What's going on?" HAROLD (about coffee) Sorry. (looks back) Could I have the check? CUT TO: EXT. NUEVO AMERICAN DINER MAGIC HOUR Speck places his sales case into the front seat of a 1996 Riviera, slides in beside, starts the car and drives off. CUT TO: INT. HAROLD'S CAR NIGHT Speck, back on the highway, breathes a sigh of relief. Headlights hit a sign in the black landscape: "Texas Stateline 2 Miles." Harold, reaching for the radio dial, looks into the rear- view mirror: HAROLD OhmyGod... In the mirror: Richard Low, hard hat exchanged for a full head of graying hair, sits up in the back seat. Harold involuntarily swerves the wheel; Low, reaching across Speck, steadies the car. He wears latex gloves. LOW Calm down, Harold. (Harold catches breath) Okay, here's what we're going to do, Harold: there's a pull off up ahead, we're going to stop there. HAROLD Oh God, mister, please leave me alone. LOW (glancing out window) You're going to miss it. Pay attention. HAROLD What do you want from me? Low reaches forward, grasps Harold's right eyelid between his thumb and forefinger. LOW How'd you like it if I tore off your eyelid, Harold? (tugs at eyelid: Harold winces) You can't blink, you gotta keep your eyes open all the time. You know how painful that is? (beat) Here's the rest stop. Pull over. Harold, panic-stricken, obeys. CUT TO: EXT. TURN-AROUND NIGHT The "rest stop" is little more than an extended shoulder. Speck pulls the Riviera to a stop, cuts the engine; the headlights go dark. CUT TO: INT. HAROLD'S CAR NIGHT Harold's hand is on the headlight switch when he feels a nylon cord tighten around his neck. He tugs at it; Low chokes tighter. LOW Relax, Harold. Speck does; Low loosens the garrote. LOW I've been looking for you. HAROLD Why me? What do you want from me!? Low tightens the noose, leans into Harold's ear, whispers: LOW Murman. Speck's eyes widen as he gasps for air. CUT TO: EXT. FEDERAL BLDG/EL PASO DAY A seven-story red-brick and glass building on East San Antonio Avenue, home of the FBI Field Office. CUT TO: INT. FBI OFFICE DAY The seventh floor elevator opens directly onto a large bullpen. The FBI seal is featured prominently on a wall leading to private offices. THOMAS MACKELWAY, 28, sports jacket and tie, works at a computer terminal in one of a half-dozen cubicles. The Bureau is a button-down world, even in sun-drenched downtown El Paso, a half mile from Mexico. The elevator opens: CHUCK SALINAS, 40, the Supervisory Agent in Charge, enters, carry-on bag over his shoulder. Seated agents look up, stop what they're doing. AGENT JOHN DUNCAN steps over: DUNCAN Welcome back, sir. How was the vacation? SALINAS Takes four days to chill, then its time to come back. (looking around, spots Mack) Is that...? DUNCAN Yeah. Mack stands as Salinas approaches. His voice and demeanor reflect an East Coast upbringing: MACKELWAY Good morning, sir. Agent Salinas, sir. SALINAS So you're the new meat? MACKELWAY Yes, sir. SALINAS What did you do to end up here? MACKELWAY I believe it's in my file, sir. SALINAS (to Duncan) Johnny, get this man's file. Mackelway, right? MACKELWAY Thomas Mackelway. SALINAS Hot enough for you, Agent Mackelway? Hell's doorknob. What they got you doing? MACKELWAY Updating the condition of all Bureau- owned vehicles in the southwest sector, sir. SALINAS Sounds like fun. Duncan hands him a manila file; Salinas opens it. SALINAS "Computer Investigation and Infrastructure Assessment Center." Quantico out of MIT -- you're a techie? (Mack nods) Okay, you screwed up once. So did half the guys here. That's why they're here. MACKELWAY I screwed up twice, sir. SALINAS I see that. Washington to Philadelphia to here. Philly's a nice station. How many agents? MACKELWAY Four hundred and sixty, sir. SALINAS "Attitude Adjustment Issues" -- what the fuck is that supposed to mean? MACKELWAY I wished to be reinstated at Computer Crimes. I was undiplomatic in my request. SALINAS (reading) This is a first. You criticized the Deputy Director to his face and you still have a badge? You must have some one-of-a-kind skills. (Mackelway doesn't answer) Why don't you just quit? I mean, you're not going to get promoted, not wearing this jacket. MACKELWAY I like working for the Bureau, sir. I like catching bad guys. It's all I care about. SALINAS Jesus, just what I need, another blue flamer. (turns to leave) Johnny, get this boy some sun screen. Salinas heads for his office. Mackelway, deflated, plops down in his chair. CUT TO: INT. MACK'S CUBICLE DAY TIMECUT: a list of FBI 4-wheel Arizona plate vehicles scrolls on the screen. Mackelway, bored, bored, bored, sips cold coffee, stretches his shoulders, takes notes. His jacket is hung over his chair, his sleeves rolled up. He glances at his watch. Salinas enters the bullpen area, calls to Duncan: SALINAS Agent Duncan, there's an interstate issue up on 54, run out there. DUNCAN I'm babysitting the DEA guys this afternoon, Casio and I. You said that was top priority. Salinas nods, looks around. He spots Mack's eager eyes. Mack, unrolling his sleeves, buttons his cuffs. SALINAS (calls) Agent Mackelway, you want to get off your ass and do something for a change? MACKELWAY (stands) Yes, sir. SALINAS (walks over) Got a vehicle? (Mack nods) Head north on 54. When you get to New Mexico you've gone too far. Mack takes his gun and shoulder holster out of a drawer as Salinas hands him a slip of paper. SALINAS And Mackelway, when you're dealing with the locals, talk slow. CUT TO: EXT. US 54 AFTERNOON Mackelway drives his Bureau-issue sedan past stretches of sand and mobile homes. He fiddles with the radio dial, goes from one Spanish language station to a second, turns it off. How did he end up here? CUT TO: EXT. TURN-AROUND AFTERNOON The same "rest stop" as earlier, except now filled with Highway Patrol and Police cars from Texas and New Mexico. Mack, flashing his FBI ID, walks to a cluster of cops. HARRY DYLAN, 50, wearing cowboy boots and hat, steps over: DYLAN Agent Mackelway? Salinas said he was sending someone new. Harry Dylan. (they shake) This is my county. This way... They approach a tow truck backed up to an arroyo, passing, as they go, a sign reading "Welcome to New Mexico." MACKELWAY You run the plates? DYLAN Fella's name is Harold Speck, travelin' man out of Roswell. MACKELWAY Excuse me, a salesman gets done in his car and you call the FBI? DYLAN Well, the victim was killed at the turn-around over there, then his car was pushed over here... (points to sign) ...right across the state line. That makes it Federal. This is Officer Wallace, he's out of Alamogordo. Mack shakes hands with New Mexico State Trooper WALLACE, walks past the tow truck, looks into the steep ravine where Speck's Riviera rests balanced precariously on its front bumper. GRANGER, a New Mexico cop, sipping coffee from a take-out cup, steps onto the tire tracks. Mack motions him away; Granger doesn't budge. MACKELWAY Am I talking to myself? This is a crime scene. Granger looks down, steps back. MACKELWAY Thank you. Trooper Wallace turns to JUMBO, the heavy-set tow-truck operator: WALLACE All right, Jumbo, Feds are here. The operator activates the winch. MACKELWAY Hold it, hold it! Jumbo cuts off the winch. Mack removes his jacket, loosens his tie: MACKELWAY I'd better have a look. Dylan turns to his fellow cops: DYLAN Sure. I wouldn't trust those rednecks either. They snicker as Mackelway slips down the ravine. SPECK'S CAR: in the bottom of the ravine, Mack, putting on latex gloves, climbs through the passenger window. He braces his foot against the dash, the force of which unbalances the car: it suddenly SLIPS. Mack tumbles forward, BANGING the rear view mirror, CUTTING his forehead. Harold's body pitches forward against the steering wheel: the horn lets out a continuous BLEAT. AT THE TOW TRUCK: Jumbo, dropping his coffee, grabs for the winch controls: JUMBO Shit! Sheriff Dylan looks over the side: DYLAN You okay? INSIDE SPECK'S CAR: Mackelway uprights himself, wipes blood from his forehead. MACKELWAY Yeah, I'm -- The horn blots out his voice. Mackelway would have stopped speaking in any case -- something has caught his attention. He gingerly pulls back Harold's head. Dried blood streaks from Speck's eye -- his eyelids have been TORN OFF. His neck is striated by a black-and-blue welt. MACKELWAY Jesus. Mack takes a deep breath, takes a quick look around. He spots pocket change and a slip of paper by Harold's feet. Reaching down, Mack retrieves it: it's a receipt from the Nuevo American Diner. CUT TO: EXT. TURN-AROUND LATE DAY TIMECUT: Mackelway leans against the tow truck. Speck's Riviera rests upright on level ground. Wallace smacks an instant ice pack against the side of the truck, hands it to Mackelway. JUMBO Sorry about that. It's an old truck. Mackelway presses the ice pack to his swelling forehead: MACKELWAY Where's the Nuevo American Diner? DYLAN Ten miles back on the Texas side. WALLACE I'd go to Pulski's. She makes this fabulous fried chicken. MACKELWAY Speck had a coffee there last night. 