Distemper (22 page)

By the time the weekend was over I needed a drink myself, so Monday night after work I went down to the Citizen hoping to
find someone to complain to. Imagine my joy to discover Mad in the window seat, hefting Mol-sons with none other than Gordon
Band.

“What is
he
doing here?” I said by way of greeting.

Mad looked nonplussed. “Buying me pitchers.”

“How nice of him. Hope you’ve got one hand on your notebooks.”

“Come on, Alex,” Gordon said. “Sit down and have a drink.”

“You’re lucky I don’t punch you in the nose.”

Mad leaned back in his chair and looked from me to Gordon and back again. He was clearly amused. “There is just not enough
love in this room.”

“Come on, Alex, sit down, will ya? I’ll buy y’a drink.” Gordon was slurring his words a little. It was the closest to drunk
I’d ever seen him.

“On the
Times
expense account?”

“O’ course.”

“Then I want a very large gin and tonic, with two limes, and it better be made with Tanqueray, not that bar-pour crap.”

“Ya got it.”

He stood up, tottered a little, then went off toward the bar. I took the chair farthest from his. “How’d you have the lousy
luck to run into him?”

“He walked in here an hour ago.”

“The
snake
.”

“What the hell is up with you two? Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Hush your mouth.”

“This sure is a night to remember. You’re bitchy, he’s crocked… Who needs pro wrestling? I’m plenty entertained.”

“Mad, I
told
you what he did to me. That man is a professional weasel.”

“Who among us isn’t?”

“Yeah, but he’s better at it than we are.”

Gordon returned from the bar with my drink and a white business envelope. He put them both on the table in front of me.

“What’s that?”

“Bartender said he found it under the door when he opened.”

I held the envelope up to the nearest light source, which was the Rolling Rock sign in the window. Under the greenish glow
I saw my name typed across the front. I opened it.

I know where you live.

I know where you work.

I know where you sleep.

I know who your friends are.

I can find you anywhere.

I didn’t say anything. I just picked up my drink and tossed back as much as I could in one swallow.

“Shit, Bernier, what’s up?” Mad said. “What the hell are you reading?”

I hoovered the rest. “Nothing.”

“Nothing my ass. Man, even I don’t drink like that. Not unless it’s tequila.”

Across the table, Gordon seemed to be making an effort not to grab the paper out of my hand. He also seemed to have sobered
up remarkably. “What was in the envelope?” he said, with the faux nonchalance I’d heard him use on many a hapless interview.
“Anything interesting?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“It’s from him, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Come on, Alex, you’re a really bad liar. I can tell you’re upset. It’s all over your face.” I folded the note back up and
put it in the envelope. “If it’s another threat, you gotta report it to the cops.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Where’s your police escort, anyhow?” Mad interjected. “I thought they were supposed to be on your back twenty-four seven.”

I cocked my head toward the window and the two of them peered out at the uniform standing on the other side of the Green.
Val is one of those jolly, overweight cops who always seems about six months short of retirement. It’s his job to keep the
Green safe from bums and hackeysackers,
which he accomplishes with aplomb by boring them all silly with stories about Korea. On his days off, he visits elementary
schools dressed as McGruff the Crime Dog.

Mad saluted the cop through the window. “You’ve got Val guarding your life? I hope you brought your Mace.”

“It’s just while I’m in here. The other guy handed me off to him. I guess they figure I’m safe in a crowd.”

“I hope they’re right.” Mad plucked the envelope from my hand and read the note before I could grab it back. The muscles in
his jaw tightened. “When they find this son of a bitch, I am personally going to beat the shit out of him.”

“That’s very chivalrous of you, but take a number. You can have him after I rip his balls off with my fingernails.”

“Would you
please
let me see that?” Gordon looked like he was going to spontaneously combust. I’d forgotten he was there.

“No can do,” I said, and tucked the letter into my purse. “You’re playing for the other team now. You wanted it, you got it.”
Gordon didn’t say anything. He just stood up, stuck out his tongue at me, and left. Through the green glow of the plate-glass
window, I watched him shove his hands into his pockets and hustle down the street. “Damn, those New Yorkers are rude.”

Mad reached for the pitcher and refilled his mug. “You didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon.”

“He’s a fink.”

“You ever gonna get over it?”

“Yeah, after I make him squirm for a while.”

“You dames scare me. Men just throw a couple of punches, bleed a little, no hard feelings.”

“You’re much more evolved.”

He leaned back and stretched his feet out on the chair Gordon had vacated. “Alex, what the fuck is going on?”

“I told you, Gordon…”

“Screw Gordon. I’m talking about
you
. You’re getting death threats and you don’t even seem to care.”

“What do you want me to do, start blubbering right here in the bar? Of course I care. It scares the shit out of me. I’m just
trying to figure out what to do.”

“Easy. Give it to the cops.”

“I’m planning on it.”

“You mean the next time you bang Brian Cody?”

I stared at him. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Seriously, Mad. How the fuck did you know?”

“I know you. I know what you’re like when you’re getting laid—and, more to the point, what you’re like when you’re
not
. Let’s just say you have a certain rosy glow. He must be pretty good.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m happy for you, Bernier. Nobody deserves a good clock-cleaning more than you, except maybe me.”

“Shit, Mad. Do you think anybody else knows? Marilyn’ll kill me if she finds out.”

“Yep.”

“ ‘Yep, Marilyn’ll kill me,’ or ‘Yep, somebody else knows’ ?”

“Yep, she’d kick your cute French-Canadian ass seven ways from Sunday. But I think you’re okay. I’m probably the only one
who can tell the well-shagged Bernier from the regular kind.”

