Double Cross

Chapter 81

WE FOUND OUT about DCAK’s next move less than three days later. After I saw my slate of morning patients-including the vet Anthony Demao, who was back and who had had a minor meltdown during our session to prove it-I connected with Bree at the Daly Building. My own desk at the Daly was counterproductively stuffed with DCAK case materials, most of them attached to dead leads, unfortunately. Our plan that day was to weed through and archive everything that needed to come off the radar so we could refocus our efforts where they might do some good.

It never happened.

The phone on my desk rang around two thirty. I picked up and heard a voice that I recognized.

“Detective Cross? It’s Jeanne Phillips at the Post. I’m wondering if you’ve seen the latest e-mail yet and if you’d care to comment on it?”

“Don’t know what e-mail you mean, Jeanne,” I said. Jeanne had funneled some pretty good information my way in the past, which was the reason I was willing to stay on the line with her.

“Trust me on this, you want to know. How about if I hold on while you check your in-box?”

Suddenly, I realized that whatever this was, I didn’t want to be on the phone with a reporter from the Washington Post when I saw it.

“I’ll call you back,” I said.

What I found moments later was another stunner. The message was from DCAK and had been sent to my e-mail, Bree’s, and what looked like just about every news desk, TV channel, and radio station in the DC metro area. He had authenticated it in his usual way, with an image of his latest calling card scanned right into the message. The image was of the postal ID from the Smithsonian, which we’d kept out of the press like the others before it.

The message was written in his familiar taunting style.

Detectives:

Does anyone besides me think you aren’t giving this case the attention it deserves? By my count, it’s DCAK six, cops zero. That’s right, I said six. Or maybe five and a half-since this one isn’t quite dead yet.

I’ve gone and found that piece of shit copycat, no thanks to any of you. It wasn’t hard-just took a little thought. More than you’ve given it, anyway; more than you’re capable of, I suspect.

But here’s what I’m going to do for you. In one hour, you’ll receive another message-with an address. That’s where you’ll find your copycat, and if you’re lucky, he’ll still be alive. I haven’t decided yet. My call, of course. Dead or alive? Dead or alive? We’ll have to see.

Now do you understand why the public is so scared of me? I’m better at this than you are, and they know it. That’s your problem. It will always be your problem. Time and time again. For years to come, since I plan to be at this for a long while. In the meantime, you can do what you do best. Sit on your asses and wait to see what I do next.

Until then…

Keep on living, fuckers.