7:40. (to Dylan) This is no robbery. Mackelway takes the keys from the Riviera's ignition, walks around the trunk, unlocks it. GRANGER (to Wallace) What's he doing? Mack pops the trunk, looks inside. Dylan, Wallace, Granger and Jumbo join him. Mack notices white powder amid dark stains. He judges the texture of the powder with a ball-point pen. Granger wets his finger, touches the white powder, puts his finger to his lips. MACKELWAY (grabs Granger's arm) Hey! GRANGER I was going to see if... MACKELWAY Don't put nothing in your mouth. That's just for TV shows. It could be poison for all you know. GRANGER (cowed) It ain't cocaine. MACKELWAY I know. It's lime. DYLAN Lime? GRANGER What are those stains? MACKELWAY You say Speck lived in Roswell? Dylan nods, Mack turns to Wallace: MACKELWAY You got a judge on the hook? We'll need a search warrant pronto. WALLACE (nods) In the morning. CUT TO: EXT. SPECK HOUSE DAY Title card: "Roswell, New Mexico." A suburban ranch-style home: all seems normal, even banal, until the front door opens -- And TWO EMS WORKERS wearing facemasks emerge carrying a green body bag. They navigate the front steps, step past a Huffy bike with training wheels, place the body bag next to four others on the front lawn. Hudspeth County Police and EMS vehicles ring the house. Onlookers and press are ringed off by a yellow crime scene cordon. A Honda Civic turns onto the street, glides past neighbors on porches, police cars, drives up to the yellow tape. A fortiesh WOMAN gets out of the front seat lugging a Wal- Mart bag topped off with light bulbs. She walks toward the house as though, with all this commotion, she's not even sure it's hers. Two CHILDREN, eight and four, trail behind her. They can tell something is wrong -- a feeling exacerbated when the Woman DROPS HER BAG, bulbs popping against the sidewalk, and walks ever quicker to the front door. She RUNS till she sees the body bags, slows, connections filling her mind: the extra miles on the car, the strange women's clothing, that strange smell downstairs... WOMAN Harold! Haarroolldd! Trooper Wallace, approaching, motions to two cops who swoop in, GRAB the kids, now screaming too, as the Woman runs inside. CUT TO: INT. SPECK HOUSE DAY The Woman, screaming all the while, runs past police and EMS personnel, stopping at the cellar steps, looking down at the shadowy figures amid work lights and seeing Harold's computer bench, seeing partially uncovered graves, SEEING limed desiccated bodies. Something, some word gurgles in her throat, and then she vomits, her stomach buckling. Tom Mackelway, RUSHING OVER, grabs her. CUT TO: EXT. SPECK HOUSE DAY Later. The last of the body bags is loaded into the EMS vehicle. Mack stands watching with Agent Duncan and Trooper Wallace. They turn as an unmarked government car is let through the police cordon. Salinas cuts the engine, exits, walks over to them: SALINAS Agents Duncan, Mackelway. (they nod) Anything new? DUNCAN Just mopping up. Nine bodies in all. SALINAS (looks at news crews) Anybody talk to the press? DUNCAN No, sir. SALINAS (to Mack) The diner? MACKELWAY (checks watch) Headed there now. The same shift will be on at noon. SALINAS This case has sent bells and alarms ringing all the way to Washington. Your old boss is coming out. MACKELWAY Koessler? SALINAS The same. A muffled BOOM and YELP comes from inside the house. SALINAS Wha -- ? They head over. An INJURED AGENT wearing blue "FBI" jacket emerges holding a bloodied hand. The press reacts as a medic rushes over to him. SALINAS What happened? INJURED AGENT The computer in the basement. It musta been booby-trapped. I was unplugging it, the hard drive exploded. The medic takes the Injured Agent's hand. CUT TO: INT. NUEVO AMERICAN DINER AFTERNOON Mack and Dylan speak with Janita. A black mother and hyperactive kids sit in the booth the older couple occupied the night before. JANITA Harold, he was a regular. Came in late nights. Didn't talk much. Something happen to him? DYLAN Got himself killed, Jan. JANITA Sweet Jesus on the Cross. MACKELWAY The man who was with him, he was a construction worker? JANITA Yes. MACKELWAY What did he look like? JANITA I didn't wait on him. Fifty or so, white, regular build, needed a shave -- that's all I remember. MACKELWAY How did you know he was a construction worker? JANITA He had an orange hat on. Dylan chuckles. MACKELWAY I hope that wasn't a joke because I can assure you, from personal experience, the FBI does not have a sense of humor. DYLAN That's right, Jan. Mack smiles, gestures to a booth: MACKELWAY He was sitting here? JANITA It's been wiped down a hundred times since then. Mack walks over to the booth, crouches, runs his ball-point along the floor. JANITA There was a car in the lot when we closed. Gone today. MACKELWAY What kind? JANITA An old junker. Like a reservation car. Blue, side door with brown, you know, primer paint. New Mexico plates. A Ford or ah, yeah, a Ford. MACKELWAY (to Dylan) Put a BOLO out on that. Mack reaches out, grabs the orange vinyl booth cushion, yanks it out. Looking under the seat, Mackelway finds a predictable assortment of dustballs, coins, paper napkins, dead roaches -- and the snapshot. JANITA Yeah, I remember. He had some pictures. Mack turns the photo over: it shows, splayed on a concrete floor, a nude female TORSO, minus head, hands and feet -- breasts excised. JANITA My God! CUT TO: EXT. DINER AFTERNOON Mack and Sheriff Dylan walk to their cars. DYLAN Nine bodies in Roswell, now this -- it's getting a little hairy, huh? MACKELWAY I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. DYLAN I know how the Feds like to sit on information. I got something in the car to show you. They step over to Dylan's police car. Dylan removes a folder, hands it to Mack. It's a Missing Persons Report: a photo of KAREN SUMPTER, 15, pretty young girl wearing a bright red T- shirt with the South Park slogan, "Oh My God, They Killed Kenny!" DYLAN Her name is Karen Sumpter, from near Dell City. Just disappeared a couple weeks back. Vanished. MACKELWAY You're thinking...? DYLAN Who knows. MACKELWAY This isn't in our database? DYLAN I just assumed she ran away. Happens a lot around here. Look around. This place is an invitation to run away. CUT TO: INT. EL PASO MORGUE EVENING Harold Speck and his victims have transformed the autopsy examination room into a ghoulish assembly line. M.E. personnel work on the mixed-race female victims; some bodies retain their features, some don't. The leg of a foreground victim has been severed at the ankle; a single stem rose tattoo cut in half. In the distance Salinas and Mackelway stand with GEORGE EAGLEFOOT, the Native American Medical Examiner. He motions to the naked body of Harold Speck. EAGLEFOOT Ligature strangulation, just like his victims. A cord, nylon, you can tell by the indentation signature -- again, like his victims. (points to