Authors: Amy Gutman
through the leaves, she imagined she saw someone.
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Impulsively, Callie got up and reached toward the window to 18
yank down the bamboo shade. It fell with an explosive clatter, 19
blocking out the night. She took a deep breath and sat back 20
down, willing herself to calm. Again, she turned to the blank 21
white page with its pale blue lines. It wasn’t just a question of 22
who, it was also a question of why. Why would someone have 23
done this, left this note in her door? What would be the purpose?
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What would they hope to gain?
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Money, maybe. Blackmail.
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Or possibly revenge.
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For an instant, the thought danced through her mind, sharp 28
and bright with danger. Then, firmly, she told herself that it 29
wasn’t, couldn’t be, true. Steven Gage was dead.
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Unless . . .
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A new thought pushed through her brain, horrifying in its logic.
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He could have planned it before. He could have set it up.
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The idea was like an electric charge, surging through her body.
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The moment it occurred to her, she knew that it was true. At S 35
first, she felt as if she’d lost her breath. Her thoughts flew in all di-R 36
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rections. Then, slowly her mind began to clear, leaving her with 2
questions.
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Who would he have recruited?
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Who would have agreed?
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The response was almost immediate: She thought of Lester 6
Crain.
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What had happened with Steven Gage and Lester Crain had 8
been the ultimate outrage, a final insult to the grieving families 9
left behind by both of their victims. Crain, a rapist and murderer, 10
was a scrawny, tough-talking punk. He was just seventeen when 11
he committed the murder for which he was sentenced to die, the 12
gruesome torture-killing of a runaway teenage girl. After repeat-13
edly raping his victim, Crain strung her from the ceiling, tore off 14
her nipples with a pair of pliers, and injected her vagina with 15
bleach. By the time he finished with her, what was left was barely 16
human. But the source of Crain’s notoriety wasn’t just his crime.
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It stemmed from the cassette tape he’d kept of his victim’s ago-18
nized screams.
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Gage and Crain met on Tennessee’s death row and quickly 20
forged an alliance. Gage was already a living legend; Crain be-21
came his disciple. The incredible course of events that followed 22
began in the prison library, where Gage had honed his legal skills 23
as a practicing jailhouse lawyer. With Gage’s help Crain won a 24
new trial, convincing a judge that the torture tape heard by the 25
jury had been obtained in an unconstitutional search. Later, at a 26
press conference, Crain gleefully announced that he owed this 27
second chance to Steven Gage. He’d do his best, he promised, to 28
repay the favor someday.
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That part was bad enough, but it wasn’t close to the end.
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While awaiting his second trial, Lester Crain escaped from 31
prison. The uproar provoked by Crain’s flight didn’t let up for 32
months. In addition to the Tennessee murder, he was a suspect in 33
other crimes. Two brutal Texas rape-murders. Another in south 34
Florida. Fueling the fear were experts’ predictions that Crain 35 S
would kill again. Sexual psychopaths like Crain, they said, didn’t 36 R
simply stop.
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For months, then years, the nation waited for Crain to pop up 1
somewhere. But as time passed, it seemed more and more likely 2
that one of three things must have happened. Lester Crain could 3
have died or become incapacitated. The third possibility was that 4
he’d managed to flee the country. Crain had spent several dis-5
solute years prowling the Texas border, living with his alcoholic 6
father outside El Paso. The hardest part would have been making 7
it from Tennessee to Texas. But if Crain had somehow reached 8
the border, he could easily have slipped across.
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All of this was far in the past, seven, eight years ago. But if 10
Crain was alive, he had to be somewhere. Could he be here, in 11
Merritt?
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Abruptly, Callie stood up, adrenaline flooding her body. She 13
had an overpowering urge to speak to another person. Rick was 14
probably asleep by now, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her hand 15
curled around the phone as she punched in his number. After four 16
rings, the machine picked up, and she heard his recorded voice.
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She almost left a message, then changed her mind and hung up.
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The box was high on a closet shelf, behind a row of shoes.
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She climbed onto a step stool and reached up to take it down.
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Sitting on the bedroom floor, she placed the box between her 21
legs. It looked like one of the dozens of boxes she kept in her 22
Windham office, a simple white container for the storage of file 23
folders. For a moment she stared at the cardboard lid, covered 24
with a layer of dust. She thought fleetingly of Pandora and that 25
other mythical box. But keeping the lid on her own box wouldn’t 26
keep her safe. The thing she feared was out there somewhere. It 27
couldn’t be contained.
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The contents of the box were tightly packed: File folders.
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Notebooks. Snapshots. She carefully pulled out items and placed 30
them on the floor. A file of yellowed newspaper clippings. A 31
small blue spiral notebook. Her stomach clenched at the sight of 32
letters in a strong sloping hand. She sat for a moment staring, al-33
most afraid to touch them.
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The box was almost empty when she found what she was lookS 35
ing for. As she pulled out the book, she averted her eyes from the R 36
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picture on the cover. She didn’t want to see his face. Not now. At 2
least not yet. She saw that the binding was coming loose, shrink-3
ing away from the pages. Careful not to loosen them, she flipped 4
to the title page.
