Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) (17 page)

“Is it being analyzed?”

“Yes,” replied Mann, knowing where Livermore was headed. “Looks like it was fresh. I don’t think this is going to be tracked back to a supplier. I think he just went out in a field and picked it up. We’re working that angle to see if we can find anyone who saw anything. But it is a big area to canvass. We’re getting help from the Troopers.”

Livermore let a shudder pass through him and turned to the next picture. “What the hell?”

“It’s a flute. He used a rubber mallet to get it up there. Buchanan says it wasn’t post mortem.”

“Jesus. What else can Buchanan tell from this?” Livermore’s voice was weak and he cleared his throat. “Did he get anything more on the psycho?”

“Alf is sure that he is left handed. The direction of the blows and the way the knots are tied point that way. Otherwise, the apartment was clean. No prints and no DNA, so far. The killer also took the larynx again.”

“I see a juicy, rare steak that takes two waiters to carry. A baked potato. Steamed cauliflower with a wine and cheese sauce. A good wine – something expensive. I’ll let the steward pick it out. Desert might never end – decadent is how they will describe it. God, I can taste it already.”

Munro looked over at Lewery. “You are the only person I know that could be happy that a psycho is loose in the city.”

“I’m not happy about that. I’m only happy I was right.”

“That I can understand. After all, when was the last time it happened?”

Lewery let the comment pass and looked back at the computer screen. He had finished the last rewrite of his story hours ago but he had not come up with a headline. Sprinkled through the body of the text, KNAME stood out in red.

The rest of the office was empty. The night crew was on a break before the final crush of press time. Still, neither he nor Munro could come up with a name for the killer.

“Without a name, the whole thing falls apart. We need a name to pull the article together. What’s a serial killer with a distinctive tag to hang on him?”

Munro stared off into space. “We don’t know enough about him.”

“What’s to know? He strangles his victims and then cuts them up.”

Munro nodded. “Okay. What about the Kesle Killer or Kesle Jack?”

“Good but he seems to have settled around the South area. What about the Southside Strangler or the Southbay Slasher?”

“Slashing is what will sell papers and we have a higher circ in the South end. Southside Slasher. Good alliteration and not too difficult to say. Agree?”

Lewery leaned over his terminal and tapped at the keys. SOUTHSIDE SLASHER TERRORIZES CITY appeared across the top of his screen. He did a couple quick commands and the KNAME automatically became Southside Slasher throughout the article. He pressed another series of commands and watched the rest of the front page format. Munro reached over and hit the send button.

“Well,” Munro said, looking at the clock, “that just made deadline.”

George Logan sipped his coffee and looked at the map spread out across his table. A donut on a piece of wax paper held down one corner of the map which threatened to blow away every time someone walked in the door of the donut shop. He placed his finger on a red dot on the map. He traced his finger along the many straight streets to a blue circle. He knew the route without looking at the map. Twenty minutes in the worst of the rush hour traffic. The subway might be faster depending on the time of day.

He looked at his watch. Gathering up the map, he left the donut shop and walked to his car. He pressed a button on his watch starting the timer. As quickly as he dared, he drove through the wet streets of the city. When he turned into the parking lot, he glanced at the stop watch and smiled. He found a parking spot and turned off the car. He immediately got out of the car and sprinted for the entrance.

*

Tina Logan watched her husband catch his breath. She shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed and held her hand over her stomach. The baby kicked as he too searched for a more comfortable position. “You’re going to kill yourself. Why do you have to rush around so?”

Logan still couldn’t talk without gasping. “I want to be sure I can make it.”

“I’m not due for a week. Besides, if you don’t make it, it won’t be the end of the world. I want you alive to see your son.”

“Shhhh, everyone will hear you.” Logan looked around at the other beds in the quad room hating that everything was packed in so close. No privacy. Looking at his wife’s expression, he knew she was annoyed with their old argument about him wanting a private room for the first night the baby was born. She raised her eyebrows.

“OK, not going to talk about that, promise. But I’m not going to miss our first child being born either.”