Speck's penis) Look at that little thing and look at all the trouble it got him in. Should have cut it off. SALINAS I'm not in the mood for Native American wisdom. EAGLEFOOT We had to bring staff in from the whole county to handle this. SALINAS I appreciate it, doctor. You know how it is, press screaming for answers, Washington's all over me. (to Mack) Ever handle a serial case? MACKELWAY No. SALINAS Hope you never do. At first it feels like a sauna, by the time you hit victim four it's a fucking burning shirt factory. Eaglefoot looks up at the sound of an opening door. Deputy Director DAVID KOESSLER, 50, and JAIME KULOK, 26, enter exuding eau de FBI. KOESSLER Chuck, hello. (shake hands) This is Agent Kulok. She has a background in medical forensics. KULOK (off Eaglefoot's reaction) Just an observer. EAGLEFOOT Be my guest, Agent Kulok, scrub suits are in the back. SALINAS This is Agent Mackelway. Mack's attempt to greet Koessler is cut short: KOESSLER I know who he is. (to Kulok) That's the guy who won't take "fuck you" for an answer. (to Eaglefoot) This Speck? (Eaglefoot grunts) What we got? Mack sneaks a second look at Kulok: she's the sort that triggers a second look. SALINAS Speck's the killer all right. We got box loads of evidence. Did 'em all the same way: torture, strangulation. Prostitutes. I don't think we'll be able to write off any outstandings on him -- this is probably the full body count. KOESSLER What about his killer? SALINAS Nada. Vague description, that's all. Fine-tooth-combed Speck's car, the diner: no fingerprints, no trace evidence. KOESSLER What's with the eyelids? EAGLEFOOT Ripped off. By hand, my guess. Perimortal: victim was alive at the time, there's blood on his throat. SALINAS That's the thing. Don't know if it connects, but Harold here had a thing about eyes. Two of the victims had their eyes gouged out, another punctured. Took polaroids after. KOESSLER You have the photo from the diner? SALINAS At the field office. KOESSLER Let's take a look at it. (to Kulok) Drop off my stuff at the hotel after you're done here. Koessler walks off with Salinas, shooting a look back at Mackelway as he goes. CUT TO: EXT/INT MACK'S CAR DAY Mackelway drives Agent Kulok through the downtown area. Her and Koessler's carry-on bags flopped in back. KULOK Thanks for the ride. MACKELWAY They sort of got me on shit detail, no offense. KULOK None taken. MACKELWAY Maybe I shouldn't put it that way. I'm on my best behavior. I've got to watch what I say. KULOK You used to be in the Behavioral Science Unit, right? MACKELWAY (nods) The Academy, then CIIAC. KULOK I read your white paper. It's sort of like the Bible for what they're trying to do in Computer Crime. MACKELWAY How long have you been downtown? KULOK Five months. I love it. Beat. MACKELWAY You work with Koessler? KULOK Not especially. MACKELWAY Why did he come out here? What's going on? KULOK Beats me. He just asked me to come along, double-check the forensics. (beat) What did you do to piss him off? He looks at Jaime, smiles -- better block that thought, he thinks. So does she. KULOK This is a sexy case. MACKELWAY Yeah, you know the vic's car, he was killed this side of the state line, the car then pushed across the border. This by an Unknown Subject, presumably the killer, who left no fucking evidence except the snapshot, which may or may not have been accidental. KULOK Doesn't fit. MACKELWAY This is no random killing, no one shot deal. The UNSUB has killed before; he's good at it. So what do we have? (beat) We have someone who has killed before who kills someone who kills: a serial killer of a serial killer -- and who wants the FBI to know he exists. KULOK And who kills in the manner of his victim. MACKELWAY That information's being withheld from the media. KULOK (thinks) A very sexy case. CUT TO: INT. MACK'S ROOM NIGHT Mackelway, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, paces the spare condo. Unopened Bekins boxes stacked against a wall. The furnishings are uniformly rental, right down to the framed print of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. Lou Reed plays on a newly unpacked stereo. He has something on his mind, a thought keeps running around his head. He looks out the window, looks over to the kitchen table where his laptop sits open, resumes pacing. On the computer screen: "Chat Room" folder icons listed by time and date. Mack steps over, double clicks an icon: a conversation from eight months before appears on the screen. The chat room correspondents have screennames like "Troll," "MyDick," "Zin," "Murman." Mack turns off the stereo, goes to the phone and dials. A HOTEL OPERATOR answers: OPERATOR (O.S.) Marriott El Paso. MACKELWAY David Koessler, please. OPERATOR (O.S.) Just a moment. Mack paces, phone in hand. OPERATOR (O.S.) There's a Do Not Disturb on that line. Would you like voice mail? MACKELWAY Yes, please. Mack waits for the tone, leave message: MACKELWAY Deputy Director Koessler, this is Thomas Mackelway. I'm sorry to bother you like this, I must speak with you. I realize you may not be comfortable with this, but it's extremely important. I've become aware of something and I must speak to you about it. When you see the red light on your phone, please call. CUT TO: EXT. SOMEWHERE NIGHT Ominous music from previous scene plays over dark suburban street. A FIFTEEN YEAR-OLD GIRL, wearing a lacrosse shirt, rides her bike around a corner, yellow headphones on her ears. She bobs her head to an unheard beat. Suddenly, without warning, her body is GRABBED in motion by a dark figure (SUSPECT ZERO) wearing navy-colored vinyl. He CONKS her on the head before she can scream. CUT TO: EXT. FEDERAL BUILDING DAY A federal deputy stands watch -- a consequence of the Oklahoma City bombing. CUT TO: INT. FBI OFFICES DAY Mackelway, sports jacket and tie, exits the elevator carrying his briefcase. He steps past the bullpen, walk toward Salinas' office. Through the glass door he can see Salinas inside speaking with Koessler and Kulok. Their conversation can be faintly heard: KOESSLER We didn't know Speck was a serial, the police didn't know, his wife didn't know -- so how did the killer know? KULOK Maybe cause he's smart. KOESSLER Smarter than us. Mack hesitates, goes back to his cubicle, places his briefcase on the desktop. He sits, activates his computer screen. He cannot get the image of Koessler about to go to the airport out of his mind. He stands, determined, strides to Salinas' office. Steeling himself, he twists the knob, opens the door -- CUT TO: INT. SALINAS' OFFICE DAY Koessler, Salinas and Kulok turn, stare as Mack enters. This is a big no-no, a breach of protocol, not to mention etiquette: MACKELWAY (eyes going to Koessler) Look, sorry. Don't say a word. (gathers breath) I know this is improper. I've been trying to speak with Deputy Director Koessler. I left a message. I must speak with you before you go back to Washington. KOESSLER This better be important. SALINAS (to Mack) Agent, return to your station. Kulok looks at Mack, wishing somehow this wasn't happening. MACKELWAY I think I talked to him. KOESSLER Who? MACKELWAY Speck. Harold Speck. KOESSLER From the grave? MACKELWAY MyDick. SALINAS "MyDick?" MACKELWAY MyDick. As in my dick. That was his screen name. SALINAS I don't... MACKELWAY Eight, nine months ago. When I was at Computer Crime. I got into a chat room with someone named MyDick. I'd talked to him before. Everything I saw yesterday, everything in the autopsies, it's identical. The forensics are dead on. MyDick's fantasies involved a hog-tie rig, nylon cord, torture with pliers, rip the nipples -- when the "item" screams, she chokes. He had a thing about eyes, always the eyes -- stab their eyes. It's the same guy. Speck was MyDick. SALINAS Speck is dead. MACKELWAY I talked to him. KOESSLER I'll relay this to CIIAC. MACKELWAY They don't know how to crack these secret chat rooms -- KOESSLER I might point out, Agent Mackelway, the reason