A Touch to Die For

by Brian D. Meeks

  Chavez said, "I'm inclined to try to guess the answer that will keep you talking, but you are right. We don't want you to lawyer up, and you seem too smart to be fooled by any bullshit, so I'll be straight with you. You're our only suspect right now, but that isn't to say we are close-minded on the issue."

  Hearing the word "suspect" was chilling. It took a couple of breaths to take it all in. Mitch said, "Okay, I appreciate you being honest. To answer your question, Ms...sorry, I've already forgotten your last name. May I call you Alexis?"

  "Alexis or Alex is fine."

  "Alex, you asked if I knew the name. As I've said, I'm terrible with names, but I believe I do. I was recently in Italy, which I assume you know. He was a waiter at a little place where I got coffee for a couple of days while enjoying the view of the Amalfi Coast. I asked him where I might buy a gift, and he sent me to his cousin's or uncle's or something. All I know is he was a kind young man. Is he dead, too?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so."

  "You know I'm a writer, correct?"

  "We do."

  "One of the necessities of telling a story is to be fresh and to come up with clever crimes and such. I can assure you I don't commit crimes, especially murder, but that is exactly the sort of thing a killer might say, and I'm sure your training manual frowns on simply accepting the word of suspects. That wasn't my point, though. When I'm writing and trying to think through the logic of something, I like to pace. Would you mind terribly if I stood?"

  Chavez said, "We prefer that people we're talking with remain seated, but what the heck. Go for it."

  "Thanks," Mitch said. He got up and started to slowly walk back and forth behind his chair. "I don't know either of you very well, but you both strike me as serious investigators who are interested in finding your killer not merely in getting a conviction."

  Chavez and Alex nodded in agreement.

  "That being said, there are two possibilities, one of which is that I'm not your man. I'll be working on that premise since I know it to be true. So, if I'm not the guy, then what are the odds that all five of these people with whom I've had contact, though I only remember four of them, are all murdered? May I ask who the guy was that I didn't recognize? Did I run across him or was he just a victim and you don't know?"

  Chavez said, "At this time, let's just say he was one of the victims, but, actually, the count is up to ten."

  "Ten? Good God, okay, so you've determined that because I crossed paths with some portion of the victims, I was the most logical person to begin with, but since I know it wasn't me, then it begs the question, what are the odds?"

  Chavez said, "Our training manual also teaches us not to believe in coincidences."

  "That sounds like something I'd write. Maybe, I will, one day...but I digress. If it isn't just chance that someone was killed in Italy and nine more here in the U.S., then it seems that the only logical conclusion on my side of the table, is that, and I again apologize for the cliché, someone is framing me. Do people even do that anymore? It is so black and white TV."

  Chavez said, "People do a lot of things."

  Mitch continued to pace and said, "Pinning one murder on a person seems vastly easier than ten. The logistics are monumental because you not only need to make sure there is a connection between me, the patsy, and the victim, which clearly has been done, but what about an alibi? I mean, in order for it to work, the patsy needs to be alone without anyone to vouch for them. That takes some serious planning. How would one know for sure that their victim, me in this case, was alone?"

  "It is a tough one," Alex said and continued, "Do you mind if I confer with Agent Chavez for a minute? We'll be right back."

  They left Mitch who continued to pace.

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Alex, Chavez, and Jamal gathered in the viewing room. Alex looked at Jamal and asked, "What do you think?"

  There was a pause. Jamal said, "I'm still pretty new to this, but he seemed to genuinely not have any idea why we brought him in, but, for all I know, maybe he's just a great actor."

  Alex said, "There are countless cases of serial killers with IQs that are off the charts. It is possible he has rehearsed all of this in preparation for the day we caught up with him."

  Chavez said, "Yes, you may be right, but I think I may agree with Jamal. The psychos I've dealt with always wanted to brag about how there wasn't any evidence so they could show how clever they were. I don't see any of that in him."

  Alex nodded. "Have the techies called in from going over his hotel room?"

  Chavez pulled out his phone, put it on speaker, and dialed. A voice answered, "Hey, Chavez, did he confess?"

  "No, did you find anything that we might leverage against him?"

  "Actually, what we found doesn't make any sense at all."

  "Oh?"

  "Four bugs and a fiber optic camera, but that isn't the weird part - they aren't like anything I've ever seen before."

  "You mean like government stuff?"

  "Not exactly. I don't even think our friends at the CIA have anything this good. The components are all military grade, but they've been used in ways I've never seen."

  "Homemade stuff?"

  "Yeah, but not by some kid that hangs out at RadioShack."

  "Thanks."

  Chavez said, "Our author seems like a bright guy. and I'll want a team to check his place in Manhattan, but I don't think he is an electronics genius."

  Jamal asked, "And why would he bug his own room? I suppose it could be part of his 'story,' but he could have used off-the-shelf stuff for that."

  Alex asked, "Have we heard from Granville?"

  Chavez said, "No. Jamal could you find out how it is going, please?"

  "Sure thing."

  Jamal left the room and silence took his place.

