Authors: Michele Martinez
“So you’re saying we’re nowhere?”
“No,” Melanie said. “I wish we were nowhere. But unfortunately, we have one guy left on our radar screen.”
“Who’s that?”
“The one who’s been e-mailing me about how I look naked.”
Melanie—
[the e-mail began]
, Show some respect and write back or it’ll go hard for you when we meet. You’re wearing black pants and a black sweater today. The sweater is nice and tight and shows off your tits. What kind of noises do you make when you’re scared? It won’t be long now. Don’t believe me? Think I’m playing? You saw what I did to Harris last night. He didn’t see it coming. You won’t either.
She was alone in her office when she read the message. The team meeting was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes, and the hallway was full of cops. Just to be sure, Melanie got up and walked over to the door. Lieutenant Deaver stood not twenty feet from her, conferring with two large detectives. The sight of their guns calmed her down. No way could this psycho get to her here.
Melanie went back to her computer and read the message again. She realized that up till now, despite her own better judgment, she’d nursed a faint hope that her stalker wasn’t involved in the crimes she was investigating. That he was just some loser who got off on scaring women. Well, that hope had just died a painful death. He had to go and tell her he’d shot Harris.
Wait a minute, should she believe him? Or was this a con? The David Harris shooting had been all over the news today.
But no. Wishful thinking again.
Melanie’s mind was a muddle. Soon it would be time to go to the meeting, and she couldn’t decide what to do. Maybe she should print his message out and show it to everybody. Or maybe she should write back to the creep and try to get more information out of him. She could try to confirm that he actually was the killer, and not just some wannabe attention seeker. That would be a coup—walking into the conference room with an e-mail from the Central Park Butcher describing some overlooked detail of the crime.
Melanie’s eyes fell on Maya’s picture, and she lost a couple of moments to a reverie about her daughter, intensely relieved that the little girl was on her way to safety at Melanie’s mother’s apartment. After hearing about the way David Harris had been watched and stalked, Melanie had taken precautions, insisting that Dan drive Maya to Forest Hills himself, alone, without Melanie in the car. Dan was trained in countersurveillance driving, and he knew how to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
But Dan hadn’t come back yet, and he hadn’t called.
Melanie had just picked up the phone to dial Dan’s cell when a sharp rap sounded on her office door. She looked up, her heart pounding. But it was only Susan Charlton. Standing beside her was Mark Sonschein, the deputy chief of the Criminal Division, the one Melanie found so intimidating.
“I come bearing tidings from the front office,” Mark said.
“It’s really not a good time,” she said.
“I know you’re about to start a meeting,” he replied, “but this can’t wait. It’s about the Shepard case.”
Mark and Susan both wore grim expressions. Behind Mark’s back, Susan caught Melanie’s eye and mouthed, “Sorry.” Something bad was coming. Melanie put the phone down.
“I’m taking over as lead prosecutor,” Mark said. “You should not take this as a vote of no confidence. You can continue to work the case as my second seat. With the two new murders—”
“One new murder if you’re referring to the limo driver. David Harris will recover,” Melanie said. Her voice was flat. She felt numb more than angry. Too many difficult things in a short period of time.
“One new murder is one too many,” Mark said. “The point is, the press is going apeshit. The Butcher case is the biggest investigation in the office right now by far, and it’s too much for you to handle alone. That is not a criticism of you or your work.”
“I’m not alone. Janice Marsh from the D.A.’s office is assigned to help me. She would have been at the meeting today, but she had to go to a wedding in Cape May.”
“A.D.A.s have no work ethic,” Mark said. “You just proved my point. Who goes to a wedding in the middle of a murder investigation? You need somebody federal. Somebody proven and senior. If I blame anyone for the lack of progress, I blame Bernadette for leaving you poorly supervised.”
Of course, Bernadette herself was getting married in a couple of hours, and Melanie intended to be there. Minutes ago, she would have been spitting mad at Mark for speaking to her like this. But now her thoughts were taken up with a more pressing concerns.