we haven't been able to crack those rooms is that you refused to share that information with us -- which is also why you were reassigned. MACKELWAY I had gotten their trust. We were sharing fantasies. I couldn't risk it. KOESSLER The Federal Bureau of Investigation is not based on personal preference. We share information. MACKELWAY Let some by-the-book J. Edgar Agents go into the chat room, spook these guys with stupid questions, blow my cover? -- no way. KOESSLER You refused to comply with a direct order. MACKELWAY I was lucky to find, much less crack, the address code -- no way to be sure I could have done it again. KOESSLER Its called insubordination. MACKELWAY Then why do I still have a badge? Koessler doesn't answer that question; Mack was too valuable to be dismissed -- Koessler decided instead to teach him a lesson, hoped he would come around. KOESSLER I appreciate the information, Agent Mackelway -- but if you think this is going to get you back to Computer Crime, dream on. (to Salinas) Now, where were we? Mack steps back. He has been dismissed. CUT TO: INT. MACK'S CUBICLE DAY LATER. Mackelway, jacket off, absent-mindedly stares at his computer screen. He looks up, sees Koessler and Kulok leaving with carry-on bags. Jaime shrugs, shoots Mack a sympathetic look as if to say: I wish I could have been of some help. Mack's phone extension rings; he answers: MACKELWAY Agent Mackelway. DYLAN (O.S.) Mack, this is Sheriff Dylan. MACKELWAY Oh Jesus, Sheriff, I am sorry. I meant to call you -- I got distracted -- the Sumpter girl was not one of Speck's victims. That's the good news. DYLAN (O.S.) What's the bad news? MACKELWAY You tell me. DYLAN (O.S.) No bad news. You know the Be On the LookOut you asked me to send on the diner car -- we got a hit on it. A little town on the border, Socorro. We got it staked out -- you interested? MACKELWAY I'm on my way. CUT TO: EXT. SOCORRO DAIRY QUEEN LATE DAY Mackelway's sedan pulls up beside Dylan's Sheriff vehicle. The Dairy Queen being the town's most thriving enterprise. In the distance, makeshift housing and dump zones. Mack gets out, walks over to Dylan. MACKELWAY (sits) Hey, Sheriff. DYLAN Down the road a piece is the Golden Sunset, the no-tell motel, Socorro's contribution to international relations. The car's just sitting there, no activity. I've had a couple Hispanic officers casing it all day. Want to take a look? MACKELWAY What does the Manager say? DYLAN I sent a female in. The room in question was rented by an Anglo, cash; since then, nothing -- no activity, no phone response. MACKELWAY Let's take a look. CUT TO: EXT. GOLDEN SUNSET LATE DAY The suspect vehicle sits outside Room 8: 1985 blue Ford, brown primer door, New Mexico plates. One other vehicle, a pickup, parked several spaces away. Dylan parks a discreet distance from the motel. Mack turns to the Sheriff: MACKELWAY (removing tie) I'm going to take a little walk. Mack tosses his jacket on the seat as he heads toward the Golden Sunset. He stops at the soda machine, looks around, continues. His trained eyes spot Dylan's undercover Hispanics -- one "sleeping" across the way, another "repairing" a flat tire. Mackelway, feigning nonchalance, walks past the parked Ford. He looks inside: the motel room key lies on the front seat. LONG LENS POV: someone is watching Mack as he looks inside the parked Ford. CUT TO: EXT. DAIRY QUEEN EVENING Mack rejoins Dylan: MACKELWAY The room key's in the car. On the seat. DYLAN And it's getting dark. I'm not going to run this into the night. (clicks walkie) Eddie, we're walking in. Everything covered? EDDIE (O.S.) No problemo. CUT TO: EXT. GOLDEN SUNSET DUSK Dylan and Mack, wearing latex gloves, approach the door. Dylan's Hispanic undercover cops watch their backs. Dylan, holding his pistol to his side, opens door #8 with a master key. Music leads the way: he and Mack enter. CUT TO: INT. MOTEL ROOM DUSK They step inside; the room is pristine. Nothing has been used, nothing touched -- the aroma of disinfectant hangs in the air. Dylan edges to the bathroom, looks inside. He keys his walkie: DYLAN Show's over, boys. Nobody home. MACKELWAY Tape it off, we'll want to fine-tooth- comb it. My guess is that the UNSUB is having us on. He checks in, pays, picks up the key, but never walks inside. Tell me if I'm wrong. DYLAN (looks around) Got a sister like this, what they call it, anal? That's her. LONG LENS POV THROUGH WINDOW: Mack answers Dylan. CUT TO: EXT. GOLDEN SUNSET NIGHT Mack, scrounging his car keys from his pocket, walks to his sedan. Music underscores the mood. Mack hears a CLANK from the motel, turns abruptly to look: one of Dylan's deputies has knocked over a metal barrier. Mack continues toward the car. He opens the door, plops inside. Placing the keys in the ignition, he hears something behind him... Turning to look, frightened: the last thing he sees, the last thing he remembers, is a BLURRED FACE and the feel and smell of a chloroform RAG pressed against his nose and mouth. CUT TO: INT. LIMBO NIGHT Mackelway comes to in darkness, hog-tied and blindfolded. A white nylon cord, tied around his neck, stretches across his back, through his bound hands around his bent legs. It is a painful position. Smelling something rancid, Mack sniffs: where is he? A garbage dump? Richard Low, wearing a burgundy turtleneck, scrunches atop Mack, speaks softly: LOW Scared, Agent Mackelway? (Mack says nothing) It's a terrible feeling, isn't it? Alone. Trapped. Knowing you're going to die. The terror of dying is much worse than death itself. Mackelway attempts to stretch his cramping muscles; the noose tightens around his neck, choking him. Mack resumes the original position. LOW This is how Speck tied his victims. Imagine what that was like, for those girls in his car. Imagine the ride tied in his trunk. He's already raped you. Maybe he's cut you. Maybe he's cut you inside. Mack struggles to turn his head in the direction of Low's voice. LOW As you sit there listening to the road, feeling all the places you're bleeding, you wonder -- is it over? Will he just kill me? Please? Low reaches down, TWISTS Mack's nipple: Mackelway buckles in pain, choking. LOW But he doesn't. He's only begun, he rapes you again, twists your skin with pliers, all the time looking at your eyes, into your eyes like he's never seen anything like them before, holding a knife -- then, if you're not dead already, only then does he take those eyes out. Low leans into Mack's ear, whispers darkly: LOW Tell me, Agent Mackelway, does that man deserve to live? Does he have the right to exist one more day, one more hour? You have the temerity to hunt me for killing such a man? Mack, holding back his fear, asks in a steady voice: MACKELWAY How did you know Speck was a killer? LOW The little piggie speaks. Low twists Mack's nipple again -- harder this time. Gagging, Mack asks: MACKELWAY Who are you? LOW I'll give you a little hint. You're a smart guy, figure it out. Low unfolds a razor-sharp jack knife, cuts open the upper arm of Mackelway's shirt, SLASHES three strokes across Mack's bicep. Reacting to the pain, Mack twists his torso, begins to seriously choke; Low pulls at the nylon cord, exacerbating Mack's condition. As Mackelway passes out, Low cuts the nylon cord with his knife. Screen goes black. CUT TO: INT. HOSPITAL ROOM DAY Thomas Mackelway opens his eyes, sees the DOCTOR tapping his shoulder: DOCTOR You've got company. Mack, rubbing the rope marks on his neck, looks around: Koessler, Salinas and Kulok stand around the bed. KOESSLER How do you feel, Agent MACKELWAY Pretty embarrassed, to be honest. I had him. KOESSLER Agent Kulok and I were in O'Hare when we heard. MACKELWAY He got away. I had him. He got away. KOESSLER Do you think he singled you out? MACKELWAY No, just coincidence. He knew who I was, of course. He had my ID -- did he keep it? KULOK (points) It's here. Mack opens his wallet, reacts to the aroma. KULOK Some kids found you in a garbage