“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.
Chapter 41
“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.”
Livermore grabbed the Daily and walked to the door of his office. He turned the knob and pulled the door open. “Just make sure this asshole and his paper don’t get anything more.”
Livermore turned and almost ran into three men crowded around his assistant’s desk. She immediately stood and said, “Deputy Inspector, this is...”
“We’ve met,” one of the men interrupted. “Bill Munro. I’m the asshole’s boss.”
“Bill? What are you doing here?” Livermore asked. “You know the channels.”
“We need to discuss something and we need to do it right now,” Munro said, his voice full of the urgency he felt. He had been working with legal for most of the night and only caught a couple hours sleep on the couch in his office. Already, they were working on promoting this thing for tomorrow’s paper. He had to get this done and get back to the office.
“Maybe we can arrange something for this after…”
“You ever find McIntosh’s ID, Stephen?” Munro interrupted. “You ever find her driver’s license?”
Livermore glanced down at the large envelope Munro was carrying. “Oh no.”
Livermore looked at Mann and Keough and then turned to his assistant. “Have coffee and some Danishes or whatever you can find sent to the conference room. Come on, Bill. You and the asshole follow us.”
*
Lewery was sitting beside Mann, thoroughly enjoying himself. Munro had provided photocopies of the letter so all the members of this impromptu meeting had their own copies. The original and the driver’s license were already on their way to the lab for fingerprint analysis. Mann had finished reading and was telling Lewery that he would have to be fingerprinted for elimination.
“No problem. The legal beagle over there already warned me about that. So how is Dani?”
Mann didn’t miss a beat. “As beautiful as ever. She has something going in the financial district.”
In the past, Lewery had let it slip out that he knew about Mann and the television reporter. He also made it clear that he wasn’t using it as a bargaining chip. Instead, he had tried to use his knowledge as a peace offering, a bit of shared confidence as an ice-breaker. Mann didn’t really dislike the reporter, as hard as he tried. He was always on the lookout for the next lurid headline but a straight shooter and more honest than most reporters. So they had an uneasy relationship, neither really giving the other much slack.
“If she ever gets tired of lugging that camera around, tell her the Daily would take her in a heartbeat. She’s a hell of a reporter and I don’t mean just for a Flashcam. She’d probably take my job.”
“She can’t type,” Mann said with a grin.
Before Lewery could respond, Livermore started the negotiations. “I know what a civic minded individual you are, Bill. So what do you want?”
“Want?” Munro said, a hurt tone in his voice. “Hey, we want this guy caught. But, we also can’t ignore the fact that he did pick us.”
“Well, me, actually,” Lewery interjected.
“Let’s start with what you can’t use,” Livermore said, ignoring the reporter. “You can’t use the mark. That is non-negotiable. We are withholding that and anyone who leaks it will have to get themselves arrested to ever see the inside of a police station again.”
“Done,” Munro said. “But when it is all over, we have the exclusive on it.”
Lewery could have kissed Munro. The reporter could see the cover of his book already. The mark, carved in the back of a woman, dripping with blood. Perfect.
“If it is possible, it is yours,” Livermore agreed. “How are you going to play this?”
“The advertising has already started. The letter will be front page tomorrow. We’ll take the mark out so that nobody even knows it was there. I’ll even black out the reference in the letter.”
Livermore smiled. Without the reference, no other news agency would be sniffing around to discover what the mark was. And the black out would play well – a good visual. Win. Win.
“Are you going to try to set up communication with him?” Mann asked.
“Definitely going to try and set up some sort of a rapport,” Lewery admitted. “But don’t even think about tapping any of my phones.”
“No taps. Unless he contacts you by phone and then all bets are off,” Livermore said.
“I don’t think he is going to be calling anytime soon,” Munro said.
“Besides, you can’t photograph telephone conversations,” Keough added.
“Damn straight, Skippy,” Munro smiled. “This ain’t television.”
Chapter 42
Thorman worked his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension. They felt like rock. He had a pain running up from his right shoulder, through his neck and into his brain. The pounding was becoming almost unbearable.