“No point in arguing,” Mark insisted, though Melanie wasn’t putting up much of a fight. “The decision’s been made. I’ll attend the team meeting with you and introduce myself to the troops. I still need you to run it, since I’m not up to speed on the facts. You’re okay with that?”
“I guess so. Yes.”
“Glad to hear it. Well, I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Melanie didn’t reply. Mark looked flustered.
“Uh, well, all right, then. I’ll…see you in there.” He flashed her a big phony smile and backed out the door.
“Don’t feel bad, Mel,” Susan said when he was gone. “This really isn’t about you. It’s about a million things other than you, in fact. Mark’s shouldering two private school tuitions and he needs some good press to help him get a law-firm job. Bernadette’s at war with the front office, and putting Mark on the case is a way for them to slap her. The press is on a rampage, so the higher-ups want somebody with an impressive title doing the news conferences instead of a line assistant like you. I could go on and on.”
Melanie stared back at Susan in stony silence. If she could’ve mustered a drop of real indignation over this turn of events, she might have directed some of it at the woman standing before her. Susan was a political animal. Who knew what she’d said about this decision behind closed doors? As much as Melanie liked and admired Susan, she never fully trusted her.
“Are you okay?” Susan asked.
“I have a lot going on right now,” Melanie said.
“I understand. All the stress. And this can’t be welcome news.”
“It’s not.”
“One more thing and I’ll get out of your hair. You should know that this isn’t Mark’s fault. The higher-ups asked him to step in. If he comes across as a dick, it’s because he honestly feels bad about cherry-picking your investigation but he lacks the social skills to communicate that to you. Underneath his pompous exterior, he’s a good guy, really. And a fine prosecutor.”
“If you say so,” Melanie said.
“I do. Give him a chance. Try to make friends.”
“All right.”
“At the end of the day, I know you two will hit it off. You’ll catch the bad guy together, and he’ll reward you. I’m sure of it. Then we’ll get what we’ve been after. Me as chief, and you as deputy.”
Susan smiled at Melanie brightly, and then turned and left.
“If I’m still alive,” Melanie said under her breath.
M
elanie considered her predicament and decided there was only one thing for it. She needed to deliver up this stalker creep with his head on a platter and prove he was actually the Butcher. Then she could kill two birds with one stone. One, revive her career. Two, save her life.
She turned back to her computer and clicked reply.
Why should I believe you when everything you say comes straight from the TV news? You’re a big liar. If you were the real killer, you’d tell me something I don’t already know,
she typed.
Melanie clicked send. While she waited for an answer she’d call Dan.
“Hey,” he said, picking up on the first ring.
“Everything go okay?’ she asked.
“Dropped the cutie off. No sign of trouble.”
“Did you fill my mom in on what’s going on?” she asked.
“Yeah. Nice lady. She’s worried about you.”
“I’m worried about Maya.”
“She’s safe where she is now. It’s a secure building, and your mother’s on a high floor. I told her not to go out or let any strangers in.”
“You think that’s enough?” Melanie asked.
“I do. Let’s not lose perspective. We don’t have any proof that the guy who e-mailed you is the same one who shot Harris or killed Suzanne Shepard.”
“Not yet,”
she agreed, looking at her computer screen, which didn’t show anything new.
“He could just be some pathetic jerk with time on his hands.”
“Have you had any luck tracing the e-mails?” she asked.
“Agh, long story,” Dan said with obvious frustration. “I’ll give a full report at the team meeting. The bottom line is no. I have some
leads on where to look, but nothing solid. He’s been using public access terminals. I sent guys to stake out the two places he used. But A, he’s probably too smart to use the same terminals again. And B, we don’t actually know what the prick looks like.”
“He’s careful. It’s going to take a creative strategy to find him.”
Dan went quiet for a moment. “When you start saying stuff like that, I get very nervous,” he said finally.
Melanie looked back at the computer screen and drew a sharp breath. She had a new e-mail. It was from
him
.
“You there?” Dan said.
“Yeah. How far away are you?” she asked.
“Ten, fifteen minutes, depending on traffic. I might be a little late for the meeting.”
“Do me a favor, keep your phone on.”