dump. MACKELWAY Where's my watch? It's gone. KOESSLER The cut on your arm -- mind if we remove the bandage? MACKELWAY Go ahead. Koessler motions to the Doctor, who cuts the white gauze off Mack's bicep, revealing three fresh congealed slashes forming a "Z." KOESSLER Thank you, doctor. The Doctor, taking the hint, excuses himself. KOESSLER He said it was a clue? SALINAS (looking closer) Maybe something to do with Zorro. KOESSLER Don't say that. Don't even think that. The next thing we'll be hearing about "Zorro Killer" in the media -- this hasn't gotten out, has it? SALINAS Just hospital talk. Nothing that connects to Speck. KOESSLER This could all be a coincidence, but, you know something, I don't believe in coincidences. That's why I came back. (to Mack) Do you think the UNSUB -- we're not going to mention the word Zorro -- met Harold Speck online? MACKELWAY Yes I do. KULOK It explains a lot. SALINAS But why attack an Agent? MACKELWAY He wants us to know he's out there, what he's doing. It's not enough just to kill somebody like Speck, he wants us to know he did it. KOESSLER (thinks) Agent Mackelway, you're going to get your wish. You're going back to Washington. I want you back in Computer Crimes. Fire up those chat rooms. MACKELWAY This time, sir, if I may be so bold, would it be possible to set up my equipment outside CIIAC, perhaps in military housing at Quantico? I didn't get along very well with the other members of the Division. We thought differently. KOESSLER You didn't like anyone looking over your shoulder -- why was that? What were you doing? MACKELWAY (ignoring question) If my Reporting Agent could be someone outside Computer Crimes, perhaps Agent Kulok? Koessler looks at Jaime, his mind running scenarios: KOESSLER I'll take it into consideration. MACKELWAY What I do requires confidentiality. KOESSLER I always meant to ask, what is it that makes you so special? Why is it you have this special rapport with multiple killers? Why you? MACKELWAY They like my stories. They like the way I think. They're into fantasy. I turn them on. All in all, quite an astounding statement -- it just hangs there. No one responds. CUT TO: EXT. QUANTICO EVENING Aerial view of a sprawl of office buildings and military facilities in a green wooded landscape. Subtitle reads: "FBI Academy, Quantico, Virginia." CUT TO: EXT. MACK'S APARTMENT EVENING A van sits outside a red brick barracks-style Officers Housing unit. CUT TO: MACK'S APARTMENT EVENING Mackelway, dressed casually, instructs young FBI techies installing a shitload of Dell computer equipment: computer towers, mainframe, digital analyzers, scanners, printers, voice actualizer, etc. Mack has duct-taped the windows with aluminum foil, blocking exterior light. The room is assuming a life of it's own. An interior life. He flips lights on and off as the techies work, testing light schemes. MACKELWAY Download whatever punters you find. TECHIE #1 Don't worry, sir, we learned from the best. MACKELWAY Who's that? TECHIE #1 We learned from the people you taught. MACKELWAY They remember me? TECHIE #2 Yes, sir, they do. Jaime Kulok, passing the sterile living room, tiptoes into the computer space. Mack turns: MACKELWAY Jaime. Boys, this is Agent Kulok. The Techies deferentially greet her. KULOK Relax. (to Mack) J. Edgar's greatest fear: a female with a badge. MACKELWAY The man knew how to dress. KULOK Don't even go there. What's up? MACKELWAY Setting up. Technically, anyone in a chat room can be traced back to a screen address. But, by using punters, a correspondent literally punts his address around the world, through computers in countries that have no communication treaties. The correspondent becomes "ghosted," invisible. KULOK What about the chat rooms themselves? MACKELWAY That's the beauty of the system. This is a fugitive chat room. It moves from place to place, chat rooms that are normally empty at certain hours: a gardening website, Chaucer buffs, a dating service. A pre- arranged code shows up in one of fifty porn rooms -- that's where I stumbled across it -- notifying "friends" to meet at a certain time, usually midnight to three Eastern Standard, at a certain website -- a deserted chat room, say, "How to Plant Perennials." Come Tuesday, twelve a.m., bingo, these like-minded deviates log on and start yakking it up: explicit sex crime gossip, who did what to whom, who wants to do what, when, why and how. KULOK That's part of the reason I dropped by. I need to learn this stuff. MACKELWAY The other reason? KULOK (looks at watch) You want to have dinner? CUT TO: EXT. RED LOBSTER NIGHT A chain restaurant with prices pegged to a government employee's budget. CUT TO: INT. RED LOBSTER NIGHT Mackelway and Kulok sit in a booth eating salads, sipping white wine. MACKELWAY Working the net isn't that different from ordinary undercover work. You go into the community, walk their walk, talk their talk, gain their confidence. KULOK They're all criminals? MACKELWAY No, no, no, most of them -- I used to think all of them -- are just fantasists, guys who get off telling degrading stories. When I came across this fugitive chat room, listened in, I started to think some might actually be real, that they'd gone live. The challenge was to figure out which was which. Then I had my disagreement with Koessler. KULOK "Gone live?" MACKELWAY Chat jargon for moving from fantasy to real victims: "I went live last month." KULOK This is some serious shit. MACKELWAY Taking a Stryker saw, cutting off the top of someone's cranium, pulling the brain out -- what's that, a day in Spring? KULOK (laughs) You got a point there. MACKELWAY People end up in occupations for a reason. They may think not, but they do: occupations define us. KULOK I was going to be a physician, I am a physician, but I kept drifting over to criminal psych. This seems to be the best of both. My parents still haven't forgiven me. MACKELWAY I was interested in two things: computers and crime. They sort of came together. KULOK And one other thing. MACKELWAY What's that? KULOK Sex. He smiles; so does she. He likes this girl. A WAITRESS removes their salad plates. MACKELWAY Once you get in the mind set, though, it can take you over. Mack motions to a young UPS DELIVERY MAN drinking coffee, then to an OVERWEIGHT middle-aged man wearing a Tazmanian Devil T-shirt, Chicago Bulls jacket and Disney World baseball cap. MACKELWAY Look at this fellow... or this one. KULOK Grown man dressed like a clown. Does he really think he looks good? MACKELWAY He thinks he looks young. KULOK What's this country coming to? MACKELWAY Take it to the next level. What are his fantasies, what turns him on, what kind of pornography does he like? If he could act out his fantasies, what would he do? Imagine yourself one of his victims, realizing your life is in his hands. What is he thinking? KULOK My guess: he's wondering whether to get more fries or go straight to the chocolate sundae. Mack laughs as the Waitress returns with two fish plates: WAITRESS (about wine glasses) Another round? MACKELWAY AND KULOK Yes, please. They smile at the synchronicity of their response. His smile turns inward: MACKELWAY Every cop has a story and every story has a girl. The girl in my story was fifteen years-old. She wore a pink angora sweater -- I can still see it -- one day, she disappeared. I told the police she wouldn't run away, I told them who to look for, but I was just a kid. I sat in the police station crying and crying. My parents took me home. The girl was my cousin and the man who abducted her was a teacher I'd had. He kept her alive a week before he killed her. The police could have saved her. Every time I see a photo of a victim I see her. That's what I want to do. I want to save her. KULOK Me too. (sips from empty glass) Make any headway with "Zorro"? MACKELWAY None. Can't find a thing. Nothing on file, nothing online. It's not a part of any known killer's signature. KULOK I was thinking, maybe we