“I know she is,” Lynch said, pausing slightly. “Because I saw the raven, too.”
There was silence as the commissioner’s admission sunk in.
“Of course, knowing the raven is linked to these murders and acting on that knowledge are two different things,” Lynch continued. “But if we’re going to act on it, we need to know it’s more than just a hunch.”
“It’s definitely more than that,” Mann said. “You don’t get this many connections by accident, especially when you think back to the poem.”
“What poem?” Lynch said.
“‘The Raven,’” Coletti explained. “It’s a poem by Edgar Allan Poe that Clarissa believed was tied to a message at Fairgrounds; a message that only Lenore Wilkinson could find. The killer apparently believed the same thing, because he left a note saying he’d be back for Lenore.”
The captain, who’d sat quietly at his desk listening, began to type on his computer as the commissioner tried to wrap his mind around the connections.
“So if the killer’s doing this based on some legend in a poem, where does an actual raven fit into the equation?” Lynch asked.
The room fell silent as they all searched their minds for answers. Then the captain looked at his computer monitor and read the first few facts he’d found while researching ravens online.
“Death,” the captain said as he scrolled through the information. “That’s what ravens represent, so if the killer’s trying to tell us there’s more death to come, the raven is the perfect messenger. But he’d have to be a patient man to deal with one, because ravens are smart, cautious, and they don’t take kindly to people. According to this, it’s almost impossible to completely control ravens, so it probably would’ve taken months, if not years, for him to train one. That tells me he’s taken plenty of time to plan this whole thing.”
“But if he’s operating according to a plan he must’ve done more than just train a raven,” Sandy said.
“That’s true,” Mann said, “and I think this whole ‘Gravedigger’ persona is part of his preparation. For all we know he’s already dug dozens of other graves back there in those woods.”
“I doubt it,” said the commissioner. “We searched every inch of Sedgley Woods this morning. We didn’t find anything else like that. Besides, why would he dig dozens of graves in advance?”
“Maybe he’s planning to kill dozens of people,” Mann said.
“Could be,” said Lynch. “But the note he left about Lenore means he’s after a specific person.”
“I think all your points are valid,” the captain said. “But we still need to answer a very basic question: Where did he go?”
They were all silent. None of them had the answer. It was the commissioner who spoke first.
“We might not know the where, but we know the why. He killed because of Lenore, which means we need to figure out what’s so special about her.”
“We already know what Lenore claims is special about her,” Coletti said. “She says she knows things other people don’t.”
“What do you mean?” the commissioner asked.
Coletti was hesitant to tell him. But he’d brought it up, and now he had to at least attempt to explain. “She thinks she has a … sixth sense,” he said haltingly. “She believes she can see the truth about people. Don’t ask if I believe it yet because I’m not sure.”
The captain looked skeptical. Commissioner Lynch looked intrigued. Coletti felt like this was his only chance to convince them, so he went on. “Lenore believes she’s what they call a seer—someone who has dreams or visions or just the natural ability to know things instantly. Now, I’m not sure that we can deal with that in a conventional sense. That’s why I was going to request that you permanently reassign Lieutenant Jackson to this case. Based on what she was able to do in the Angel of Death murders, I think she could be helpful here.”
Sandy turned around and looked at Coletti. “You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you?”
“No,” Mann said as he thought about the idea. “No, I think he’s right. You’re a lot like Lenore Wilkinson claims to be. You see things in ways other people can’t.”
Lynch and the captain saw the look that passed between Mann and Sandy. Coletti did, too. He smiled to himself, but he knew that a single glance couldn’t heal whatever was wrong between them. Lynch knew it, too.
“If you want me to start reassigning people, I need facts.”
“You want facts?” Coletti said, taking out the pictures he’d gotten from the ME’s office and handing each of them a copy. “Here’s fact one.”
They all looked at the pictures as Coletti spoke. “The coroner found this when he examined Clarissa’s body. It’s a cryptogram—a kind of code that Poe used in some of his writings. She had it tattooed on the back of her neck.”
They looked at the strange arrangement of numbers and letters that read: H20Z18G 1G 20S5 V22V18T18V5M 2I5V.
“Did anybody bother to try to find out what it means?”
“I called a buddy of mine in the State Police,” Coletti said. “He ran it through a program that decodes cryptograms and it came up with gibberish. But we’re still working on it.”
“Okay,” Lynch said. “What other facts do you have?”
“Clarissa Bailey placed several calls to Lenore’s father in the days leading up to her death.”
“And?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. But whatever Clarissa was dealing with in recent days obviously scared her, because she went out and got a gun. In fact, she’s the one who fired the gunshot in the cemetery this morning.”
Lynch looked at the captain. Then he looked at Coletti and the others as he sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. “Lieutenant Jackson, I’m gonna call your captain and tell him you’re being reassigned, effective immediately. You’ll work with Coletti and Mann until we close this case. Coletti, I’m assuming that laptop I saw when I came in belonged to Mrs. Bailey. Am I right?”
“Yes, Commissioner. Her husband turned over two laptops and a phone.”