Being in the office was beginning to wear on him and it was showing. Several of his colleagues had commented how tired he looked. How many times had he jumped when someone walked into his office? Every time the phone rang, his stomach turned and he could feel his bowels begin to loosen. He was so close. He just needed a little more time and he would have his revenge and more money than he could possibly need.
If he survived until this last deal happened, he would be set. He would have enough to be able to leave little pots of money buried in the banking systems around the world for Angelino to find. A multimillion dollar trail of bread crumbs to keep him off track and searching everywhere Thorman planned not to be.
If his brain didn’t explode first, either from this headache or a bullet.
With that cheering thought fresh in his mind, Thorman stood and walked to the door of his office. He casually looked to his right toward the senior partner’s big double doors. With nobody in sight, he stepped three steps to the left and quietly unlocked the fire exit door that went to the main hallway. Whenever possible, he used the washroom outside the office complex. Strangely, he felt the public washroom was more private.
He walked quickly to the washroom, hurrying inside when he heard the signal for the arriving elevator. Stepping quickly to one of the four stalls, he slipped inside and shut the door. He heard the main office door open and then shut. He hoped whoever had arrived wasn’t there to see him.
When he realized that his heart was beating too rapidly, he tried to breathe and relax himself. Still leaning against the door, he made no attempt to take down his pants. Instead, he rested his forehead against the cool metal of the door and let it ease his headache.
The outer door opened. He didn’t dare move. When the stranger’s voice called his name, he began to wish he had pulled his pants down.
“Mr. Thorman?”
Silence filled the washroom and Thorman tried not to breathe.
“Mr. Thorman, you do not have time to jerk me around. I am here to save the life of you and your family.”
When Thorman still didn’t respond, he heard something hit the floor and slither under the stall. He watched as a photo slid across the floor and stopped at his foot. Another followed. And another.
He was looking at a picture of his daughter getting dropped off at her Day Care by his wife. He remembered seeing his daughter wearing the cute little blue jumper just this morning. Exactly what she was wearing when she kissed him goodbye at the breakfast table – a Cheerio stuck to her chin – looking sweet, adorable and so innocent.
The second picture was of his wife, looking so sexy, running in her tight yoga pants and crop top in the park. Trees and bushes lined the frighteningly empty path.
In the last shot, he saw himself, fast asleep in his bed, still in his clothes, obviously passed out from one of his late night drinking binges. His wife was asleep in the bed beside him, sheets pulled down, her nightgown in disarray, her left breast exposed. He felt violated, angry and frightened. But anger star
ted to win out as he realized that this man had been in his house. He had stood over him and taken this disgusting picture. Thorman imagined this man touching his wife, who always slept so soundly.
But as a fourth picture slid under the stall door, all anger disappeared and fear returned. He felt his forehead slip against the metal door as sweat quickly beaded on his brow. There was his little girl, his sweetheart, his most treasured possession, asleep in her pink Little Mermaid bed. On her back, one arm wrapped around Mr. Froggie, the other with her thumb in her mouth. Her blonde hair, loose and framing her face on her pillow. And pointed at her, held by the same man taking the picture, was a large gun, the ugly silencer pointing straight at his daughter’s head.
Thorman didn’t even hear himself moan.
“Are you ready to talk, Mr. Thorman?”
Thorman slowly opened the door and looked out at the man in front of him. He had expected a hardened killer with a gun. Instead, he was faced with an ordinary, boring mailman. And he was smiling a nice, reassuring, mailman smile. One that said, don’t worry, I will be happy to deliver that letter to your grandmother.
“Sit down, Mr. Thorman.”
Thorman just blinked at the mailman, looking at him as though he was speaking a foreign language.
“Truly, Mr. Thorman, don’t waste my time. Sit down, pick up the pictures and hand them to me, please.”
Thorman blinked twice more and did as he was told. He suddenly understood that it was all over and he could finally relax. This mailman was coming to end it all for him. No sense fighting, he could never win now. There was always another mailman on the next street. And all the mailmen knew where he lived.
“I am going to give it to you quick and fast, because we don’t want to get interrupted,” the mailman said, taking back the photos and putting them in his bag. “Angelino knows everything – except where the money is. Do you understand?”
Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) Page 14
