‘‘The caller—on one of his calls when I was pushing for justifiable reasons for murder—he talked about gossip and bullying.’’
‘‘What are you getting at?’’
‘‘He used those as examples. It must have been for a reason. What might a gossip do to someone who’s on the edge? Whoever is calling me—if he’s the killer, his motive was not the motive of a serial killer. I think it was more specific and focused. He wanted to get even. He seems obsessed with personal justice. If that’s true, he probably knew the victim or victims— provided he really is the killer.’’
‘‘So you’re saying, if he killed the victims in Cob ber’s Wood, it had to do with revenge?’’
‘‘I suppose that’s what I’m saying. Look, Frank is expecting me to come to his house for dinner with him and his daughter. I’d like to not be late. I’ve put in very long hours, and I’d like to take this evening off.’’
‘‘Of course. I’m sorry for holding you up. And . . . I’m sorry for the other thing.’’
‘‘Douglas, I think I know who’s spreading this rumor. If it’s who I think it is, he’s a good friend of Frank. And since this person met me last year and heard those first unfounded rumors about me, he hasn’t wanted to let go of the notion that I’m not good enough for Frank. If you talk to him, advise him of how appropriate it is to mind his own business. Pettiness has no place in what we’re trying to do here.
‘‘And speaking of what we’re trying to do here, I got another E-mail from our friend. He wants to meet.’’
Garnett raised his eyebrows. ‘‘He wants to meet with you? How do you feel about that?’’
‘‘I’m thinking it might be a good idea, under the right controls.’’
‘‘Let me think about it.’’
‘‘It may be the only way we’re going to catch this guy. Has Sheriff Braden made any headway?’’
‘‘We’ve sent the pictures out and searched missing persons. No hits. Of course, it’s still early on getting anything back on the drawings. We’re searching for similar murders across the country. Both Braden’s men and mine have been asking around at truck stops for anyone suspicious, or anyone who may have talked about the murders, or anyone who has picked up hitchhikers that look like the drawings. We have a photograph of a waggoner’s knot we’ve shown around at the stops. Found several guys who know what it is and use it, but so far no leads on our guy. We’ve tried to get a list of end buyers for that particular type of orange carpet, and that information, apparently, is simply not available.’’
‘‘Strange. We have all that forensic evidence stack ing up in my lab and absolutely no one to attach it to.’’
‘‘It’s frustrating, for sure. In the Chris Edwards and the Raymond Waller murders,
neighborhoods. We’ve talked
we’ve canvassed the with everyone they knew and worked with, including their families. We’re doing the same with Kacie Beck. My gut still tells me it’s Steven Mayberry for the Edwards and Beck murders. With what you told me about your talk with the journalism student—what was her name, Madi son something?’’
‘‘Madison Foster.’’
‘‘That’s it. I’m convinced wards were into something. Kacie Beck to protect himself. He might feel that everyone thinks he’s dead and he likes it that way. For Raymond Waller, it was someone after his collec tion. He didn’t know any of the other victims. It was just a coincidence that he was Dr. Webber’s assistant and worked on the hanging victims.’’
Everything Garnett said seemed plausible, and she was actually impressed with what he and the sheriff were doing.
‘‘Then maybe what I should do is take the guy up on his offer to meet. I think maybe he wants to turn that Mayberry and Ed Maybe Mayberry killed himself in and he just needs a push, and he’s using me to push him into it.’’
‘‘It will be very dangerous. You’d have to insist on meeting him on your terms, not his.’’
‘‘I know. If he wants to come out in the open . . .’’
‘‘You really think he wants to get caught?’’
‘‘I don’t know. It’s possible, but ask the profiler.’’
Garnett looked at his watch. ‘‘I’ll go to Kingsley’s hotel tonight and have a talk with him. Have you re sponded to the guy yet?’’
‘‘No. I was waiting to talk with you first.’’
‘‘I’m going to have to really think about this. Let’s talk tomorrow.’’
Diane left the station house wondering what their faces would look like the next time she had to visit. It would be nice to have succeeded in wiping the smirks off them. One thing she was convinced of—she couldn’t expect their help if she was in trouble.
Chapter 35
Star met Diane at the door and hugged her. Her hair was all one color—black—and was short. She had a ring in one nostril.
‘‘Uncle Frank’s heating up dinner. He brought home Chinese, which means we’ll have Chinese left overs for the rest of the week.’’
‘‘Probably.’’
Frank’s house was an old Queen Anne set off the road. It had polished hardwood floors, walls painted a light sand color, and oak and walnut furniture as substantial as the house. It always smelled like furni ture polish and always shined. It was a comfortable house, a house much like Frank—traditional, reli able, solid.
‘‘So, I hear you have a mummy. Can I see it?’’
‘‘Yes, we have a mummy and, yes, you can see it if you would like.’’
‘‘Cool.’’