  #

  Paul had gone from happy to horrified. He heard the FBI take Mitch away. For a moment, it seemed his brilliant plan was about to enter the fun stage in which the famous author was humiliated, convicted, and jailed for the murders. It wasn't until he heard the team of technicians enter the hotel room that he realized his mistake. The bugs would seem out of place and would beg the question, Who was watching Mitch?

  Accounting for all the details was difficult and the more he chastised himself for the blunder, the more he realized that there probably were other things he had overlooked. Like a game of chess, there are moves and counter plays. All he needed to do was create a new plan. The goal remained simple: make Mitch pay for the years of bottled-up angst.

  Paul could think of two really fine plays, but each would need to be thought through. How would his opponent react, and how much time was there before the Feds started to look elsewhere for the ATM killer?

  #

  "I don't give a damn. I want to see Mitch right now."

  "As I told you, I can't give you any details. You'll just have to wait until they are done."

  She looked at him with a glare that would have made a civilian quake. The man at the desk was trained to handle terrorists, so he was able to handle her unpleasant assault. "If you take a seat, I'll call upstairs and see if I can get someone to talk with you who is better able to answer your questions."

  "Now, was that so hard?"

  A few minutes later Alex introduced herself and showed S. to another interview room. "Please have a seat."

  "Thanks. Now could you please tell me what is going on?"

  "First of all, let me say your friend is fine. We are conducting an investigation, and he has been very helpful."

  "What are you investigating?"

  Alexis pulled out her notebook and asked, "Do you know a woman named Anne Marie..."

  S. interrupted, "Of course I do. She is my assistant. What could you possibly want with her?"

  "I'm sorry to tell you this, but she was murdered this afternoon."

  S. tilted her head as if it might help her hear what Alex had said in a different way. "But Mitch and I were
just eating lunch and then I..."

  "And then you what?"

  "I sent her over to see this new artist we're interested in. What happened?"

  "She was attacked in a stairwell. Beyond that, I don't have much information. We still have people at the crime scene, and I've been here."

  S. started to speak, stopped, and almost started again. Finally she said, "You think Mitch had something to do with it?"

  "Do you know where he went after lunch?"

  "Yes, he went back to the hotel."

  "How do you know?"

  "Foursquare. He checks in everywhere."

  "I'm not really up on Foursquare. How does it work?"

  S. pulled out her phone, handed it to Alexis, and said, "It is like a video game you play in public. When you're someplace like a restaurant or hotel, you hit the check-in button, and everything that is near to where you're standing comes up. See, I'll do it." She hit the button, went into her history, and continued, "See, Mitch checked in when he got back to the room and included a picture of the mints on the pillow. He is always checking in and leaving comments about places."

  "Can you excuse me for a moment? I'll be right back with your phone."

  S. was left alone with her grief.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Chapter Forty-Three

  It was a little past 8:30 in the evening when Jamal popped his head into the conference room. "I finished the analysis just as you asked, sir."

  "Thanks, Jamal, let's see what you've got."

  Mitch, sitting next to S., had been trying to recall all the details he could from the days when the people were killed, and his well was empty. The tenor of the conversation had shifted from suspecting Mitch to who might be trying to set him up.

  Chavez looked at the report, handed it to Alexis, and said, "Between Twitter, Facebook, Foursquare, and LinkedIn, two things are clear. You couldn't have killed six of the victims, and you need to get out more."

  "That's why I hang out with her," Mitch said, nodding towards S. "She gets me out in the real world. You said six."

  "Yes. Presumably you were passed out for the first two victims in New York, and you didn't seem to do anything on social media while you were in Italy. Any idea what ATM might mean?"

  "ATM? Automated Teller Machine? Why do you ask?"

  "There is one detail we've not told you about. The killer carves the initials 'ATM' in the victims, usually around the shoulder but not always in the same place."

  "Those aren't my initials."

  "We know, but I thought you might have a nickname that most people wouldn't know about. Something that ties the crime to you. A signature, if you will."

  "Actually...I do, now that you mention it. I write a blog."

  "We know about your blog."

  "No, I mean I write another blog. It is called 'Angry Travel Mongerer.'"

  Jamal said, "I read that. It is hilarious."

  "Who knows that it is your blog?"

  "As far as I know, Kate, but that is all. She wasn't in Italy, and I'm confident she isn't here now."

  "Perhaps she told someone?"

  "I doubt it, but if you asked I'm sure she would tell you."

  "What about fan mail?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Do you have any fans who are stalking you?"

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know, or you don't think you do?"

  "Kate handles all the fan mail. She sorts it into bags by last name."

  Chavez wrote down a note and asked, "So she opens the mail. Does she respond?"

  "No, she doesn't open it. I've only ever read three of my fan letters. It was quite a few years ago, and all three were glowing. I figured that if I kept reading them, it would go to my head. I told her to save them, and I'd look at them when I'm old and living alone with a half dozen cats."

  S. looked at him. "So, what are you saying?"

  "It was before I finally got the nerve to ask you out."

  "Good answer, but you really should answer someone who takes the time to write you."

  "Yes, I probably should, but I do answer tweets and such as best I can."

