Bell smiled. “No, he’s human, but a damned smart human.” He paused and fanned out the files on the conference table. He selected one and opened it, the report on the robbery in Rhyolite, Nevada. “Our man has a very rigid modus operandi that he sticks with on every bank job. We believe he hangs around for a few days studying the town and its people before robbing the bank.”

“He’s either a gambler or a risk taker,” said Curtis.

“Wrong on both counts,” Bell corrected him. “Our man is bold and he’s shrewd. We can assume he does his dirty work using disguises, since the people of all the towns he’s struck never agree on the appearance of suspicious-looking strangers.”

Irvine began pacing the conference room, occasionally examining a flag pinned on the map. “Citizens of the towns recall seeing a drunken bum, a uniformed soldier, a well-to-do merchant, and a small-time freight hauler. But none could tie them to the murders.”

Curtis looked at the carpeted floor and shrugged. “How odd there are no witnesses who can give a credible identification.”

“Nothing odd about it,” said Irvine. “He murders them all. The dead can’t speak.”

Bell seemed to ignore the conversation as if he was lost in thought. Then his eyes focused on the map and he said slowly, “The big question in my mind is why he always kills everyone in the bank during the theft. Even women and children. What does he gain by the slaughter? It can’t be that he simply doesn’t want to leave witnesses to the robberies, not when he’s already been seen around town in disguise…unless…” He paused. “There is a new definition created by psychologists for murderers who kill as easily as they brush their teeth. They call them sociopaths. Our man can kill without remorse. He has no emotions, does not know how to laugh or love, and has a heart that is as cold as an iceberg. To him, shooting down a small child holds the same sensitivity as shooting a pigeon.”

“Hard to believe there are people that cruel and ruthless,” muttered Irvine in revulsion.

“Many of the bandits and gunfighters of the past were sociopaths,” said Bell. “They shot other men as easily as if they sneezed. John Wesley Hardin, the famous Texas badman, once shot and killed a man for snoring.”

Curtis looked steadily at Bell. “Do you really think he murders everyone in a bank because he enjoys it?”

“I do,” Bell said quietly. “The bandit gets a weird satisfaction from committing his blood crimes. Another peculiar factor. He makes his escape before the people of the town, including the town sheriff, realized what happened.”

“So where does that leave us?” asked Irvine. “What avenues do we search?”

Bell looked at him. “Another of his routine habits is to ignore any gold and take only currency. Glenn, your job is to check out the banks that were robbed and study their records of the serial numbers on the stolen bills. Start in Bozeman, Montana.”