Tina had been in the hospital for the past month and George had visited her every night. She looked forward to his visits but his worrying tired her. She just wished that the baby would come so she could go back home. The miracle of birth was amazing but it was also a total pain in the ass. The waiting would be the death of her.

Tina didn’t have long to wait – for birth and death.

Lewery slit open the padded envelope and shook out the contents onto his desk without even looking. He was watching the ball game on the newsroom television as he opened his correspondence from the last few days. Well, maybe more than a few days. He’d been too busy with the Slasher case to really worry about it. Since naming the Southside Slasher two days ago, Munro had let him really run with the story. The latest story about the
Night Dance
had been brilliant. But the mail did pile up. He really needed an assistant to look after this paper.

He glanced down at the contents of the envelope and then looked back at the television. It took a full thirty seconds before his baseball focused mind realized what he had seen sitting on his desk. He turned his head slowly down, almost afraid to look in case the object wasn’t what he thought.

He stared for another full minute, goose bumps breaking out on his body. Finally able to bring himself out of his stupor, he took his letter opener and his pen and moved the object aside. Carefully, he opened the letter that had also come in the envelope. He read it twice before he shot out of his desk chair.

“Lewery what are you screaming about?” Munro shouted as he crossed the newsroom

“Munro, you have to see this,” Lewery yelled. “I wish we could have stopped the presses. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Munro stood behind Lewery’s desk. “Ya, that’s going to happen, right after they promote you to my job. You’ve been watching way too many movies.”

“After they see what is in this envelope,” Lewery said, “they just might give me that promotion.”

Munro looked down on the desk blotter and instantly recognized Jeanne McIntosh’s driver’s license. As soon as he saw the small piece of plastic, he picked up the entire blotter and started toward his office. Lewery didn’t have any choice but to follow.

“Shut the door,” Munro ordered.

Munro opened his desk drawer and took out a clear page protector and a pair of tweezers. Carefully, he picked up the letter by one corner with the tweezers and slipped it into the plastic cover. “Tell me you didn’t touch any of this.”

“I’m not an amateur,” Lewery said. “But this could really change the front page.”

“Not tomorrow’s,” Munro said, sitting down and staring at the letter. Now shut up and let me read this.”

Lewery moved behind the desk so he could read over Munro’s shoulder. He still couldn’t believe his luck. He had toyed with the idea of writing a book about this case. It was the story of a lifetime and having the scoop on the serial angle already gave him a boost. With this, the publishers would be bidding fast and furious and he would have a guaranteed best seller.

Dear Mr. Lewery,

I am writing to you because I have always admired your writing, your determination and your unswerving pursuit of the truth. I sense a kindred spirit. One who has survived similar tortures and trials. Powerless and weak, we have decided to strike back. I have been freed by life-changing events and I wish to free others.

You are the voice that I cannot provide. There are those who would try to muzzle me because they cannot risk being exposed. But
your
words can be seen by millions and together we can make people understand the danger we all face. I know that you won’t be satisfied with the filthy lies that will be told about me. Their violence, their hate, their harassment must be stopped.

I understand and can forgive your unknowing mistake in calling these dead people “victims”. Writing from the outside, deceived by the liars, you can be allowed this error of judgment this once. I will bring you inside, expanding your knowledge and vision. You will understand that I am the victim. I have always been the victim. We all have. We are all subjected to untold and unforgivable torment by these vicious creatures. Creatures, yes…they are less than human.

I’m sure you will get many pretenders contacting you. But you will know me by my mark. And by the driver’s license of the liar I have already exposed. Yes, I have exposed her to the world and shown her for the filthy liar and tease that she always was. Now the world knows what I have always known. Rejoice in the revelations that I bring to the world and pass my word to those who hide in the darkness and lurk in the background. Those afraid to show their faces will soon be able to come into the light.

I remain in the dark, where I have always been forced to hide. But now I am a warrior. Retribution embodied. Revenge is at hand for all. Death and exposure finally comes to those who have terrorized me for so long. I hide in fear no longer but remain hidden in order to strike and survive. I will punish them for the injustice and the pain they have caused. Not just for me and my pain but for all of us.