“I will,” he said. “Promise me you’re not planning anything crazy?”
But she’d already hung up. Melanie opened the e-mail.
Something you don’t know, you uppity whore? How’s this? The best way to shut up a whiny bitch is with a stun gun blast to the neck. Should I use it on you? I don’t think so. I want you awake, feeling things. You’ll be begging me to kill you.
Reading his words, Melanie felt cold and nauseous, but her brain still functioned. She remembered that the stun-gun lesion on Suzanne Shepard’s neck hadn’t been reported in the media. It hadn’t even been confirmed by their forensics people yet. But it was definitely real. He was telling her something true. Melanie knew that because she’d seen the mark with her own eyes, that night in the Ramble when she’d viewed his handiwork. There was no question in her mind now that this was the killer talking. This was the Butcher. She knew what he was capable of. She’d seen what he’d done to Suzanne. And he was saying he planned to do the same things to her.
M
elanie might be reckless,
but she wasn’t stupid. Once she was convinced she had the killer online, she called in the big guns.
When he heard the news, Mark Sonschein rushed to her office, bringing along his boss, Sam Estes, who was the chief of the Criminal Division. Sam had been on his way out the door to a meeting in Washington with the deputy attorney general, and the fact that he’d taken time out to confer with her brought home to Melanie the gravity of her situation. These guys
were
the front office. When people talked about the higher-ups, when they worried about what the chain of command would think, this was who they meant. And now they were sitting here with Melanie talking strategy. She realized this was because she was in danger, not because she was a force to be reckoned with in the office. Yet she couldn’t help feeling gratified at how impressed Sam and Mark seemed by her bravado.
“We should view this as an opportunity,” Estes said. He was blond, bearded, and thickset, with a reputation for being a big-picture guy, an idea man, while the thin, intense Sonschein specialized in nitty-gritty details. “How do we use the e-mail connection to capture
the killer while keeping Melanie safe? Has any effort been made to trace the e-mails?”
“The FBI already determined that this guy is using public access terminals,” Melanie said. “Different ones for each communication. Even if we run down an e-mail as soon as it comes in, he’ll be gone by the time we get people over there.”
“What about the e-mail address?” Sam asked. “Partysover2007@ yahoo.com? Have we investigated who holds that account?”
“That’s the first thing the FBI did,” Melanie replied. “Yahoo’s a free service. They don’t require address verification to send a bill. The name and address used were false. We did learn that the account was opened only thirteen days ago, for what it’s worth.”
“Does the e-mail address itself mean anything to either of you?” Sam asked.
“Party’s over?” Mark said. “It sounds like he plans to put an end to somebody’s fun.”
“Yeah. Like mine,” Melanie said.
The guys laughed, but she didn’t.
“Hmm, well…is there some way to get him to tell us his location?” Sam continued. “I mean, here we sit, three of the most skilled questioners in America. We should be able to come up with a clever way of asking.”
“What question could we ask that he wouldn’t see through?” Melanie asked.
“He’d have to be an idiot to fall for that,” Mark said. “Besides, we’d risk scaring him off. Whatever message we send has to be carefully crafted to keep the lines of communication open.”
“Maybe we should consider an e-mail wiretap,” Sam said.
“Wiretaps tell us the content of his communications, not where he’s e-mailing from,” Mark said. “We already know what he’s saying, since he’s writing to Melanie.”
“Wait a minute, I think that’s an interesting idea,” Melanie said.
"What if the killer’s writing to other people, too? If we find out who he’s communicating with, what he’s saying to them, maybe we can identify him that way.”
“Like if he’s writing to his aunt Flo in Peoria, we track down Aunt Flo,” Sam said.
“That won’t work,” Mark insisted. “You’d be asking to intercept innocent people’s communications. What about Aunt Flo’s privacy rights? No judge would sign off on such a request.”
“We limit our request to communications that reference the killer’s identity or location,” Melanie said.
“Who knows, it just might fly,” Sam said.
Mark frowned. “How long is Main Justice taking to turn around an authorization on an e-mail wire these days?”