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The Vanishing Man: The Secret Life of Serial Sex Killer Steven Gage
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By Diane Massey
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Slowly, she turned to the first chapter, the familiar opening 10
lines.
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In the months before his arrest in Nashville, Tennessee, Steven Gage
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roamed the country. There was something frenzied in his travels, which
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often took place at a moment’s notice for no apparent reason. From
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Boston to San Francisco to Miami, then back to Boston again. From
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Nashville to Phoenix to Burlington. From Charlotte to Indianapolis.
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When the evidence was pieced together — the gasoline receipts purchased
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with stolen credit cards, the plane tickets bought under assumed names —
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it would turn out that he covered more than 30,000 miles in those final
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desperate six months. And everywhere he went, women died . . .
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Minutes passed. Callie read on, her eyes skating over the 23
pages. Each line, each word, each image, cast her into the past.
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Looking back, it would seem astonishing that he could have escaped de-26
tection. He drove his own car, often used his own name, moved easily in
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the daylight. Later, some would speculate that he’d actually wished to be
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caught. And yet, for at least a decade, Gage killed with impunity. Even
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witnesses he’d spoken to were hard-pressed to describe him. All agreed that
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he was tall, handsome, but no one could say much more. Good-looking
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yet eminently forgettable, the perfect disguise for a killer. He didn’t need to
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wear a mask. His own face served that function. He glided into his victims’
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worlds, taking them with him when he left. Even when the bodies were
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found, he left no trace of himself. No hair. No fibers. No fingerprints.
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They called him the Vanishing Man.
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It all washed over her, again, the horror of what he’d done.
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And it wasn’t just the victims but those they’d left behind. Now, 2
with a child of her own, she found the pain past imagining.
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She thought of Dahlia Schuyler’s family, the families of all the 4
others, dozens, hundreds, of broken lives, never to be the same.
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She thought of Dahlia’s younger brother, who blamed himself for 6
her death, believing that if he hadn’t been late to meet her, 7
Dahlia could have been saved. And all the other lives snuffed 8
out, the endless list of names. Fanny Light. Clara Flanders. Dana 9
Koppleman. Dozens of young, beautiful women, with long, straight 10
blonde hair.
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It happened slowly, not all at once, but something inside her 12
was changing. Beneath the turmoil of her racing thoughts, some-13
thing was growing clear. A belief that she could do what it took 14
to protect the life she’d built.
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Slowly, she closed the book and stared at the face on the cover.
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She forced herself to study it, refused to look away. Bulging eyes, 17
distended veins, teeth bared in rage. She wasn’t frightened any-18
more, just filled with a sense of purpose. Gazing at the book, she 19
whispered, “This time, you’re not going to win.”
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Monday, April 10
T
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h e Prada suit fit perfectly.
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As one of Mr. Lin’s best clients, Melanie had convinced him to 3
complete the alterations on Saturday. Now, heading down the 4
hall toward her office, she sensed the admiring glances. The long 5
black skirt hugged her hips, flaring out slightly at the bottom.
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The black jacket clung to her body, nipping in at the waist. She 7
felt both armored and seductive, a heady combination. A woman 8
who could afford this suit wasn’t someone you’d want to mess 9
with. She smiled to herself as she walked down the hall.
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Look, just don’t touch.
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“Wow. You look great!”
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“Thanks, Tina.” Melanie smiled at her secretary, turning as she 13
reached her office door. “Listen, I’ve got to take care of some-14
thing. Will you hold my calls for a while?”
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Closing the door behind her, the smile faded from Melanie’s 16
face. There was a reason she’d worn this suit today. She wanted 17
to feel in control. Outside, twenty-two floors below, traffic streamed 18
down Park Avenue. She watched the scene for a bit, then turned 19
to the phone. It was just after eight-thirty, but Frank got to work 20
early. One of the things they’d had in common. One of the few in 21
the end.
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“Frank Collier, please. This is Melanie White.”
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“Yes, Ms. White. I’ll get him.” The secretary’s voice was unfa-24
miliar, but she obviously knew who Melanie was. Waiting for 25
Frank to come on the line, Melanie wondered what she’d been 26 S
told.
Can you believe that
she
left
him
? She sounds like a total bitch.
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“Hi there, Melanie. Thanks for gettin’ back to me.” The famil-5 0
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iar drawl gave her a queasy feeling. Even hundreds of miles away, 1
Frank Collier filled up a room. She pictured him in his spacious 2
office, with its views of the U.S. Capitol. An imposing six feet 3
four inches, with steel-gray hair, eyes a guileless blue. He’d be 4
leaning back in his leather chair, an easy smile on his face, as if 5
he had absolutely no doubt that he’d end up getting his way.
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“Sorry it took me a while. I had a summary judgment hearing.”
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She sounded polite but distant, just as she’d hoped to sound. She 8
had no intention of letting on how much she’d dreaded this call.
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