should ask Professor Daitz. Nobody knows this stuff better. MACKELWAY That's because he's a fucking wacko. Never met a self-promotion scheme he didn't like. What's he doing now? KULOK He's a consultant to a network TV program on Profilers. He gets a check every episode. Mack shakes his head, looks at the Overweight Man: the Waitress brings him a double scoop chocolate sundae. CUT TO: INT. MACK'S APARTMENT NIGHT Late night: camera drifts through Mackelway's pre-furnished Quantico apartment, approaches his computer room. Sound of a modem dialing, connection grows LOUDER. Mack has designed the room as an emotional as well as functional environment: ambient blue light, white noise air conditioner, scanner, printer, horizontal racks of hard drive memory, modems, U-shaped table featuring three monitors, all active. Wall clocks feature time zones around the world. Pinned to the back wall are crime scene reports, VICAP forms, and photos, among them, Harold Speck, his "Z" slash, Karen Sumpter, the Dell City runaway in the South Park T-shirt. Mackelway, enveloped in a womb of computer screen glow, types a website address on the center keyboard. The monitor brings up a "Fresh Water Fishing" chat room. Atop the monitor sits a speech synthesizer. It allows Mack to listen as well as read chat conversations: a metallic voice "actualizes" the printed copy. Mack looks at the East Coast time zone clock: the second hand signals twelve a. m. The chat room comes ALIVE. One by one correspondents log on: Troll, Ripper, BelaKiss, Murman, Imelda, Lickme, Zin, Mack enters his name: "Lionheart." Mack speaks into a voice box atop the computer. It transforms his words into text. Screenwriter's note: the metallic voices do not indicate the name of the speaker. That can be indicated, if necessary, by the computer screen. Metallic voices are indicated by []. TROLL (O.S.) [Hello, had to rush over. Was tying up some loose ends.] RIPPER (O.S.) [You wish.] TROLL (O.S.) [Any word on Battick? He's a cool dude.] MURMAN (O.S.) [Fantasy time, girls, give it up, give it up.] MACKELWAY Lionheart here. I'm back. Sorry about the absence. I had to do some therapy at the crossbar hotel. RIPPER (O.S.) [What happened?] MACKELWAY Fucking cops can't take a joke. ZIN (O.S.) [Welcome back.] TROLL (O.S.) [How many times does thirty go into nine?] MURMAN (O.S.) [What facility, Lionheart?] TROLL (O.S.) [Three, if she's tied up.] MACKELWAY I'd have to make the conversation personal to divulge that. IMEDLA (O.S.) [Tee Hee.] MURMAN (O.S.) [I could have sent you some goodies.] LICKME (O.S.) [Battick declared sane as rain. He goes to trial.] RIPPER (O.S.) [Boring, boring, boring.] MURMAN (O.S.) [Play time. Somebody turn me on.] TROLL (O.S.) [Okay: I come home from work, been thinking about it all day long. Cute little colored girl. She's still there, in the basement, tied up. She's shit all over herself...] CUT TO: INT. ZERO KILL SPACE NIGHT Camera pans across a dark small space. The white fifteen year-old abducted earlier lies unmoving, white-faced on some sort of grid. Dried blood covers the front of her lacrosse shirt. Troll's metallic voice fantasy continues as camera pans to a jackhammer whose drill has been welded to a shovel spade, hung on a rough-hewn wall. Next to it hangs a conventional shovel. TROLL (O.S.) [...Her eyes go wide when she sees me. I've got an erection like a piece of rebar -- I could stick it in her mouth and crack open the back of her head. I tell her I went to the hardware store, picked up a little present for her.] CUT TO: EXT. UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA DAY Red-bricked campus at Charlottesville. CUT TO: INT. DAITZ OFFICE DAY A wall of framed (some signed) photos of Lloyd Daitz posing with famous serial killers, national politicians, film celebrities and talk show hosts. A nearby bookshelf features multicopies of books authored by Daitz, books with titles like "Index of Serial Killers," "In the Mind of the Multiple Killer," "A Pictorial History of Serial Killers." LLOYD DAITZ, 55, wears a tweed sports jacket, his university look offset by accessories picked up in Hollywood: razor-cut hair, tassled loafers, designer eyeglasses. A Mercedes brochure lies on his desk. Mackelway and Kulok peruse his photo wall with appropriate awe. DAITZ Of course I remember you. Pretty girl fixated on extreme criminal behavior. Always wondered, what were the underlying factors? KULOK (to Mack) That was the name of Professor Daitz's course, "Underlying Factors in Criminal Behavior." You still teach, Professor? DAITZ (jokes) You know the saying, those who can't do, teach. Besides: it keeps me honest. MACKELWAY Have you had a chance to think about -- DAITZ Zorro. Yes, ran it through my files, even asked around: came up completely blank. Thought there might be a Mexico connection, El Paso and all, but nothing. Fooled around with the letter "Z," turned it on it's side, got "N" -- there Ng, he's Vietnamese. The only thing that came to mind was zero, not Zorro. Remember Suspect Zero? MACKELWAY No. DAITZ Before your time. It was Richard Low's brainchild, or, lack-of-brain child. The Behavioral Sciences Unit at Quantico is essentially the product of three men: David Koessler, Dick Low and myself. Low was a field agent, Koessler administrative, I was teaching criminology. Low came up with the concept of a serial killer's signature. He invented profiling. Everything we know about profiling started with Richard Low... As he speaks, camera goes to photo of a younger Lloyd Daitz, Richard Low and David Koessler, arm-in-arm at Bureau Headquarters. (We realize the UNSUB and Low are one and the same: screenwriters note: this is an optional reveal.) DAITZ ...well, there was some friction: I wanted to write up my work, educate the public, but Koessler wouldn't allow it. Low felt Koessler was more interested in career advancement than catching killers. Koessler had Low reassigned to the Pacific Northwest, Seattle. You know when they say, stick it where the sun don't shine? That's where they stuck Dick Low. MACKELWAY Pacific Northwest is a hotbed for serials. DAITZ You got that right. Low became obsessed with the Green River murders, the case had been inactive for ten years at that point. He argued the Green River Killer had actually become Suspect Zero, this master murderer who killed without pattern, killed literally hundreds of victims -- male, female, old, young, straight, gay -- and who was still killing, even though there were no bodies. It went against everything we knew. Low became increasingly paranoid. Every suspect was potentially Suspect Zero. Anybody tried to talk sense into him, he'd accuse them of being out to get him. Deputy Director Koessler was "out to get him." The decision was made to relieve him. KULOK But they didn't. DAITZ Fortunately, from a Bureau point of view, Richard Low was killed in a small plane crash about that time. A convenient conclusion. The end of Low, the end of Zero. MACKELWAY Does Koessler know about the Suspect Zero theory? DAITZ Of course. He knows everything about Dick Low. CUT TO: EXT. UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA DAY Mack and Kulok stroll the bucolic campus toward their government issue car. Two coeds pass, gossiping and laughing. MACKELWAY (about Daitz) I ever get like that, just take me out in back and shoot me. KULOK Don't be too harsh. MACKELWAY I saw him on a talk show once, talking about these killers like they were his friends. Not the victims, not the families of the victims, he doesn't talk about them. Blood money, that's what it is. (they walk a few steps) Did he hit on you? KULOK Huh? MACKELWAY When you were his student? Did he come on to you? KULOK Of course he did. He came on to every attractive student. Which bothers you most: that he exploits suffering or that he came on to me? MACKELWAY You must really think I'm a square, a computer nerd. KULOK No, Mack, I do not think you're a square and definitely