“I didn’t recognize them and couldn’t find anyone who did. I already faxed the photos of the tattoos to the FBI. Apparently, there’s someone on staff who’s really an ace at tracking down stuff like this. Annie says if it’s in the system, they’ll find it.”
“Good move. And you already sent the samples from the lab down there as well?”
“I did, as soon as the lab director agreed to release them. Thanks for stepping in there.”
“Coogan can be a hard-ass. Sometimes you just have to remind him who’s in charge. In this case, it would be the county D.A. He had no problem getting Coogan to see things his way.”
“Whatever it took. I’ll just be happy to see a little solid evidence. It’s frustrating to gather all those samples, all that potential evidence, then have to wait weeks to see what’s what,” Evan admitted.
“In this case, a few weeks could mean the difference between life and death for another young girl. Or two. The killer has definitely put us on notice. He’s not finished.”
“What are you going to do with the letter?” Evan pointed to the paper in his hand.
“I’ve already sent the original to a handwriting analyst at the FBI-you’re not the only one with contacts, you know.”
“How do you propose to respond?”
“Well, I was hoping Dr. McCall might have some thoughts on that.”
“I’m sure she will. But in the meantime-”
“In the meantime, I’ve sent letters to every school in the county, advising parents and school officials that until this guy is caught, no one’s daughter is safe. Your kid goes no place alone, checks in with the parents, and reports any suspicious activity. Anything, from anyone. And if she’s not home when she’s supposed to be, the first call the parents make is to their local police department.”
“Tough talk.”
“Can’t be tough enough. This guy has killed five young girls-all daughters of well-off, influential county residents, so that just adds to the colossal heat we’re taking. This last girl was the daughter of the next-door neighbor of one of the town supervisors in Broeder.”
“I heard about that.” Evan nodded. “My sister’s fiance is the chief of police down there.”
“Right. Sean Mercer. He’s got the local politicians and a passel of reporters crawling up his butt over this, so of course he’s crawling up mine. Not that I blame him, but it isn’t as if we aren’t trying to track this guy. We just don’t have much to go on.”
“How much are you going to make public?” Evan asked. “Are you going to let it be known there are two killers? Are you going to release the letter to the press?”
“Not yet. Right now, I don’t want to change the status quo. I’d really like to wait to see what Dr. McCall has to say. Maybe she’ll have some insight into whether silence or publicity is to our best advantage. I don’t want to throw something out there only to have it bite us in the ass later on. Let’s get the best advice we can before we act. For now, just proceed as you were. Keep the letter under your hat, for now. And let’s sit on this two-killer thing until after I’ve spoken with Dr. McCall.” Malone drew a hand through the thinning hair on top of his head. “The one thing I do want is every department in this county on alert. I know everyone’s been on this, Crosby; don’t jump on me. But I want every available man on the street.”
“Chief, it’s impossible to cover all these private schools. They’re in this county, they’re over in Landro County. There’s no way we can cover all these kids.”
“No, but we can cover them when they get back to our jurisdiction. So far, he hasn’t hit any town in Landro County. He’s confined his work here, in Avon. That could mean something, maybe not. Who the hell knows what this guy is thinking, what sets him off, what makes him go after one girl and not another? For now, the best we can do is to warn parents to keep their eyes on their kids and make them understand the danger, that to a certain degree they are going to have to be responsible for themselves and for their friends.”
“Let’s hope the lab results are back soon and give us something. Right now we have nothing.”
“And he knows it. Bastard knows that right now he has us chasing our own tails, and he’s enjoying it,” Malone told Evan. “Let’s see what we can do to ruin his fun before he kills again.”
At Annie’s suggestion, Malone made his request for FBI assistance directly to John Mancini, who headed up a special unit within the Bureau to handle sensitive cases. John personally reviewed the files, which had been messengered to him overnight, before assigning three of his top agents to the job.
“Shouldn’t take you more than a day or so,” he said to Annie while authorizing her to provide an analysis of the killer’s psychological profile to the chief of detectives in Avon County. “What’s on your calendar right now?”
“The Ohio case. A case out in Michigan. Something that came in last night from Oregon; I’m taking that with me to read on the plane. I have a meeting in Seattle next Tuesday. Otherwise, I’m okay.”
“Great. See if you can shed some light on this case.” John pushed his chair back from his desk, his habitual nonverbal notice that the meeting had concluded.
Annie stood and gathered her bag and her briefcase, noting that John’s job was clearly taking its toll.
“You okay, John?”
“As okay as I’ve ever been, I guess.”
“Genna okay?” She asked, referring to John’s wife of two years.
“She’s fine.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s with the interrogation?”
“You just look a little tired, that’s all.”
He laughed. “When have I not been tired?”
“You just look a little more worn-out than you normally do.”
“It’s just the job, Annie. But I appreciate your concern.”
“Maybe you should be the one going to Pennsylvania and out of here for a few days.”
“Well, actually, I’ll be doing just that. Genna’s got that cabin out on that lake up in the northeastern corner of the state, you know. We’re supposed to go for a week, starting on Tuesday.”
“Do it. Make it your priority. Don’t let anything come between you and that time off, John. Seriously. I can’t remember the last time I called this office and you were on vacation.” Her voice softened. “You need the time, John.”
“You been talking to my wife?”
“Just looking out for you, pal.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” John told her. “You keep in touch, and have a safe trip.”
“You, too.”
She left John’s office and headed straight for her own on the seventh floor. She was gathering up files she’d left on her desk when Brendan Shields appeared in her doorway.
“Hey. Where’s the fire?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m on my way to Pennsylvania to look into that serial killer they have on the loose, and I need to take some of these notes with me.” Where was the file she’d started with her own notes on Dylan’s case? She checked her briefcase and found she’d already tucked it away.
“I heard Mancini’s sending a couple of agents up there,” he said. “I heard Miranda Cahill, Mike Hoffman, and Kevin Muller were going.”
“Oh, great. I love working with all of them. I should check with Miranda and see when she’s leaving. Maybe we can fly up together.”
“She’s in Maine right now. I think she’s heading down there tomorrow.”
“Word travels fast around here.”
Brendan shrugged. “I had lunch with Will a while ago. Miranda called him while we were eating.”
“I can’t believe how incestuous this place is. And how quickly news travels.” She laughed and added one more file to her briefcase. “Gotta run.”
Brendan backed into the hall to allow her to pass.
“See you when I get back.” She stepped around him and started down the hall, then stopped and turned around. “By the way, do you know an agent named Melissa Lowery?”
“Name sounds familiar, but I can’t place her. Why?”
“She was on the scene the night Dylan died, but her report is missing from the file.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“It probably dropped out at some point, or got stuck to something else and misfiled. Happens all the time.”
“Anyway, I was just wondering what was in the report, if she might remember what she’d written, but no one seems to know where she is.”
“I can ask around, see if anyone knows.”
“Thanks, Brendan.” She smiled and resumed her quick trot to the elevator, calling to the woman who was just about to enter the car, “Hey, could you hold that for me, please…?”
10
Anne Marie sat on the black leather sofa in the office of the Avon County district attorney and read through the letter she’d been handed almost immediately upon entering the room.
“This is what we’re dealing with, Dr. McCall,” the District Attorney, Art Sheridan, told her. “We think this is, in fact, from the killer, but we want
