Ceepak gives him another nod.
“Okay. Yes. Now that you mention it … once or twice I may have stopped by. This was decades ago….”
“I know.”
“I remember the girls involved were always quite attractive. College girls. Sexy. All lined up along the shore in their bathing suits. Several of the young ladies weren't quite ready for heaven, as I recall. They were still eager to raise a little hell.”
“Did you spend time with any of these girls?”
“Perhaps.”
“It's a simple question. I'm looking for just a yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“One or two. Maybe more. After all, they'd already displayed their willingness to … uh … sin.”
“Did you hurt any of them?”
“The girls?”
“The girls you picked up at the church.”
Teddy smiles. “Not that I recall. However, I am rather, how shall I put this, rather well endowed.”
Left. That's the liar side. That's where he just looked.
“Did you kill any of them?”
“Excuse me?”
“How many of these girls did you kill?”
“What?”
“It's a simple question, sir.”
“I … I….”
The eyeballs are staring straight ahead now.
“Did you cut off their heads?”
Ceepak flops one of the After shots down on the table. Teddy looks down and his face loses all its tan.
There's a knock at the door. The chief swings it open.
“Ceepak?”
“Sir?”
“Need you out front. You too, Boyle.”
“What is it?” Ceepak asks the chief when the three of us are in his office.
The chief holds up a plastic bag.
Inside I can see a THANK YOU note-the kind my mother used to make me send to all my aunts and uncles before I could spend any of my Christmas money. The front flap is decorated with a sketch of a watering can stuffed with flowers. Ceepak and I screw up our eyes, trying to decipher the snatch of verse printed in blue ink against the blue sky.
Chief Baines reads it to us: “‘Just at the right time, the Lord will send showers of blessings. Ezekiel 34:26.’”
Now he holds up another baggie. Inside, there's a hot-pink envelope.
“I think it's addressed to you, John.”
There are two initials typed on the front flap: J. C.
“Your serial killer is sending you fan mail.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Helen found it when she stepped outside for a smoke.”
The chief sets the two bags down on his desk.
“Where was it?” asks Ceepak.
“Stuck in the gravel. Poking up near the curb.”
The grounds around police headquarters are landscaped with pea pebbles instead of grass. Crushed rock requires little in the way of maintenance, irrigation, or a green thumb.
“Did she see who placed it there?” asks Ceepak.
“No,” says the chief.
“Were any vehicles in the vicinity?”
“I don't think so.”
“Pedestrians?”
“No. She just saw the envelope.”
“Was it Gus?” I ask. “You think he put it there before he came in?”
“It's a possibility,” says Ceepak.
Our old pal just worked his way back onto the suspect list. Ceepak finds another sterile pair of gloves in his cargo pants.
“This message,” he says, “as well as the initials J. C. typed on the front of the envelope, was done on an IBM Selectric typewriter.”
The chief nods. “Just like the cards we found buried in all the holes. We should check the office supply stores in town. Office Depot over on the mainland. Staples. See who's been buying ribbons for antique typewriters.”
Ceepak stops his study of the card long enough to shoot me the slightest little look, because the chief just said exactly what he had said earlier. Back then, our boy Baines told us there wasn't enough time for such niceties.
Ceepak goes back to work. Guess we'll gloat or scream later. It seems our serial killer has climbed out of his mole hole and, after years of silence, wants to communicate with the police.
“‘Thank you for arresting the doctor,’” Ceepak reads. “‘He is an odious fornicator.’”
“See?” says the chief. “He's been following us! Knows what we've been doing, knows we brought in Dr. Winston.”
Ceepak is unsurprised. “Fits the profile.”
“We might as well cut Dr. Winston loose,” the chief says.
“Agreed,” says Ceepak. “Perhaps we can prevail upon him to show us where he met the girl. It might be a location she frequents.”
“That's what I was thinking,” says the chief even though I doubt he was thinking anything like that.
“I'll put Kiger on it,” he announces. “Have him drive Dr. Winston around town.”
Ceepak reads on.
“‘I have come forth to complete God's work. To finish the task he hath placed in my hands. She is a whoring harlot defiling all good men who cross her path. Therefore, her lewdness shalt be made to cease as I continue to live my life under the Son. Do not dare judge me for, in the end, He, the Son, the true J. C., shalt find me steadfast, loyal, and true. Thou shalt not stay my hand nor prevent His will from being done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.’”
Ceepak puts the card back into its plastic bag. Similarly, he places the pink envelope back in its bag. With the evidence secured, he takes off his gloves.
“I need to talk to Rita,” he says.
The chief looks confused. “Your lady friend?” He twists his wrist to check his watch. “Jesus, John-I was sort of hoping you guys would stick with this thing … see it through.”
“Rita Lapczynski knows someone who was part of Reverend Trumble's community during the time period when the serial killer was most active. Perhaps her contact will remember something that everyone else has forgotten.”
The chief shakes his head. “You still worked up about Reverend Billy? Do me a favor, John-give it a rest. The guy's already called the mayor who, of course, called me. Trumble claims you're harassing him, infringing on his