not a nerd. She runs her hand along his back as she crosses to get in the passenger seat. Her touch is electric. CUT TO: INT. MACK'S CAR DAY Mack puts the key in the ignition, turns to Jaime: MACKELWAY Why did Koessler assign you as my liaison? KULOK Because you asked him to, stupid. MACKELWAY (chuckles) Oh yeah, I forgot. Mackelway doesn't start the car. He just looks at Jaime. He feels a desire to kiss her -- here and now. She feels a desire to be kissed. KULOK There are Agency regulations about this. MACKELWAY "Intra-Agency fraternizing." KULOK It's a no-no. MACKELWAY (touches her cheek) I know. KULOK I've been thinking about this. MACKELWAY Does Koessler ask about me? KULOK He's called a couple times. MACKELWAY What did you tell him? KULOK Just routine stuff. MACKELWAY Not about coming to see Daitz? KULOK Not yet. Not about this, either. She leans over and kisses him. He reaches over, kissing her, holding her. Over their embrace the metallic voices of Mack's chat pals pre-lap: TROLL (O.S.) [Roses are red, Violets are blue, I'd love to jam a golf club, Inside you.] ZIN (O.S.) [No time for poetry, no time for images. Images deceive. Only reality satisfies.] MURMAN (O.S.) [Reality very risky.] MACKELWAY (O.S.) Whatever happened to MyDick? ZIN (O.S.) [I want to be live. A live. Have a package of my very own.] CUT TO: EXT. MAILBOXES USA DAY Title: "Tampa, Florida." ROBERT TESTA, 26, scraggly beard obscuring acne scars, jeans, lumberjack shirt with cut-off sleeves, walks furtively into the P.O. Box outlet, looking side to side. We view him LONG LENS, from the POV of a hidden viewer. Testa goes to a P.O. Box, unlocks it, retrieves a small package. He looks around, tucks it into his waistband, walks outside to his dinged-up blue van. MURMAN (O.S.) [MyDick's limp.] LICKME (O.S.) [I have WAV goodies.] TROLL (O.S.) [What are the three best things about anal sex?] MACKELWAY What limped him? TROLL (O.S.) [Location, location, location.] LICKME (O.S.) [The crux of it all.] ZIN (O.S.) [Want to take it more personal?] MURMAN (O.S.) [Here's the lowdown: he was a fool. MyDick didn't know dick.] LICKME (O.S.) [Free to all: a little recording I made for my friends.] CUT TO: INT. MACK'S COMPUTER ROOM NIGHT Mack, bathed in computer light, watches LickMe's audio download complete. He clicks "Play." MURMAN (O.S.) [Didn't see it coming.] A miniature digital polaroid of a naked girl tied to a bench appears onscreen. The recording downloads, then plays: a girl PLEADS for her life, says her parents are expecting her, says the police will come, says she'll do anything, begs that he not hurt her again and screams, screams, screams. Mackelway, shaking, sinks his head into his hands: this is it, the black soul of humankind, the Pit, evil itself. The audio recording may be real; it may be fake -- either way, Mack is face to face with the reality of role playing. Sickened, Mack logs off, rushes out of the room. CUT TO: INT. BATHROOM NIGHT Tom Mackelway, ripping his clothes off as he enters, turns on the shower faucets. Still wearing slacks and shoes, Mack steps into the shower, THRUSTS his face into the water stream. Grabs bath gel, rubs it all over him. MACKELWAY (to himself) Damn you, goddamn you. CUT TO: EXT. FBI HEADQUARTERS DAY The J. Edgar Hoover Building, brutalist architecture, Pennsylvania Ave. at 10th. CUT TO: INT. KOESSLER'S OFFICE DAY Deputy Director has assembled representatives of various divisions to go over the Harold Speck case: Mackelway, Asst. Deputy Director for CIIAC (aka Computer Crimes) LEMAR RYAN, Special Agent SPIVAK, Agent DUNLEVY. Koessler's office features the appurtenances of power, in an understated in- your-face sort of way. KOESSLER You feeling okay, Agent Mackelway? MACKELWAY (nods) Had trouble sleeping last night, sir. KOESSLER Okay, Harold Speck: who goes first? SPIVAK The UNSUB's car, the Ford, and the motel room, as expected, came up empty. Whistle clean. The waitress was right, it was a reservation car -- a stolen reservation car. Koessler turns to Dunlevy. DUNLEVY VICAP kicked out the Ron "Slice and Dice" Rice killing, another serial killer killed in the manner of his victims. Nothing else on Rice cross- checks, weapon, timing, signature -- there is no signature. He uses the M.O. of his victims. KOESSLER Think it's the same UNSUB? DUNLEVY Maybe. It's a stretch. KOESSLER Assistant Deputy Ryan? RYAN CIIAC has nothing. I can't speak for Agent Mackelway, however, since he's off campus. KOESSLER (reacts to Ryan's implied criticism) We've been over this. (to Mack) Agent Mackelway? MACKELWAY Nothing concrete. Nothing I'd... well, nothing. KOESSLER I don't believe this. MACKELWAY I'm hesitant to... KOESSLER Mack the Mouth at a loss for words. They wait. MACKELWAY Okay, here it is. I've been talking in a ghosted chat room with someone named Murman. This Murman seemed to know MyDick -- Harold Speck -- was out of the picture, he said MyDick could no longer "see." Okay, but here's where it gets squirrely. Mackelway pulls out a piece of paper, reads: MACKELWAY "MyDick didn't know dick." "The lowdown." "Lowballed." "Too rich for me." "Lower than zero." RYAN I don't get it. MACKELWAY I think this guy, Murman, he seems to have a thing about former Assistant Deputy Director Richard Low. It would explain the cutting; not Zorro, Zero. Perhaps they once had contact. We should go through Low's old cases. It's almost like he is Richard Low. (to Koessler: snide) I mean, Assistant Deputy Director Low is dead, isn't he? Ryan and Dunlevy react to Mack's tone of voice. Koessler, the disciplinarian, turns to the others: KOESSLER Would you excuse us? I'd like to speak to Agent Mackelway. The others file out giving Mack looks: he's gonna catch Hell now. Koessler closes the door, takes a deep breath, turns to Mack: KOESSLER He may not be. CUT TO: EXT. FT. MYERS DAY Robert Testa's van slows to a halt in a warehouse district. CANDY, nom de street, blond high school dropout in red vinyl skirt, steps to the passenger window as he lowers it. TESTA Wanna ride? CANDY Where you going? TESTA Fifty dollars. CANDY Always wanted to go there. Candy opens the door, gets in. The van drives away. CUT TO: INT. TESTA'S VAN DAY Candy looking out the window as the van turns into an alley: CANDY Is this your -- POW! Testa reaches over, HITS the back of her head with a short club. Candy bounces off the window. Testa, jamming the van into park, reaching over, turning Candy around, handcuffs her, opens a camouflaged door to the rear of the van, DRAGS Candy by her wrists -- blond wig falling from her head. Candy, coming to, looking around, seeing Testa's mobile chamber of horrors, SCREAMING: CANDY Please, please don't hurt me. TESTA That's exactly what I got in mind. I'm gonna hurt you, little girl, places you've never been hurt before. Candy sees a crowbar and a chain saw in a wooden box. Testa has soundproofed the van with furniture pads and styrofoam. TESTA Scream all you want. Get used to it. An arm reaches over, grabs Testa's shoulder: Richard Low, dressed like a homeless person. LOW Robert Testa? TESTA Wha -- ? Low PUNCHES his face with steel knuckles; Testa's head jerks back. Blood drips from his nose. Eyes on Testa, Low barks at Candy: LOW Get out. Get out, now! Candy, still handcuffed, awkwardly SCRAMBLES into the front seat, out the passenger door. Low leaning over Testa, PINNING him to the floor of the van, pulling out his own pair of handcuffs, turning Testa over, shutting the soundproof door: LOW Scream all you want. Robert Testa, face down now, handcuffed, scared shitless, twists his head to see his attacker. Low, breathing heavy, feeling good, reaches for the chainsaw. Knees on Testa's back, Low prepares to start the chainsaw: LOW Welcome to my fantasy. Richard Low jerk-starts the chain SAW and, holding it at arm's length, leans over, whispers into Testa's ear: LOW Murman. CUT TO: INT. KOESSLER'S OFFICE DAY Conversation between Mack and Koessler continues: KOESSLER "Murman" was