sense of isolation. Stacks of white linens were piled atop each of the dividers, which extended into the distance.
“I figured this would be the best place to discuss serial killers without pissing off the customers,” Burden said.
Dixon pulled out her wood chair, then nodded at the front door. “There’s our guest.”
Clay Allman followed the same path the others had a moment earlier, then pulled over an extra chair and placed it at the end of the table. “I haven’t eaten here in years.”
“I hear it’s quite the experience,” Vail said.
Allman pursed his lips as he snagged an extra napkin from the divider and unfurled it with a flick of his wrist. “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“So remember we talked about helping each other out?” Burden said.
“That’s what I do, Birdie. And have done, for twenty-five years. You know that-what’s this about?”
“We’ve got something that needs to appear in tomorrow’s paper.”
Allman stole a look at his watch. “You did say, tomorrow, right?”
“I did.”
Allman sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “We missed the 5- star deadline, but I can probably make the 8:30 ‘1-dot’ edition. What’s so urgent that it has to get into the paper?”
Burden looked at Vail, who picked up the conversation.
“We got a letter from the offender.”
“What’s it say?”
Vail glanced at her task force colleagues, then said, “It reads like a manifesto. Off the record, it seems like he’s done time in prison.”
“And that’s off the record? Give me a break, Karen.” Allman leaned closer. “Can I call you Karen?”
“Call me whatever you want. But we need you to print something for us.”
“How ’bout I print that for you and you let me see this manifesto-and let me mention that prison thing in the article?” Allman twitched his brow.
“How ’bout we buy you dinner,” Vail said. “And you mention that we received a letter from the offender.”
Allman tilted his head in thought. “How ’bout-”
“Clay,” Burden said. “We’re up against the wall here and we need you to do this.” He looked at Allman, his gaze steady-and intense.
“Evening everyone,” the waiter said. “May I take your order?”
They pulled the menus up to their face, selected quickly-Pasta and Clams for Burden, White Branzino Sea Bass for Friedberg, Bay Shrimp Diablo for Vail, and Pacific Oysters Rockefeller for Dixon.
“You’re buying?” Allman asked.
“If we’ve got a deal,” Vail said, “we’re buying.”
Allman groaned. “Fine.” He looked up at the waiter. “Lobster thermidor.” He glanced again at his watch. “Not that I’ll have much time to eat it…”
The server collected the menus and left.
Allman pulled out a spiral notepad from his leather bomber jacket. “So what do you want this to say?”
Vail looked off at the rapidly filling restaurant. The scent of fresh fish sat heavily on the air, the sizzle of frying food off somewhere in the distance. Appeal to his superior intellect. “Try this: A letter was received today by the investigating detective on the Bay Killer case. The task force is awed by the killer’s intellect, and by his insights on the rules of society.” We have to challenge him. “But I’m asking him to be more forthcoming about what his intent is, and what it all means, because even with the mistakes he’s made, I haven’t been able to figure it out.”
Allman stopped writing, then looked up. “You want this personal. You used the first person. Is that the way you want it? A direct quote?”
“I want him knowing it came from my mouth, yeah.”
“Want to clarify what you mean by ‘the mistakes’ he’s made?”
“Just go with what I gave you, Clay. But don’t post it online tonight. Let it hit the paper in the morning. I want to control when he sees it in case he feels the need to act. I’d rather it be daylight.”
Allman again consulted his watch. “If I’m going to make tomorrow’s edition, I’ll have to leave here in fifteen, twenty at the most.”
He began jotting notes on his pad and had filled the third page when their food arrived. Allman ate quickly, periodically checking the time. Finally, he asked the waiter to box up the remaining food on his plate, then left.
“You think that’ll get a reaction from the offender?” Dixon asked.
“I know it will,” Vail said. “He’s shown a pattern of monitoring the media for information dealing with his handiwork. We’re going to hear from him. I just hope it’s not in the form of more bodies.”
Friedberg scooped the last forkful of his sea bass and held it in front of his mouth. “Amen to that.”
Vail crunched on her shrimp, wondering what the connection was to her past… How the killer could know about what she had done in New York… How he had managed to get inside her head-not to mention her hotel room last night. But he had. And somehow he knew the right button to push that would prevent her from sharing this key piece of evidence with her colleagues. It was a brilliant move on his part. But what did it mean?
“What’s on your mind?” Burden asked.
Lots. “Nothing.”
He regarded her a moment, then nodded slightly and directed his attention back to his food.
It was clear that Burden knew something was up with her, but didn’t know what it was. And, unfortunately, Vail found herself rowing in those same shark-infested waters.
