I THINK YOU NEED TO TALK TO D.A. SHERIDAN IN AVON COUNTY AND ASK HIM WHY HE DIDN’T TELL YOU ABOUT THE LETTER I SENT TO HIM EARLIER IN THE WEEK. I TOLD HIM THAT I DID NOT KILL THOSE OTHER THREE GIRLS-YOU KNOW ABOUT THOSE THREE GIRLS, RIGHT? THE ONES NO ONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE? I DID NOT KILL THEM AND DO NOT LIKE THAT EVERYONE IS SAYING I DID. THERE IS A COPYCAT KILLER IN AVON COUNTY AND NO ONE IS LOOKING FOR HIM. THE GIRLS HE KILLS ARE NOT LIKE MY GIRLS. ANY IDIOT COULD TELL YOU THAT.
ALSO, I TOLD D.A. SHERIDAN THAT I WANTED TO BE REFERRED TO AS THE SCHOOLGIRL SLAYER. DID HE TELL YOU THAT?
I DIDN’T THINK SO. SINCE HE DIDN’T TELL YOU ANYTHING, I AM FORCED TO TELL YOU MYSELF. I THINK HE THINKS HE IS PLAYING A GAME WITH ME. HE SHOULD KNOW THAT THIS IS NOT A GAME.
I THINK YOU ARE SMARTER THAN HE IS AND WILL CALL ME BY MY NEW NAME.
THANK YOU.
THE SCHOOLGIRL SLAYER
More posturing, more of the same demand for attention. Interesting that he hasn’t mentioned any new kills, though, and has made no threats.
Annie read through the letter again.
He has to know that the police are closing in on him. Maybe that’s why he’s not being too cocky. He’s just setting the record straight, as he sees it, and trying to take full advantage of his fifteen minutes.
“Your days as a free man are coming to an end, buddy,” she murmured as she folded the fax and tossed it onto her desk.
In the morning, she’d call Sheridan and discuss the case with him, give him the benefit of her thoughts on the matter. Don’t react publicly. Don’t do anything, because he’ll be in custody within twenty-four hours. That was the reaction of both her gut and her intellect, but Sheridan would do whatever he felt was in his best interest. Only he knew what that was.
Annie locked up her house and turned off the lights. She got into bed and searched for the remote control for the TV on the stand opposite her bed. She found it under her pillow and tried to remember when she might have put it there. She watched the news until she fell asleep.
She slept later than she’d intended the next morning, and when she awoke, the television was still on. She turned up the volume while she washed her face in the bathroom steps away from her bed, and had just started to brush her teeth when she caught scraps of dialogue. She stuck her head around the corner, her toothbrush still in her mouth, in time to see a handcuffed man being helped into a police car.
“… who, according to detectives here in Avon County is the self-proclaimed Schoolgirl Slayer, apprehended early this morning by county detectives…”
The camera zoomed in for a close-up of a man with thinning brown hair and glasses, wearing a polo shirt with some kind of logo on it. Annie got as close to the screen as she could, but still couldn’t make out the writing.
When the phone rang, she knew it would be Evan.
“Do you ever get tired of being right?” he asked.
“This one wasn’t so tough. I figured once you narrowed the field, he’d be easy to spot.”
“Can you guess who spotted him?”
“Cahill.”
He swore softly under his breath and she laughed out loud.
“Miranda has a lot of experience. This is far from being her first serial-killer case. They sent her because she has an uncanny knack for seeing things that other people miss,” she said. “Are you going to tell me who and how, or do I have to hang up and get the details from the TV?”
“His name is Albert Vandergris. He is, just as you had predicted, thirty-five years old and he works for the landscaper who did the lawns for all the victims’ families. Has worked for them, cutting lawns, for twelve years.”
“Sounds good so far,” she told him, “but it wasn’t a prediction.”
“Right. Anyway, Jackie called the owner of the landscaping company yesterday, set it up to talk to his employees before they started for work around seven this morning. All the crews report in by six, get the day’s assignments, pick up the trucks and their equipment. So Jackie shows up with the three from the FBI and a few other detectives, and the owner explained to his crews what was going on. He had all the guys waiting there in the barn and starts calling the men up, one by one, to speak with Jackie. And while she’s talking to workers, Cahill wanders out of the barn and around the back. Who do you think she finds trying to slip out the back door?”
