Shadow Man (21 page)

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yet. They are . . . smart. Very smart. Not just faking smart. I’m thinking at least one of them has a higher education.” I glance at James. “Possibly medical school.” He nods in agreement. “They’re deliberate. Planners. Precise. They spent hours studying up on forensics so they could make sure to leave nothing behind. This is a very, very important part of it for them. Jack the Ripper was one of the most famous serial killers of all time. Why? For one thing, he
never got caught.
They’re following in his footsteps, in this and other ways, mimicking him. He taunted the cops, so they’re taunting us. His victims were prostitutes, so they’re going after what is—to them—a modern-day equivalent. There will be other parallels.”

“Narcissism is a problem for them,” James interjects. I nod. “Yeah.”

Charlie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Think of it this way: When you drive a car, do you have to think about it?” I ask.

“No. I just drive.”

“Right. But for Jack Jr. and friend, driving isn’t enough. They need to admire how
good
their driving is. How perfect and artful it is. That type of narcissism, where they admire what they do as they’re doing it . . .” I shrug. “If you take the time to watch yourself drive, you don’t have both eyes on the road.”

“Hence the fingerprints on the bed,” James says. “That’s not a small fuckup. We’re not talking hair or fibers. We’re talking about five prints. Too busy watching themselves be clever.”

“Gotcha,” Charlie replies.

“You know, when I said they were an amalgam, that’s not entirely true.” I purse my lips, considering. “There is a Jack Jr. I think that’s a single identity. It’s just too important to share.” I look at James. “You agree?”

“Yeah.”

“So what does that make the other guy?” Alan asks.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a student?” I shake my head. “I can’t see it clearly. Not yet. I do think that Jack Jr., whichever one he is, is dominant.”

“That’s consistent with past ‘double teams,’ ” Callie says.

“Yep. So, they are smart, precise, and narcissistic. But one of the
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things that makes them so dangerous is their willingness to commit. They don’t have a problem with decisive action. That’s bad for us, because it means they don’t make things
too
complicated. They keep it clean and simple. Knock on the door, bust in, close the door, take control. A, B, C, D. That isn’t a natural ability as a general rule. It’s possible one or both of them has a background in the military or law enforcement. Something that would train them in the unhesitating subduing of another human being.”

“The taste for rape and murder is real,” James says.

“Isn’t that a given?” Jenny asks.

I shake my head. “No. Sometimes someone tries to hide a regular murder in the guise of a serial killing. But what they did to Annie, how they did it . . . that was real. They’re genuine.”

“They have a dual victimology,” James says.

Callie frowns. Sighs. “You mean they target us as well as the women they go after.”

James nods. “That’s right. The victim selection, in this instance, was specific and reasoned. Annie King fit two profiles for them. She ran an adult Web site, and she was the friend of someone on this team. They went to a lot of effort to get your attention, Smoky.”

“Well, they got it.” I sit back for a moment, running through it all in my head. “I guess that covers everything. Let’s not forget the most important thing right now that we know about these guys.”

“What’s that?” Leo asks.

“That they’re going to do it again. And keep doing it until we catch them.”

18

I
HAD ASKED
Jenny to give me a ride to the hospital so that I could check in on Bonnie while everyone else worked on their appointed tasks. When we arrive at the door to her room, the cop guarding it holds up a legal-size manila envelope. “This came for you, Agent Barrett.”

Right away, I know something is wrong. There’s no reason for anyone to be dropping anything off for me here. I snatch it out of his hands and look at it. Block letters on the front in black ink give it a simple address: ATTN.: SPECIAL AGENT BARRETT. Jenny glares at him. “Jesus Christ, Jim! Use your head!” She’s gotten it. Jim is a little slower on the uptake. I know when it hits him because his face turns ashen.

“Oh . . . shit.”

I will give him this: His first action is to spin up and out of his chair and open the door to Bonnie’s room, hand on his weapon. I’m right behind him, and I feel a relief that almost overwhelms me when I see her there asleep and safe. I motion for the cop to come back out. Once we’re all outside, he puts it into words.

“This is probably from the killer, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Jim,” I say, “it probably is.” I don’t have the energy to make my voice sound biting. It comes out sounding tired. Jenny has no such
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problem. She stabs a finger into his chest with enough force to make him wince.

“You fucked up! Which pisses me off, because I know you’re a good cop. You know how I know you’re a good cop? Because I specifically requested you for this duty and knew you’d be more than just a warm body.” She’s fuming, far beyond being pissed off. For his part, Jim takes it all without a trace of resentment or justification.

