“About Clarence Little?” she asked.
Brad nodded. “He sent me two letters.”
“What kind of letters?” Ginny pressed.
“They were creepy, but there weren’t any threats in them. I didn’t tell you about them because I didn’t want to worry you.”
“When did you get them?” Maggie asked.
“The first one was slipped under the door of our apartment in Portland on the evening of the presidential election. I found it when we came back from the election-night parties. The second one was sent to my office in the Senate right after Clarence’s cases were sent back for new trials.”
“Do you have them?” Keith asked.
“I threw out the first one. I figured Clarence was just playing one of his mind games, and I didn’t want to buy into it. He was on death row, anyway, and I didn’t think of him as a threat. I kept the second one. It’s in my desk at the office. I can give it to you.”
“I’ll have someone from the lab pick it up,” Keith said.
“Neither letter was mailed from the prison. The first one wasn’t mailed at all, and the second was sent from Portland. They contained some personal details that Clarence shouldn’t have known about. Not anything secret. Anyone who knows us would have known about them. The first one mentioned Ginny, and I never discussed anything about my personal life with Clarence. So I figured he had an accomplice. For what it’s worth, I think Millie Reston helped him. I confronted her about the letters when she called, and she was very evasive and sounded nervous.”
“I’ll give this information to the people who are looking for Little,” Keith said. “Someone will get in touch with you.”
“Why did you hurry over to tell us about the escape? Do you think we’re in danger?” Ginny asked.
“I have no idea,” Keith said. He looked at Brad. “Would Little have any reason to hurt you?”
“Ginny and I talked about this when we learned his cases had been reversed. Clarence and I got along pretty well but-as Ginny pointed out-a psychotic serial killer doesn’t think like a normal human being. I’m not that worried, though. Clarence has no logical reason to want to hurt me. He’ll be trying to hide or get out of the country. I doubt he’ll come all the way to D.C. to get to me or Ginny.”
Chapter Eighteen
It was general knowledge among the members of Senator Carson’s staff that Brad had represented Clarence Little. The morning after Little’s escape made the front page of every newspaper and led every television newscast in the D.C. area, the escaped serial killer became a constant topic of conversation in the senator’s office.
Bonnie Berliner was the legislative correspondent with the cubicle outside Brad’s office. An attractive brunette with a cheerful manner and a bright smile, she had just graduated from Oregon State with honors and a degree in government. Her father was a big contributor to Carson’s campaign, but she probably would have been hired on merit. Bonnie was answering e-mails about health care issues when Brad walked by. She swiveled away from her monitor.
“Mr. Sharp wants to see you,” Bonnie said.
“About what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Okay. I’ll just get rid of my stuff.”
Brad expected Bonnie to go back to her computer. Instead, she looked him over.
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You know, Little.”
Brad had been reassuring every workmate he had passed, starting with the receptionists, and he had his patter down pat.
“Mr. Little and I got on fine. Anyway, he’s probably in Mexico by now.”
Bonnie shuddered. “I was in school when he was torturing those women. I don’t see how you can be so cool.”
“Every law enforcement officer in the country is after Clarence. He’s probably spending every waking minute figuring out how to stay out of prison. And there are three thousand miles between us. I’m sure he hasn’t given me a thought.”
Brad hung up his coat, grabbed a steno pad for notes, and headed down the hall to Lucas Sharp’s office, which was next to the boss’s. The chief of staff had the second biggest office, but it was nowhere near the size of Carson’s corner suite. The walls were of the same movable metal as Brad’s, and a picture window closed off by blinds faced the hall. One quarter of the office was taken up by a round conference table and the chairs that surrounded it. A flat-screen TV was affixed to the wall behind the table. Sharp’s desktop was invisible because of the legislative bills, magazines, newspapers, and files that covered it.
When Brad walked in, Sharp motioned him toward a chair on the other side of the desk.
“Have reporters tried to interview you about Little?” Sharp asked.
“The phone was ringing off the hook, so we unplugged it. There were reporters in front of our apartment, but I escaped through the service entrance in the basement.”
“Good. Stick with no comment. The senator doesn’t need this distraction with the race heating up.”
“I don’t know anything, so not commenting won’t be a problem.”
“You know I was a deputy district attorney when Clarence killed his first three victims.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
Sharp shook his head. “Little is one sick puppy. I was called to the second crime scene. This was before we knew the killings were connected. I still get the occasional nightmare, even though it’s been years since I saw the body.”
“I’ve seen the autopsy photos and those kids in the forest. That was enough for me.”
“Yeah, well, if you even dream you’re in danger, you tell me and I’ll get you protection.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure I won’t need it.”
B rad had assured everyone that he didn’t feel he was in danger, but he found himself scanning crowds for a glimpse of the serial killer, and he made sure he walked home during daylight. By the end of the first week, news of the escape had slipped from the front page to the interior of the newspapers because there were no new developments. By the second week, Ginny had stopped obsessing about Little, and Brad thought about his ex-client less and less.
Friday morning, the senator’s secretary buzzed Brad and told him to come to Senator Carson’s office. Brad put on his jacket, straightened his tie, and walked down the hall. When he got to the office, his boss was bent over the draft of a bill, scribbling notes on a legal pad. Brad stood in the doorway and waited. After a few moments, Carson looked up and waved Brad toward a chair. While Brad crossed the room and sat down, Carson took off his glasses, shut his eyes, and massaged his eyelids. Brad waited patiently as the senator replaced his glasses. Carson’s tie was undone, and the sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled back. His hair looked as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and he seemed tired. When he spoke, he sounded subdued.
“I’m getting good reports about your work, Brad.”
“It’s pretty interesting, so it’s not hard to get engaged.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely interesting, although not always in a good way.” He pointed at the papers spread across his desk. “Senator Dumont is driving everyone nuts with his half-assed immigration bill.”
Brad permitted himself a smile. Dumont, who was from a state bordering Mexico, was in a tight reelection campaign. His bill was loaded with proposals for electrified fences and border guard “shoot to kill” exceptions he knew would never become law but would make him sound more anti-illegal alien than his challenger.
“So, I hear you’ve had a little excitement in your life,” Carson said. Brad looked puzzled. Then he realized that the senator was alluding to Clarence Little’s escape.
“I haven’t been involved with Clarence Little for almost two years.”