the alter identity of William Heirens, the original "Catch Me Before I Kill Again" killer. Short for "Murder Man." It was the case that got Richard Low and I started in this field. MACKELWAY I spoke with Lloyd Daitz. KOESSLER That gasbag. I can imagine what he said. I'm not ashamed to admit that most of what I know about criminal profiling started with Richard Low. I have also, over the years, I admit, taken credit for many of his accomplishments. He was the most brilliant law enforcement individual I ever met. MACKELWAY "Was?" KOESSLER We had every reason to believe he was on that plane. He was supposed to be on the plane. Everything was incinerated, it was two weeks before we reached the crash site. We, the Director and I, decided it was in everyone's best interest to declare Dick Low dead. That way he could exit a hero. MACKELWAY You suspected all along, suspected he was alive. That's why you came to El Paso. KOESSLER (nods) Dunlevy said there was another case, Ron Rice. In fact, there were two earlier cases where serials were murdered. The second was George Sheldon. I didn't enter it into VICAP -- I'll get you the file. MACKELWAY How long ago? KOESSLER Both in the last year. I suspected only someone as brilliant as Dick Low could find these guys. (beat) Look, whatever Daitz told you, nobody wanted to strip Richard of his badge. You have to get close to be good at what he did, the trick is not to get too close. MACKELWAY You knew the arm slash was not "Zorro." KOESSLER I suspected, but you were the one Low contacted. That's why I brought you back here. MACKELWAY What did you think of the Suspect Zero theory? KOESSLER It was neither a valid concept nor a valid fact. Suspect Zero came to represent every killer Dick Low had not caught. The idea took root in his head like a wild irrational vine. For someone like Low, there would always be a Suspect Zero. We couldn't let Richard go where that idea was taking him. KNOCK on the door; Koessler opens it -- Jaime Kulok sticks her head in: KULOK Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I thought you'd like to know. KOESSLER What? KULOK We have another one. KOESSLER Another what? KULOK Serial killer killed. In Ft. Myers. Cut up in his van. And this time we got a witness. CUT TO: EXT. FT. MYERS POLICE STATION DAY Florida patrol cars out front. CUT TO: INT. INTERROGATION ROOM DAY Candy, dressed like a proper young lady, rubbing her sore wrists, sits across from Mackelway and a local detective. CANDY I wasn't thinking about identification. I got out of there as fast as I could. Mack shows her Richard Low's FBI file mug shot: a serious man with a short haircut, dark suit and bad tie. MACKELWAY Was this him? CANDY (looks) Um... he was older. MACKELWAY Besides that. CANDY To be honest, when I'm working, I don't look at faces much. He knew the guy's name. MACKELWAY Testa? CANDY The bearded guy, the creep. Oh, one other thing. Testa, if that's his name, he kept mentioning my feet. Said I had very pretty feet. CUT TO: INT. FT. MYERS MORGUE DAY Robert Testa's legs, now severed stumps, on the autopsy table. His feet have been cut off at the ankles. Testa's throat is ripped open like a bloody smile. Jaime Kulok greets Mackelway as he steps over. The M.E. looks up, goes back to work. MACKELWAY Find the feet? KULOK No. Cut off while he was still alive, look at his wrists, damn near ripped his hands off trying to get free. Must have been screaming real loud when the killer chain-sawed his throat. Unfortunately, he'd soundproofed his van. MACKELWAY We got an UNSUB walking around with four feet? KULOK We did find these, however. Kulok walks over to a refrigerated case, opens it: a row of female feet in various stages of decay stand in a line. MACKELWAY Jesus. KULOK We're trying to match them with dump site bodies. (points out a foot) This we know is Carol Delview from Tampa, found her last Spring. This one -- Mack looks at the next, a small, relatively fresh foot: a long rose tattoo is severed in half. MACKELWAY The tattoo? KULOK Sue Ann Hanson. MACKELWAY You mean -- KULOK You found the body. She was one of Harold Speck's victims. In El Paso. (lets this sink in) They're not just talking to each other, Mack, they're trading souvenirs. Mack closes the refrigerated case, walks several steps, turns: MACKELWAY Did they disconnect Testa's computer? KULOK Not yet. This time they're waiting for you. Jaime looks at the refrigerated case, thinks about the victims. Her composure slips a little. Mack walks over, discreetly, touches her hand: MACKELWAY I know. Jaime nods. CUT TO: INT. KOESSLER'S OFFICE DAY Deputy Director Koessler looks through a folder: Testa's autopsy photos, crime scene diagrams and a montage of severed feet. Mackelway and Kulok bring him up to speed: MACKELWAY I got a look in Testa's computer. His screen name was "Imelda." Have to give him that, had a sense of humor. KOESSLER Collected shoes too? KULOK You should have seen the store manager at Parade of Shoes. She was inconsolable. MACKELWAY Murman and Imelda had been slipping into a private chat room. Low had poor old Testa drooling on the keyboard. Abduction fantasies, voyeurism, mutilation, teasing him with fetish elements. He is very good. I think it's safe to say Richard Low is Murman. KOESSLER We're waiting for trace evidence results on the Rice killing. MACKELWAY We need to put out an NCIC inquiry. KOESSLER How do you send out an APB on a dead man? MACKELWAY Huh?, sir. KOESSLER I want to catch Dick Low, more than you can imagine, but I cannot risk going public. What happens when the media finds out that a former FBI Special Agent, a founder of the Behavioral Sciences Unit, is not dead, but instead alive and killing people, not ordinary people, but, even worse, serial killers, making him some sort of white knight vigilante? (beat) You keep at it. We'll find him, we'll find him in our own way. CUT TO: INT. FBI PARKING STRUCTURE DAY Mack and Jaime walk and talk past rows of similar cars. He says something; she laughs. He waits for her to get in her car, walks on. Over we hear his voice pre-lap from a late night chat room session: MACKELWAY (O.S.) There was something about her. She was the one. She was checking at WalMart, just going about her business, giving everyone a big smile in that cute I'm-so-perfect-and-you're- such-a-loser way, her full titties popping around in her bra... CUT TO: EXT. MALL PARKING LOT NIGHT Night in a northern climate: snow falls on a HIGH SCHOOL COUPLE, the last to leave the closing suburban mall. Carrying shopping bags, they walk toward their parked car. SUSPECT ZERO steps down into frame. We see his face: a square- shouldered mid-thirtiesh white male in navy vinyl jacket. He watches the couple. The BOY glances at him, looks away as if seeing nothing unusual. Zero's POV approaches: ZERO (O.S.) Is the mall closed already? The GIRL senses something, sees something. She starts to run. The Boy, dropping his bag, confronts Zero. HIT with a heavy object, the Boy staggers back, FALLS to the ground, his mouth bleeding. The Girl runs. Zero's POV chases the screaming girl, looking back as she runs, still carrying her shopping bag. Ahead, through the snow, is a three-lane road; car lights flash past. The Girl, screaming for attention, SLIPS in the snow, falls. Gets up, FALLS again. Looks up. Zero's POV: he has her. Chat room dialogue continues over: RIPPER (O.S.) [Fuck her. Fuck her.] MURMAN (O.S.) [Shut up.] MACKELWAY (O.S.) Little Miss Perfect, clean hair, clean teeth, clean mind, not a fucking care in the world. Pink sweater with her name on her WalMart tit. Cindy... CUT TO: INT. MACK'S COMPUTER ROOM NIGHT Mack, aka Lionheart, seated, speaks into the microphone above the computer screen. Murman, Zin, Ripper, All4You, BelaKiss, Berzerkr and Daemon are logged on in an Incan Architecture room. The Eastern Standard clock reads 12:45. Mackelway has installed a corkboard featuring Missing Persons reports of young females. Ka