  Chavez broke in. "We're going to need to see those letters. I'm guessing our killer may be in the mix."

  "You think someone who's upset that I didn't return a letter has gone on an international killing spree to get back at me?"

  "I don't know."

  "It would make a good novel."

  Everyone gave Mitch a dirty look. He said, "Sorry. I'm always thinking about writing."

  Chavez said, "I think we have everything we need. I appreciate you coming down. I'm sorry about how we introduced ourselves."

  Mitch took their business cards and promised to call if he thought of anything else.

  #

  Mitch put his key card in the door. The muffled click sent a wave of anxiety through him. Someone had been watching and listening to them. Though the bugs were removed, it was still unnerving. "How are you feeling?"

  "I feel sick and a little frightened. I should call Anne Marie's parents."

  "I need a shower," Mitch said as he double checked to make sure the door locked behind them.

  S. closed the curtains and sat down on the couch. She put her face in her hands and started to weep. Mitch wrapped his arms around her and said, "I'm so sorry about Anne Marie."

  "She was such a bright kid...funny...and the best pain in the butt I've ever known. I can't imagine what it will be like without her."

  "You know, someone out there has it in for me, which means you're not safe."

  "That thought had crossed my mind, but what do we do?"

  "We could take off to someplace remote at least for a while until Chavez and his people hunt him down."

  "He could follow us."

  "Yes, but if we picked a remote enough spot, the FBI could keep an eye on anyone who goes there, too. They would probably be alone and it might actually help them..."

  Mitch's phone interrupted. He looked at the screen, but the number was blocked. He said, "Mitch Bessemer speaking."

  A dark, computer-altered voice said, "So, you've been let go by the FBI?"

  "Who is this?"

  "You'll find out soon enough. It seems I didn't do a good enough job of weaving my web."

  "Apparently not. You mind letting me know what I've done to incur your wrath?"

  "I like that. 'Incur my wrath,' very poetic. Always the writer, eh, Mitch?"

  "Yes, I guess so. Did you have a point to make?"

  "Though my plan didn't work, there are still plenty of people on my list, people who are much closer to you, who might have to pay for your sins."

  "Might unless I do what?"

  "Do you know where the Galena Diner is?"

  "No idea. Illinois?"

  "Google it, and I'll meet you there in one hour. Don't call your new Fed buddies or the cops, or I'll simply fade into the night and continue working down my list."

  "Galena Diner. Got it."

  "Oh, and don't say anything to your little girlfriend, or I'll make her pay."

  "You really should have led with that. She's right here and already knows where we're meeting."

  There was silence for a moment. "Okay, well then I'll meet you at the Roadway Diner in an hour."

  "I don't have a car, so I'll have to grab a cab. You got any problem with me telling the cabbie where I'm going?"

  "Have him drop you off a couple of blocks away and walk."

  "Got it. No cops, nobody knows, I'll be there in an hour," Mitch said and set the phone down.

  S. asked, "Was that him?"

  "It was."

  "Let's call Agent Chavez."

  "Give me a moment to think. He said not to tell you or call the cops, and, with what they said about the bugs he put in the room, my gut tells me he would know if I broke any of the rules."

  "What do we do?"

  "If it were my character and I were writing this as a novel, I'd lure the hero away to get to his g
irl."

  "You think it's a trick?"

  "It might be, but we need to play by his rules."

  "I'm coming with you."

  Mitch pointed at her and raised his voice, "Don't even think it. You will do EXACTLY what I say. You won't deviate from my plan one bit."

  "Why are you so angry?"

  "I'm not angry; I'm frightened. I'm scared for you, for me, for everyone in my life I give a damn about. You're a strong, independent, smart woman, and I love that about you, but you need to trust me. You need to do what I say, and you need to be someplace where I don't have to worry about you. I've loved you for most my life, and now, when you are more than just an idle dream, I'm not going to lose you."

  Mitch grabbed her and kissed her hard. "Do you get it? Do you promise you'll do what I say? Because I'm not messing around."

  S. looked at him and asked, "You love me?"

  "Yes! But you're missing the point. I need to find this psycho and put an end to this, but I don't know his next move, so you need to focus on staying safe. Will you do that for me?"

  "Yes. What do you want me to do?"

  Mitch picked up the phone on the desk and rang the front desk. "Hello, may I speak with the manager? It is rather urgent."

  "Yes, this is Cheryl, the night manager."

  "Cheryl, I'm sure you've heard about the excitement earlier today with the FBI and all?"

  "Yes, is everything okay, sir?"

  "Maybe not. I need you to do something for me because I fear my girlfriend may be in danger."

  "Do you want me to call the police?"

  "No! I want you to discretely check if there are any more rooms available on different floors from your office."

  "Just a moment...yes, we have plenty of rooms."

  "I'd like to have four of them. Can you do that without letting anyone know and bring the four key cards to my room?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you do it quickly? This is important."

  "I'll be right up, sir."

  "One more thing, I need to make sure that the rooms can't be traced to me. Can you put them under another name?"

  "What name?"

  "I'll let you pick. I hope we will only need them for one night. You may charge my card for all four, but please don't tell anyone about the extra rooms."