simple facts, observations, theories and descriptions. What Joe read on the sixth page made it relevant to him. Vertically, in the right-hand margin was written: Lying, badly beaten. Lowry is the result. I don’t know if I could have done anything differently.
Something cold shot up the back of Joe’s neck. He scanned quickly through the pages that followed, through writings about rooms and stories and calculators and theatres. It ended after sixteen pages, signed off namelessly: More will come. Captured at the right time.
‘Jesus,’ said Joe. ‘What the fuck was that?’ He called the others over.
‘Guys, I just got a letter about Ethan Lowry.’
‘A letter?’ said Danny. ‘From who?’
‘A randomer,’ said Joe.
‘Who’s Arrandoma?’ said Rencher.
‘Randomer. A random person. Person unknown. It’s something I picked up from one of Shaun’s friends in Ireland.’
‘OK, what’s this randomer saying?’ said Rencher.
‘A little and a lot,’ said Joe.
‘Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got,’ said Danny.
Joe ignored him and looked down at the letter. ‘OK, so we got a lot of information on exactly where the salt is in the kitchen for when the guy is microwaving his eggs in the morning, a bunch of other stuff about what he likes to do – major detail there…
‘Did he sign it?’ said Rencher.
‘Yeah, sure he did,’ said Danny, ‘with his address too, that’s why we’re all sitting around here, trying to figure out who could have sent it.’
‘Yeah, I meant with anything-’
‘What? Like, From the killer…?’ said Danny.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ said Rencher.
‘Shut the fuck up all of you,’ said Joe. ‘Let me read this out to you.’ He read through the letter and waited in the silence that followed.
‘Are we taking this seriously?’ said Rencher.
‘I think we should be,’ said Joe.
‘But “ lying badly beaten ” – you could get that from a media report, that’s no insider information there,’ said Rencher.
Joe looked down again at the letter and shrugged. ‘I think there’s something in this. Let’s just take it that there is.’
‘“ More will come, captured at the right time ”,’ said Danny. ‘More victims?’
Joe shrugged. ‘Or more letters?’
‘Maybe,’ said Danny.
‘I mean, what is the point of this letter?’ said Martinez.
‘Someone is reaching out,’ said Rencher.
‘But are they trying to help?’ said Cullen. ‘Are they giving us any information?’
Joe glanced down at the pages. ‘I think somewhere in here there’s information. I think they’re trying.’
‘Seriously, could it be from the perp?’ said Rencher.
‘Doesn’t sound like a psycho, but then, “ Lowry is the result. I don’t know if I could have done anything differently ”.’
‘Yeah,’ said Joe. ‘That could be talking about anything. I don’t know. Look, I’ll go ahead, copy this a few times, if anyone has any ideas, get back to me.’
‘Will Question Documents be able to tell us more?’ said Rencher.
‘Probably not a whole lot,’ said Joe, ‘Looking at this, the paper, the envelope, the pen don’t look like anything special. If we get another letter in, they can tell us if it’s from the same guy. And if there’s any problem when we track him down, they can use samples of his writing to match it up. That’s about it. First thing is to get it to Forensics, see if we can get some prints.’ He pointed to his notebook. ‘I mean doesn’t whoever wrote it get that it’s pretty fucking easy to trace? I’ve got the time and place where it was mailed right here from the stamp. I’m going to get in touch with the post office, see if we can get any video. Bobby, can you pass me the Ortis file?’
‘Sure,’ said Bobby, handing it to him.
The others were talking among themselves as Joe slowly started to flip through the pages.
‘You got the VICAP form?’ said Joe. He looked up at Bobby.
‘For Ortis?’
‘Yeah,’ said Joe.
Bobby shrugged. ‘I guess I didn’t fill one out.’
‘You didn’t fill out the VICAP form, Bobby?’ Joe’s voice rang loud in the room.
‘Yeah, like, you fill them out every time?’ Bobby glanced around at everyone. ‘Come on, a hundred bullshit questions that are no use when, like, the whole fucking country isn’t filling them out too? Everyone knows that. Spending hours answering questions when I could be out on the street getting somewhere?’
‘So you don’t see how making a link here might have helped Ethan Lowry?’
Bobby snorted.
‘And to answer your question, yeah, I did always fill out the form,’ said Joe. ‘And I still do…’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Bobby.
‘Nothing,’ said Joe. ‘If I’m working with a squad detective and they haven’t filled one out, I have to do it for them.’ Joe was looking down, his tone neutral.
Danny got up. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘On that VICAP bombshell-’
Nervous laughter broke out, but died away just as quickly.
William Aneto’s mother Carmen lived above the grocery store she owned on 116th Street in East Harlem. Martinez had rung the bell, but there was no answer. The door was freshly painted bright green with a gold knocker he slammed against the wood.
‘Nice smell,’ said Danny, glancing into the store. He reached out to ring the doorbell again.
Martinez slapped his hand away and did it himself. ‘This is my show.’
Mrs Aneto opened the door and gave them a weary look. She was a small woman in her early fifties, dressed in a navy blue suit and low heels. Her hair was held neatly in a bun at the base of her neck. She wore no makeup. Martinez greeted her in Spanish, introducing himself and Danny.
She stared at Martinez. ‘You must be the token guy,’ she said.
He frowned.
‘Match the skin of the detective to the skin of the victim,’ she said.
Martinez turned back to her and spoke again in Spanish. She gave a defeated smile and led them in, up a narrow flight of stairs into a small apartment.
The living room was well worn and looked like the centre of entertainment for Mrs Aneto. There were women’s magazines on the sofa, two books balanced on the arm, a tray with a teapot and one cup on it. A bowl at the centre of the coffee table was filled with candy. The TV was widescreen and behind it, there were tall shelves of DVD cases and at the bottom, rows and rows of cassettes with white stickers and handwritten titles.
Mrs Aneto sat down in a high-backed armchair and put the footstool in front of it to one side. Danny and Martinez sat side by side on the sofa. Martinez leaned forward, resting his forearm on his left knee. He spoke in Spanish. ‘The night your son died, you said when he called you it was to say goodnight. Did he say anything else?’
‘Let’s not be rude to our white guest,’ she said and switched to English. ‘Why are you asking me this now?’
‘Because there have been some new developments in the investigation and-’
‘What kind of new developments?’
‘We believe there may be another victim.’
Her eyes were wide. ‘Was the victim white?’
‘Yes,’ said Martinez. ‘In fact, there may be two of them.’
‘Both white.’
