Christie, who somewhat enigmatically attended a fundamentalist Baptist church and was also a fan of the Catholic mystics and contemplatives, had taken the weekend to attend a silent retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani in rural Kentucky. One of her favorite authors, Thomas Merton, had lived there as a hermit before his death in 1968.

Over the years, his books had sold hundreds of thousands—maybe millions—of copies, and since he’d taken a vow of poverty, the money from the royalties went back to the monastery. Using the funds, they’d built a retreat center beside their church. It was open to the public and, as long as you made a reservation, you could come and participate in a silent, unguided three- or four-day spiritual retreat.

Christie had been there once a few years ago and decided, somewhat on the spur of the moment on Tuesday night, that she wanted to return. As it turned out, they had a room available for this weekend, and she’d flown to Lexington this morning.

Getting back to Tessa’s concern, I said, “Don’t worry about your mom. I’m sure she’s fine. It’s good to give people a little space sometimes.”

“Ha.”

“Ha?”

“I see what you did there—first you said she needed time, then that we need to give people space. Time and space. This from Mr. Geospatial Investigator himself.”

I hadn’t even noticed. “Glad you caught that.”

“You didn’t even realize you said that, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She blew a bubble. “That’s what I thought.”

Time and space. She was right about that much.

I leave means, motive, and opportunity to my associates. I’m looking instead at context, timing, and location since they provide a much more reliable set of indicators on which to base an investigation. Searching for motives is simply a guessing game that we’re not nearly as good at as television crime shows make us out to be.

People love to go motive hunting. They want to know why someone could do such and such a thing, the reason behind it all, and even what initiated the behavior in the first place. A clean-cut and forensic answer, something understandable and definable that they can put their finger on:

“Did you always like lighting fires?”

“No.”

“When did you start?”

“After my mom died. Then everything changed.”

Ah. Yes. So that was it. The loss of his mother. That explains things—that’s the stressor, the psychological trigger we were looking for. Case closed.

It’s somehow comforting to find that single event, that precipitating one, that explains the subsequent choices someone makes, to play pin the motive on the crime. A way to make sense of it all.