“He’s basically made it a one-way conversation. I don’t want to be strung along, either. If we don’t get some sort of resolution, we’ll have Allman and Scheer post an article to their papers’ websites. Eventually, the offender may see it. But who knows how often he’s checking?”
“Why wait?” Dixon said. “Why not do that now?”
Burden nodded.
“Fine.” Vail leaned to the side around Burden and whistled to Allman, then turned and called behind her to Scheer.
“You said he may’ve already given us something,” Burden said. “What are you thinking?”
“To start-”
Vail’s BlackBerry buzzed. She made eye contact with her two partners, then pulled it from her belt. “Well. The game’s afoot.” She looked at Burden. “You want to play? Or ignore it?”
Burden grumbled, but he and Dixon huddled around her phone and read the message:
11th & folsom
that which it contains not
constricting restricting and single-handedly cold it has got
see that which its not
Allman and Scheer joined their grouping.
Burden sighed. “Getting more cryptic.”
“Let’s do what we did before,” Vail said. “Parse it, line by line.”
“Another message?” Allman asked.
“Another message,” Dixon said as she reread it. “I say we get moving toward Eleventh and Folsom, work it through in the car.”
“How far?” Vail asked.
“Couple minutes depending on traffic,” Allman said. “Less than a mile.”
They got into the Ford and Burden took them down Sixteenth Street. “Read it to us,” he said.
Vail consulted her BlackBerry. “First line. That which it contains not. Any ideas?”
Dixon leaned forward in her seat. The restraint locked; she sat back, let it tighten, and then pulled it back out. “How about this: whatever it is that we’re talking about doesn’t hold in, or contain, the object it’s supposed to.”
Scheer said, “So a fence that’s supposed to hold a dog in a yard doesn’t do the job. The dog gets out.”
“Might be talking about us,” Vail said. “We’re supposed to contain him, prevent him from killing. But we’re not. In which case it’d be talking about him.”
Dixon was still struggling with her seatbelt, which again locked on her. “Since this whole thing is all about him, that makes sense.”
“Why do you think it’s all about him?” Allman asked.
Vail brought her gaze back to the riddle. “That’s in the DNA of psychopaths. Everything revolves around them.”
“I didn’t realize we were talking about a psychopath. You sure?”
“Yes, Clay. I’m sure.” She turned around to face him. “And no, you may not print that. We definitely don’t want the UNSUB knowing we think he’s a psychopath. In fact, none of this goes in anything either of you guys writes unless we read it first. Agreed?”
“A little late to be asking that question,” Scheer said.
Vail twisted her body and faced Scheer, who was seated behind Burden. Dixon was the physical buffer between the two journalists. “Don’t push us, Scheer. We will push back, and you’ll be goddamn sorry. After that texting bullshit you pulled, be glad we’re including you in any of this.”
“What texting bullshit?” Allman asked, leaning forward to get a look at Scheer.
Scheer ignored Allman’s question. “You needed my help, Agent Vail. Let’s not forget why I’m here. It’s for you people, not for me. What good is it to be riding around with you if I can’t write a story about any of it?”
“Next line,” Vail said, turning her eyes back to the phone, “is ‘constricting restricting and single-handedly cold it has got.’” She shook her head and read it again, placing different emphasis on the latter part of the sentence. It didn’t help.
Burden hung a left on Folsom. “He’s clearly fixated on constriction and restriction.”
“Maybe he’s claustrophobic,” Dixon said.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Vail said. “Believe me, if he wanted an image for the anxiety of claustrophobia, I can think of a bunch more visceral adjectives.”
“But it’s not about you,” Allman said. “It’s about him.”
Vail pursed her lips. “Good point. I’ll give you that one, Clay.”
“Almost there,” Burden said, craning his neck to check the street sign.
“What about ‘single-handedly cold it has got’?” Maybe he’s talking about the look Scheer’s been giving me the past minute or so…
Burden passed beneath the freeway, which ran perpendicular to Folsom, then gestured at the street sign. “That’s Twelfth ahead. Almost there.”
“No idea what ‘single-handedly cold’ is,” Dixon said. “But he says it’s gotten that way, implying it wasn’t that way initially.”
Vail turned and looked at Dixon. “Really?”
Dixon shrugged. “I gave it a shot.”
Vail blew air through her lips. “I’ve got nothing better. Maybe the location will give us some idea of what he’s trying to tell us.”
Burden pulled the Taurus into a red zone in front of the Jackson Brewery building and they got out. “He gave us an intersection, which means what we’re looking for could be on the four adjacent blocks. Fan out, make a survey of what you see. Meet back here in five.”
They did as Burden instructed, taking in their surroundings, walking up each of their assigned streets. A minute passed. Two…three…and shortly thereafter, they began gathering, finding one another in front of an oversize mural of a beer bottle, above which a large bar sign read, “Caliente.”
Vail looked at it. Hot. Is that a comment on us-we’re on the right track? Or just a coincidence and it means nothing?
“Anything interesting?” Burden asked.
Dixon said, “Couple of restaurants. A few bars. Bus stop. People. Car repair shops. Buildings. Mercedes dealership. Graffiti. A homeless guy with a dog. I gave him a
