Into the Dark

33

Commerce, California

The forty-eight hours the AllNews Press Agency had given to the task force to examine the letter was up.

Mark Harding’s phone had been vibrating all morning.

First Magda wanted an update, and then Sebastian Strother phoned Harding, demanding he deliver a story without police confirmation.

“We no longer need them. We’ve honored the agreement. They didn’t. I don’t trust them. They could be arranging a news conference,” Strother said from headquarters in New York. “Our story will say that someone claiming to be the killer has written to us and the task force is analyzing materials the writer included.”

“No, wait, we should give them a little more time,” Harding responded. “I should have it all taken care of soon.”

“Forty-five more minutes,” Strother said.

The ANPA was losing patience and fearful of losing its exclusive, but Harding kept pleading for more time because confirmation that the real killer had surfaced and written to the ANPA would give them a world exclusive.

After forty-five minutes passed, Harding called again.

“A few more things to check. Sorry, I have to push back meeting you until ten-thirty,” Tanner had told him on the phone.

It was now 10:37 a.m. and Harding was waiting alone in an empty meeting room at the Homicide bureau of the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department. His stomach had tightened. If the letter, license, photos and the whole thing were not a hoax, then he’d have a story that could be counted with those of Jack the Ripper, Son of Sam, BTK and the Zodiac, infamous killers who’d written to the press to confess their crimes while committing them.

His phone vibrated with a text from Magda.

“Strother wants me to assign another reporter to write the story.”

“Tell him I’m talking with the lead investigator now,” Harding responded as Tanner entered the room with a file folder.

Casting a glum eye to Harding, Tanner sat as though a weight had forced him into the chair. There were no apologies and no exchange of niceties as the weary detective opened his folder. Tanner’s body language and the room’s funereal air screamed confirmation to Harding.

“It’s him,” Tanner started. “We’ve confirmed that the person responsible for the murders of the five women is the same person who wrote the letter you received.”

“Have you told any other news outlets?”

“No.”

“Are you planning on holding a news conference or issuing a news release?”

“No, not until after you run your story. We’ll keep our end of the agreement.”

“All right, I need to get a few comments from you before we put out a story.”

“Hang on. I need something from you before you run with anything.”

“We’ve already done everything you’ve asked. The letter and pictures are ours. We’re going with a story as soon as possible.”

“You have copies,” Tanner said. “The driver’s license belongs to Leeza’s family and-” Tanner tapped the file “-we’ll get court orders to keep the material as evidence. But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.”

“Can’t this wait?” Harding stared at his vibrating phone. He had another message from Strother. “I’m facing a deadline.”

“Look, Mark, I know I can’t control what you write, but a little cooperation would go a long way to help us both.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Would you publish the task force toll-free tip line we’ve set up?”

“I’ll suggest it. Is that all?”

“No. I’m also asking you not to publish photos of the letter, or the full contents because we’ll get cranks copying his style. We’ll get flooded with false leads, false confessions and nut job copycats that will drain our resources, divert us from pursuing valid leads.”

Tanner slid a page to Harding.

“Here’s a version showing which areas of the letter we think you could quote from.”

Harding studied the censored version. “No guarantees.”

“It’s our request, but ultimately it’s your call.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m also asking you not to publish the crime scene photos for the same reason, but also out of consideration for the families of the victims.”

“We’ll likely crop them to remove the graphic elements.”

“And finally, like last time, we’ve alerted the families of the victims that a story may be coming. They’re expecting to hear from you,” Tanner said.

“Good, is there anything else, because I have a request?”

“Go ahead.”

“I want complete access to you and the task force from here on in.”

“We’ll continue to make ourselves available, conditional on work demands.”

Harding then interviewed Tanner for the story, taking down his comments before concluding.

“Okay, we’re good,” Harding said. “I really have to go.”

“Give me a heads-up when the story goes live.”

Hurrying out of the office to his car, Harding called Magda from the parking lot.

“We have on-the-record confirmation that it’s the real killer,” Harding said. “Let Strother know that I’ll deliver a story within an hour.”

“Is the task force planning a news conference?”

“Not until after our story runs. People will be reacting to it.”

“Good, I’ll let Sebastian know. New York will send out an advisory on a world exclusive to all subscribers.”

Harding drove farther along Rickenbacker Road to the edge of a large warehouse and a small treed area with picnic tables that he’d spotted earlier. He parked near one, seized his laptop. Using one of the tables as a desk, he fired up his computer, went to the story he’d already started drafting, flipped through his notes and began plugging in Tanner’s quotes.

Then he called Louis Meadows, Leeza’s father.

As the line rang, it pulled Harding back to when he and Jodi-Lee Ruiz visited his Santa Clarita home. Images of them in her bedroom, of Louis flipping through the family album to photos of Leeza, streaked across his mind. Images of Louis caressing the music box on Leeza’s dresser-the last thing she touched-tore at Harding.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Meadows?”

“Yes.”

“Mark Harding, AllNews Press Agency.”

“Yes.”

“I apologize in advance, sir, for this very rude intrusion because I’m facing a deadline, but my call concerns an update on the investigation.”

Harding paused for Meadows to absorb what was coming.

“Tanner told me you might be calling. I’m guessing that this is about the letter you got, from the killer?”

“Yes.”

Harding elaborated on the nature of the story, then asked Meadows to comment. Meadows thought for a moment before speaking.

“I understand he sent you gruesome pictures.”

“That’s true.”

“I hope you’ll continue to treat my daughter’s memory with dignity.”

“We will, sir.”

The older man cleared his throat.

“I’m encouraged by the latest break in the case. I pray that it leads to justice.”

That was it. No elaboration.

Surprised by the abruptness, Harding thanked him, ended the call and inserted the quotes. He gave his story a quick proofread, then filed it to the ANPA, well within the time that he’d promised.

When he was done, he sat at the table, rereading it. Then he read through the first story he’d written on the case, comparing it with how subdued Meadows’s reaction was just now.

In the earlier story Meadows had said, “I just hope your story helps find the animal who killed my daughter and the other women… I hope to hell I stay on this earth long enough to see the son of a bitch go into the ground.”

Where was his outrage this time?

As Harding thought about it, realization slowly dawned on him.

Of course, Tanner had likely coached Meadows, warning him who he’d really be talking to when Harding called: the most important reader of all.

The killer.