“You’re right, Detective Chang. I don’t have a defense. The nurse at the station in reception brought it by. I saw Agent Barrett’s name, but I didn’t make the connection. I went back to reading my paper.” He looks so hangdog at this point that I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

“Damn! I let myself get lulled into a routine! A rookie mistake! Damn, damn, damn!”

Jenny seems to feel for the cop a little too, now that he’s so busy beating himself up. Her next words are more conciliatory. “You’re a good cop, Jim. I know you. You’ll remember this screwup till the day you die—which you should—but you probably won’t ever let it happen again.” She sighs. “Besides, you have done your primary duty here. You kept the kid safe.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“How long ago did this get delivered to you?”

He thinks about it for a second. “I’d say . . . about an hour and a half. Yeah. The nurse at the station brought it to me and said that some guy delivered it. She figured I could get it to you.”

“Go get all the details. How it was delivered, who, everything.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I look at the envelope as Jim runs off. “Let’s take a peek inside.”

I open it. Inside is a sheaf of papers clipped together. I see at the top,
Greetings, Agent Barrett!
Which is enough for now. I look up at Jenny.

“It’s from him. Them.”

“Damn it!”

My palms are a little sweaty. I know I need to read what’s inside, but I dread this killer’s next revelations. I sigh, fishing the ever-present pair of latex gloves I keep with me during investigations out of my jacket pocket. I slip them on, open it up, and pull out the clipped sheaf of papers. The letter is on top.

S H A D O W M A N

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Greetings, Agent Barrett!

By now I imagine you are into the thick of it, you and your team. Did
you enjoy the video I left for you? I thought the music I selected was par-
ticularly apropos.

How is little Bonnie? Does she scream and weep, or is she simply
silent? I wonder about this from time to time. Please, tell her I said hello.
Most of my thoughts are, of course, devoted to you. How is the healing
going, Agent Barrett? Still sleeping in the nude these days? With that
pack of cigarettes on the nightstand to the left of your bed? I have been
there, and I must say, you talk quite loudly in your sleep.

“Holy shit,” Jenny whispers.

I hand her the papers. “Hold on to these for a second.”

She takes them. I run to the nearest trash can, where I proceed to vomit up everything inside my stomach. They’d been inside my house! Had watched me sleep! A thrill of terror spikes through me, followed by a nauseating sense of violation. Then anger. Beneath it all, terror remains as the backdrop. One thought shouts inside my head: It could happen again! My entire body is trembling, and I slam a fist against the rim of the trash can. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and walk back over to Jenny.

“You okay?”

“No. But let’s finish it.” She hands me back the papers. They shake in my hands as we continue.

Matthew and Alexa, such a shame. You, alone in that ghost ship of a
home, staring at your disfigurement in the mirror. So sad.
I think you are more beautiful scarred, though I know you believe that
to be untrue. I’ll say something helpful to you, Agent Barrett, just this once.
Scars are not marks of shame. They are the brands of the survivor.
You might wonder why I’d offer a helping hand. It springs from a sense
of fairness. A need to make the game exciting. There are many in this
world who could hunt me well, but you . . . I think you can hunt me best.
I’ve gone to great effort to ensure that you are back in the game, and
just one more thing is left, one last wound to stitch up.
A hunter needs a weapon, Agent Barrett, and you cannot touch
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yours. We need to correct this, to bring balance to the game. Please find
attached some information that I believe to be at the heart of this diffi-
culty you are having. It may leave a scar of its own when you read it, but
don’t forget: A scar is always better than an unhealed, open wound.
From Hell,

Jack Jr.

I flip over the page. It takes only a few moments for me to understand what it says. Everything around me goes silent and slow. I can see that Jenny is speaking to me, but I cannot hear her words. I am cold, and getting colder. My teeth chatter, I start shivering, and the world begins tilting away from me. My heart pounds, faster, faster, and then sound returns in a chaotic flash, like a thunderclap. But I am still so cold.

“Smoky! Jesus—Doctor!”

I hear her, but I cannot speak. I can’t stop my teeth from chattering. I see a doctor come over to me. He feels my head, looks into my eyes.

“She’s going into full-blown shock here,” he says. “Lay her down flat. Put her feet up. Nurse!”

Jenny leans over me. “Smoky! Say something.”

I wish I could, Jenny. But I am frozen, and the world is frozen, and the sun is frozen too. Everything and everyone is death, dead, or dying. Because he was right. I read the paper and, just like that, I remembered. It’s a ballistics report. The part he’d circled for me said this:
Ballistics
tests prove conclusively that the bullet removed from Alexa Barrett came from
Agent Barrett’s weapon. . . .