“Lucky you.”

“So you’ll show Cody the note?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve got your own personal bodyguard.”

“What about you? You still saluting the Union Jack?”

“From time to time.”

“Jesus, Mad, you’ve been banging Emma for like, what, over a month? For you, that’s like three consecutive lifetimes.” I started
humming “God Save the Queen,” and he threw a cocktail peanut at me. “Come on, what’s her secret?”

“I don’t know. She’s wild.”

“Wild how?”

“No comment.”

“Come on…”

“Give it up, Bernier. That’s all you’re getting. Now stop trying to change the subject. Be a good girl and show me the fucking
note again.”

I pulled it out and smoothed it on the table between us. “Okay. So what do you make of it?”

He shrugged. “More of the same, I guess.”

“Yeah, but it seems so… mean.”

“You were expecting nice?”

“No, but what I’m saying is that it’s nothing
but
mean. It doesn’t try to talk us into publishing his letters. There’s none of that ‘I’m the devil’s disciple’ bullshit. It’s
just like, all he wants to do is scare me.”

“That would seem to be his stock in trade.”

“No,
killing
seems like his stock in trade. I mean, as far as we know, he never sent any letters to Patricia Marx. C.A. sure didn’t get
any, or I would have heard about it. So why me?”

“Maybe you’re his mouthpiece.”

“So you think he doesn’t actually want to kill me, he’s just using me to get people’s attention?”

“Well, you
are
kind of a local celebrity around here.”

“Because of my stupid movie column?”

“That, plus your byline in the paper every day, and all the media shit that came down last year. Face it. Everybody in this
town knows who you are.”

“So maybe I’m supposed to be his greatest conquest”

“Or maybe he’s supposed to be yours.”

“You think he
wants
me to catch him?”

“Could be. Besides the crime-scene evidence, those letters are the only clues the cops have, right?”

“I guess.”

“So there you go.”

“That’s nuts. There’s nothing in those letters that gives us the least hint who he is. I mean, he doesn’t give us riddles
to solve. He just sort of raves and tries to scare people, specifically me.”

“What about the dates on them? Could they be, you know, some kind of hint?”

“There aren’t any dates.”

“Oh. Well, when did you get them?”

“Let me think… The first one came in mid-May, the second one around two weeks later, and this new one two weeks after that.”

“So there’s a pattern.”

“Kind of. But the first one just came addressed to “Police Reporter,” the second one was mailed to me at the paper, and the
third was dropped off here. And the phone call came to my house.”

“Like he’s zeroing in on you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, thank you very much.”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least he didn’t nail one of the Benson alums over reunions. Then your pal Cody would really
have had a mess on his hands.”

“Yeah, and Wilfred Jr. could kiss his scholarship goodbye.”

Mad shook the empty pitcher. “The well is dry. You want another G and T?”

“A little one.”

“Coming right up,” he said, and took off for the bar. I stared at the note for a while, wrestling with the desire to rip the
goddamn thing up into little pieces. Cody probably wouldn’t approve. “Deep thoughts?” Mad said when he got back. He handed
me the drink. “Here, have some anesthetic. Works like a charm.”

“I was just thinking…”

“No shit.”

“… about what you said a second ago. About how nobody got killed during reunions.”

“So what?”

“Well, I was just thinking about these letters I got—three, spaced two weeks apart.”

“And?”

“And you got me wondering about Benson—not just reunions, I mean the whole end of the semester.”

“What about it?”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence. But you know, the first letter came just as classes were ending. And then there was nothing
during the two weeks of reading period and exams, and then another letter. And then nothing during the next two weeks, when
most of the students are gone,
and then I get this one right as summer session is starting.”

“What about the phone call you got?”

“It was a couple of days before graduation.”

“So how does that fit in?”

“I’m not sure, but I think by then you can only stay on campus if you’re a senior.”

“So you think this guy is a senior in college? Seems like a stretch.”

“Bundy was a law student. Smart and crazy aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“You should know.” I stood up, and Mad grabbed my arm. “Where are you going? Come on, Bernier, you don’t have to get pissed
at me.”

“I’m not. I’m just calling Cody.”

Mad smirked. “Business or pleasure?”

“Oh, shut up, Mad. You know damn well it’s both.”

N
OBODY’D BETTER THREATEN
B
RIAN
C
ODY’S MOTHER
. I say this because, judging by his reaction to my latest note, he’d probably shoot first and ask questions later. As it
was, he just about put his fist through a wall—and I was just some girl he’d been dating on the sly for a couple of weeks.
Clearly, the guy had a slightly overdeveloped protective streak.

I’d called him on his cell, and not five minutes later he’d come barging into the Citizen to pick me up. He and Mad exchanged
manly glances, sizing each other up, and I guess neither one of them came up wanting because in the end they shook hands so
hard their fingers turned white. Cody relieved Val of responsibility for my well-being and took me home, where Shakespeare
and Tipsy vied for his attention and gave up when they realized he was in no mood to pet anybody, me included.

“Okay, tell me again,” he was saying. I opened my mouth to protest and he cut me off. “I know we’ve been over it twice already,
but humor me.”

I was lying on the couch with all forty-something pounds of Shakespeare stretched out on my middle. Tipsy was curled up on
the floor, and Cody was pacing. “Like I said before, I spent most of the weekend up on campus covering reunions. I stopped
here around five to let the dogs out and then I went to the Citizen to look for Mad. He was already there with Gordon, so…”

“And who’s Gordon again?”

“Like I told you, he’s a reporter for the
New York Times
. He worked for the
Monitor
for a while, but now he’s back in the city. He’s just up here covering the case.”