“Okay, get all that stuff to IT. They should be able to dump the hard drives and give you whatever’s there pretty quickly. Mann, you’ll be responsible for following up with IT.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Coletti, you got any interviews lined up?” Lynch asked.
“I’m going to Penn to talk to the man who got Clarissa to believe in this whole thing about Poe.”
“Penn?” Mann said. “I might know the guy.”
“I almost forgot you went there,” Coletti said. “His name is Workman. You know him?”
“I think he taught in the English department,” Mann said. “Kind of intense. Elbow patches. I never had him, but everybody thought he was way too serious about literature.”
“That’s good to know,” Coletti said. “Speaking of literature, I wanted to see if you and Sandy could take Lenore over to the house on Seventh Street where Poe used to live. If Lenore’s really some kind of seer she should be able to sense something there that could be useful.”
“No problem,” Mann said. “We’ll pick her up from the Loews. I’ve got a detail there with her until we can transport her to a safe house.”
“And when will the safe house be ready?” Lynch asked.
“Should be within the hour, Commissioner.”
“It better be. I want her under lock and key right after you leave the Poe house. Once that’s done, I want the three of you to interview everyone who was sent that e-mail from Clarissa Bailey. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done.
“Coletti, before the day is out, I need you to go to Dunmore and find out who Clarissa Bailey spoke to there. What did she learn? When did she learn it? That type of thing.
“Finally, we need to know how this raven ties in to all this, and why it matters to the killer. Lieutenant Jackson, you’ll be responsible for that. The captain here will give the three of you whatever support you need.
And I’ll be checking in throughout the day. I want this killer caught, I want him caught now, and I don’t want to hear any excuses. You’re dismissed.”
The three of them walked out with their marching orders, and Coletti stopped to get the computer and cell phone off Mann’s desk.
While Coletti was gathering the items to take them up to IT, Lynch came out of the office and spoke to his old friend so only he could hear. “There was one other thing I wanted to tell you, Mike.”
“What’s that?” Coletti said as he finished wrapping the items.
“I need you to talk to Kirsten Douglas.”
“Why?”
“She questioned why you were working the case after what happened with Mary. I told her you don’t have a personal stake in it, but we both know Kirsten. She’s not gonna let it go.”
“She shouldn’t talk to me, then, ’cause if she questions my integrity I won’t be nice about it.”
“No, you will be nice about it, Mike, because I promised her you’d talk to her.”
“Why would you do that?” Coletti asked in disbelief.
“So you can find out what she knows before the paper does, and get this killer off the street.”
Coletti sighed.
“Whatever you tell her doesn’t have to be for attribution. You can be an unnamed source with knowledge of the investigation. Besides, she just wants a few exclusive tidbits. I don’t see any harm in giving her that. Make her think she’s getting more than she’s giving. Who knows? She might like it. You might, too.”
Coletti looked at the commissioner and shook his head. Then he walked out of the office and saw Mann and Sandy in the hallway. They were standing together near the front door. Mann was on the phone placing a call to the Edgar Allan Poe house. Sandy was trying not to let her personal feelings show. From what Coletti could see, she was failing miserably in that effort.
Mann waved at Coletti and then turned back to Sandy as his partner made his way upstairs. “We’re set for the Poe house,” Mann said to Sandy. “And Lenore Wilkinson’s ready to be picked up.”
Sandy was quiet because she didn’t want to be anywhere near Lenore, and she wasn’t even certain she wanted to be bothered with Mann. Sandy wanted to tell him that she had to supervise her officers, or that she had duties in the district office, or that she had to go back to check on the scene in the park. But the commissioner had given his orders, and Sandy was bound to comply.
“You ready?” Mann asked as he prepared to leave.
Sandy nodded.
Mann walked out, but Sandy lagged behind, so he stopped to wait for her. “You seem preoccupied,” he said when she caught up to him.
“I am preoccupied. I want to find Smitty’s killer.”
“I was hoping you wanted to find more than that,” he said, turning to her with a forced smile.
“Don’t play with me, Charlie. You know you don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do.”
“Then show me,” she said, her tone a mix of skepticism and frustration.
They stopped and looked at each other, each of them hoping that Charlie Mann had rediscovered the thing that he’d lost two months ago. After a few seconds, however, it was apparent that he hadn’t, so he dropped his gaze, knowing that he wasn’t quite ready. Sandy knew it, too, but she liked that he was trying.
“I’ll meet you at the Loews,” Charlie said as he turned and walked to his car.
Sandy watched him and thought of what she’d come to headquarters to say.
“Charlie?”
He turned and looked at her.
“I love you,” she mouthed silently.
For the first time in a long time, he had to force himself to respond. “Me, too,” he said with a grin.
Sandy wanted to believe what he’d said, but there was no life in his words, no emotion in his voice, and no joy in his smile. Sandy knew he couldn’t possibly love her. The look in his eyes said he didn’t even love himself.