Yours sincerely,

A friend and fellow victim who has refused to take it anymore

“This is gold, absolute GOLD! Talk about a whack job. You might have really pissed him off with tomorrow’s article.”

“I didn’t really talk too much about him,” Lewery said, suddenly feeling very unsure.

“You all but called him a faggot!”

“Better not let the lefties hear you call our gay population that. Besides, I only mentioned the fact that he had moved on to a male victim who happened to be found nude. Just accurate reporting. Besides, screw him,” Lewery said, regaining some of his confidence. “I call them as I see them. And I see this letter on the front page of the paper.”

“Slow down, Ace,” Munro said. “We have some figuring to do about all this.”

“What’s to figure? We print the letter on the front page of tomorrow’s paper.”

“Which is why you will never have my job,” Munro said.

He flipped his Rolodex until he found the number he needed. Picking up the phone, he dialed. “It’s Munro. I know but I got a big problem and I need it solved immediately. I’m going to need you down here in half an hour. We need to go talk to some policemen about something Lewery has got.”

Munro paused and then laughed. “Ya, I know. Let him rot but he didn’t get himself arrested. We got a letter from the Southside Slasher. Ya, not a bad handle, eh? Anyway, we need to make some quick magic deals with the powers so we can run with this thing. Livermore, Keough and Mann. I agree. Good, I’ll see you in fifteen, then.”

“What’re you doing?” Lewery asked after Munro. “We’re taking this to the cops?”

“Of course, we are going to bloody well take it to the cops,” Munro said, picking up the phone again. “Get me someone to shoot a letter and a driver’s license in my office right now. It isn’t going anywhere. I don’t care about lighting. You have five minutes.”

Munro slammed down the phone and looked at the letter again. Finally, he looked up at Lewery again. “You don’t really think we’re going to hold this back from the cops, for Christ sake? Of course, we are going to give it to them. This psycho is killing people and we aren’t going to do anything to make it easier for him.”

“But…”

“Relax, will you. We’re also going to make one mother of a deal for this paper and you are going to have so much access and so many exclusives, you are going to be able to fill that book you have been salivating over since you heard about the second body.”

Lewery had the decency to cast his eyes at the floor for a brief second. But when he looked back up, his eyes were gleaming.

“What about the
Night Dance
?” Livermore asked.

Mann visibly winced. The
Night Dance
had been a promising lead that had gone sour.

“We are still looking into the possibility that he used the
Night Dance
as a place to pick his victims.”

“Yes, I know.”

Mann had already heard the tone in Livermore’s voice. He knew what was coming and dreaded it.

“You’ve all seen the
Daily
,” Livermore continued. He put on his reading glasses. “I quote from the illustrious rag that passes for a newspaper in this city. The headline reads: ‘Is the
Night Dance
the local hangout for the Southside Slasher?’ The body of the story runs for two columns but this small bit tells the entire story. ‘Police seem to think so. The establishment and the employees are under investigation after a connection was discovered between the victims of the Southside Slasher and the after-hours bar.’ The article continues to warn people who frequent the bar to watch their backs.”

“I’m sorry about that, sir,” apologized Keough. “The story must have been leaked by someone Lewery interviewed. It didn’t come out of the task force. We are looking into it to see who might have talked.”

“I’m so glad. The owner of the
Night Dance
appears to think it is too late for those measures. He is suing the city and the department for loss of business. Apparently, he feels that this story could hurt his business.”

“Bullshit,” Mann said. “Every freak in the city will be out there hoping to dance with the Slasher.”

“You may be right but the leak worries me. It highlights how easy things get out to these jackals. I don’t want to see the killer’s sign on the next television broadcast. I know that more people are being brought into the investigation every day but do your best to instill some sort of responsibility among the squad. Bottle things up. We can’t afford anymore getting to the press. As it is, we have likely scared him away from the
Night Dance
.”