“Albert.”
“You’re really good at this, aren’t you.”
“Yes, I am. So Miranda nabs him and brings him in?”
“Not until she and Albert had a little chat.”
“And she managed to get him to confess.”
“Yeah, she did.” Evan’s voice held a touch of awe. “She told him she’d read the letter he’d written to the news station and pointed out the grammatical errors.”
“And he got his back up and began to argue with her?”
“How do you know all this? You already talk to her this morning?”
“No. But she did this once before, in Indiana. Almost the exact same scenario.” Annie laughed again. “But let me guess, Jackie is going for the credit here?”
“I’m betting there will be a press conference by noon this morning, complete with a carefully worded statement, prepared and read by the district attorney, praising the work of the county detectives, especially lead detective Weller, and thanking the FBI for their cooperation. I’m almost sorry I won’t be here for it.”
“That little weasel.”
“Yeah, well, at least they got one killer off the street.”
“Which leaves your case. Is Sheridan going to make the announcement that Albert is not the killer of these girls?”
“I don’t know what he’s going to do. I’m hoping he doesn’t. I’m hoping whoever is involved with this thinks he’s gotten away with it.”
“I agree. Keep him guessing. Even though Vandergris has already said he hasn’t killed those girls, I think it’s best to keep everyone guessing on that point. I wouldn’t address it until I had to.”
“Yeah, maybe the killer-killers-will do something stupid. And it’s not as if anyone seems to care much, one way or another, about my girls. Their deaths haven’t gotten too much attention these past few weeks. All the focus has been on the other girls, the kids from the nice families and the good neighborhoods.”
“Unfortunately, you know that makes better press. And like it or not, this was a story that had strong emotional appeal and a certain amount of built-in sensationalism. But the lack of focus on your vics may work to your advantage.”
“Well, either way, I imagine the D.A. will find a way to keep Vandergris in the foreground for a few more weeks so he can wring every potential future vote out of it.”
“Cynic.”
“Oh yeah. My middle name.”
“Well, with luck, Detective Manley will be able to give you some insights that could help lead you in the right direction.”
“I’m afraid that might be too much to hope for.” Someone spoke in the background, and Evan covered the phone with his hand. When he came back on the line, he said, “Gotta run. They’re calling my flight. See if you can catch some of the press conference this morning.”
While she finished packing for her trip, Annie surfed the channels hoping to find coverage of the conference, but apparently it was being carried only locally at the time. Perhaps later in the day, one of the networks would broadcast it, but she was likely to miss it.
Already running late, Annie turned off the TV and closed her suitcase. The Schoolgirl Slayer was in custody, her interest in him on the wane. Her attention was focused now on those who still escaped detection, those who, somewhere, were waiting to strike again.
14
Evan sat on a metal folding chair in the cramped windowless room that Detective Donald Manley called his office, and read through the reports that had been copied for him.
Manley, a tall gaunt man with long fingers and a long sharp nose, went about his business of making calls on a battered-looking phone from a desk that appeared to have been abused at the hands of many. Occasionally, Evan would ask a question or two between Manley’s calls, but other than that, there had been little conversation between the two men.
Each was following his own agenda. Manley’s focus was on tracking down a witness to a shooting the night before. Evan’s was on following the story Manley had laid out for him.
According to the file, eight months earlier, the bodies of three young girls, each killed by a single bullet to the back of the head, had been found in Bonsall Park in the city. For a while, it appeared the case-the press had dubbed it the Bonsall Park Murders-would be retired to the cold-case room, since there were no witnesses and no suspects. But through networking and scanning the Internet, Manley had located other cases that had a similar feel to them. So far, after having made endless phone calls, he’d found that victims in two other cities-Boston and New Orleans-had little stars tattooed on the upper part of their left hips. Boston’s two, Chicago’s three, and New Orleans’s four accounted for nine young girls with tattooed stars. Evan’s three made it an even dozen.
“Why do you suppose it took New Orleans so long to put this together?” Evan asked when Manley had ended his phone conversation.