CHAPTER 7
Lenore Wilkinson looked out the window of her hotel room and stared at the city below. The Loews building that formerly housed the Philadelphia Savings Fund Society had once been one of the tallest buildings in the city. Though it had long since been dwarfed by the likes of One Liberty Place and the Cira Centre, it still provided a bird’s-eye view of everything that made Philadelphia tick.
She could see the traffic crawling along Market Street, and the towers of City Hall. She could see the people below, like dots moving along the sidewalks. It all seemed so insignificant from up there. No one seemed to matter any more than anyone else.
Lenore knew appearances could be deceiving, however. There were distinctions between the dots she saw moving below. The one on the corner of Thirteenth Street who sat on the sidewalk in utter defeat, his arms outstretched for a coin or a morsel, was less significant than the one stepping into the cab a block away. The one whose Bentley was stopped at a Market Street traffic light was vastly more valuable than the bike messenger dipping in and out of traffic.
Lenore knew that this was the way of the world, because this was the life that she lived. Her beauty had vaulted her far beyond her own humble beginnings and had taken her to the higher echelons of society. She’d paid a price for that, of course. It was a price that she was no longer willing to pay.
She thought about how she had met John Wilkinson. It was a year after she’d graduated from Princeton with a bachelor’s in philosophy. She was enrolled in a master’s program at NYU and still living on a budget with a teaching assistant’s job that paid a small stipend. Five days a week, Lenore traveled back and forth from Princeton, New Jersey, to Manhattan on the cheap. One day she decided to splurge and take Amtrak instead of Greyhound, and there was a charming older man doing what everyone does on Amtrak—trying to find two empty seats so he wouldn’t have to sit next to anyone. The train was crowded, though, so he ended up next to Lenore.
She was surprised at first that he didn’t behave like most older men. He didn’t ogle her. He didn’t make silly conversation. He didn’t offer her the world on a silver platter. He simply took out his laptop and went to work on a proposal.
Lenore was relieved that she wouldn’t have to find a way to nicely rebuff his advances. But then, when he got off the train at Penn Station, he left his briefcase behind. Lenore didn’t know much about high fashion, but she knew that a Louis Vuitton briefcase could be two thousand dollars or more, so she opened the briefcase and found his business card inside. Then she took the day off and set out to return it to him.
When she did finally find his company’s headquarters, high up in an office building on Fifth Avenue, she walked into the lobby and saw a veritable shrine to John Wilkinson. There were framed magazine covers sporting his face, including Money, Fortune, Forbes, and Newsweek. There were pictures of him with various dignitaries from around the world. There was a young secretary who looked Lenore up and down as if she were the competition.
Lenore often thought of that moment—the moment when she had a chance to turn around. It was at that moment that John Wilkinson stepped out of his office to tell his secretary something, and for the first time he looked at the young woman whom he’d sat next to on the train.
Because he was so accustomed to having gold diggers throwing themselves at him, John was taken with the innocence of a woman who would actually take the time to return one of the trappings of his wealth. He asked her out, and she refused at first, which made him want her all the more.
He took the time to learn her every interest, to study her tendencies as if he were chasing yet another business deal, and when he finally was able to make his way into her heart, he wooed her with the same simplicity that he saw in her personality. By the time he finished, she was putty in his hands. Two years into their relationship, they were married.
But as John’s business empire expanded, his once encyclopedic knowledge of Lenore’s interests waned. She began to complain that they no longer spent time together, and he t
hrew money at the problem, giving her every material thing she could possibly want. Still, Lenore realized that the chase for her was over, and he was now chasing his true love—money. While doing so, he relegated Lenore to the status she’d tried so hard to avoid. She was a trophy, and John was never there for her, not even in the moments when she needed him most, like right now.
She dialed his number once again on her cell phone. It was her third call in an hour. She knew that he was returning from Europe on business, but that was no excuse. John traveled in private planes where calls got through. If he hadn’t answered her by now, it wasn’t because he couldn’t. It was because he chose not to do so. When the phone rang for the fifth time and there was no answer, Lenore declined to leave another message. She simply hung up the phone.
As she gazed out her window at the people below who looked so insignificant, she realized that she was just like them. The distinctions that separated rich from poor were of no consequence if the money couldn’t buy happiness. In Lenore’s case, it couldn’t even buy satisfaction.
There was a knock at the door, and she turned from the window. “Come in,” she said.
“Mrs. Wilkinson, Detective Mann is on his way up,” said the uniformed officer who was posted at her door. “We’ll be ready to move you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile.
She went to the mirror and teased her hair into place. Then she put on some lipstick and tried not to look as sad as she felt. She told herself that she was finally doing something that she wanted to do. She was finally out to learn who she really was. That was why she was going to stay to find the answers that had eluded her for a lifetime. It wasn’t about John, or her father, or her sister, or anyone else but herself. Knowing that would have to be enough.
There was another knock on the door, and Lenore pasted on a smile. “I’m ready,” she said, walking out of the room to meet Charlie Mann and the two officers who’d been detailed to her.
“Right this way,” Mann said, walking down the hall as the uniformed cops followed them.
Mann looked at Lenore when they got on the elevator. “We’re going to make a stop before we go to the safe house,” he said.
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