Inmate 1577

49

It was creeping past the end of the workday by the time Vail had started looking through the crime scene photos with Friedberg and Dixon. They had not gotten past the Anderson crime scene when Burden came running into the room.

“He left something for us.” Burden had a sheet of paper cradled between the thumb and forefinger of both hands. “Stuck it under the windshield wiper of my car.”

“He knew which car was yours?” Dixon asked.

“Apparently. After I spoke with Hayes-our lieutenant-and he gave me the go-ahead to use those interns, I had to get their names from a file in my car. And I found this.” He held up the document.

“Does SFPD have cameras in the lot?” Vail asked.

Friedberg stifled a laugh. “There are some out front, and some strategically placed around the building’s exterior. But the parking lot’s low priority. And we’ve had very few problems so there’s no incentive to spend money on that. You know how government works-we fix a security hole after we have a breach.”

“What’s it say?” Vail asked.

“It rambles a bit, kind of sounds like a manifesto.”

They gathered around Burden’s desk and huddled to read the letter.

You think I made a mistake? Right. That’s why I’m locked away in a jail cell. Oh, wait. I’m not. You people are a horrible waste of our tax dollars. Are you all so stupid I have to spell it out? Society functins by rooles and laws but they don’t apply to me. I don’t respect author-ity. Never did when I was growing up. My parents taught me to question author-ity. So why should I respecdt it in prisin son of a bitch bastards all they want to do is stick you force you to become someone your not if thts not a crime what is. I ask you agent vail what does all this mean. What does life mean if a man does all he can but cant make it work in society. It makes you think doesn’t it? If you still dont get it Agent Vail your not worth shit. I mean if all the philososphors and experts give us references for the trends of society what does it all mean if goverment doesn’t respect an individuals right to live in peace. I am a weakish speller but don’t take it for a fault. Underestimate me, you will be badly disappointed.

“I’m gonna take it over to the lab,” Burden said. “Have them do the usual workup, see what they can tell us. Karen?”

Vail was reading it a second time. They waited for her to finish, at which point she sat back in her chair. “There’s a lot of anger. It looks like his grammar is atrocious, which would indicate a lower level of schooling. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. There’s a purpose behind it. And he specifically warns us not to underestimate him.”

“What else?”

“The writer appears to have done time in prison. He obviously refers to it and implies he’s had experiences there. I assume being ‘stuck,’ in that context, refers to being raped. And he asks why he should respect authority in prison if his parents taught him not to respect it when he was free. That could merely be bullshit, but he does describe an attitude toward authority that’s common among violent offenders: a lot of them don’t think the laws of society apply to them. So I think there’s a good chance our writer’s been incarcerated.”

“That could help us out big time,” Friedberg said.

Burden leaned toward Vail. “He mentions you twice, as if he’s talking directly to you. What do you make of that?”

“That would be what our UNSUB would do. Same with his opening-he puts himself out as the smart one, us as the dumb ones.”

“You think this really is from the Bay Killer?” Dixon asked.

“That’s a much more difficult question to answer.” Vail sat forward in her chair and carefully slid the paper toward her using the eraser of a pencil. “It could be someone who read Allman’s article. He mentioned me, so this crackpot could be trying to get his fifteen minutes of fame, if tomorrow’s newspaper, or the paper’s website, mentions the letter. Or it could actually be our guy-but he could be deliberately altering things to throw us off.”

“Throw us off, how?” Friedberg asked.

“Reading this, you might think he doesn’t appear to be too bright, with all the grammatical and spelling errors and run-on sentences. But hints of his intelligence come through when he makes his point, however circular and pontificatory he made it sound.”

“Pontificatory?” Burden said.

“Yeah,” Vail said, “pontificatory. You got a problem with that?”

“Go on,” Dixon said.

“There appears to be a cogent message beneath the surface, if we read between the lines. I said before that he’s angry. He’s pissed about something that happened in prison. It might be a rape, but I think it’s more than that. Sounds like he got out of prison and tried to make it work, but he couldn’t survive in society.

“This is also a recurring theme with criminals-they do their time or get paroled, and then get released-and are completely unprepared for how society functions. They can’t get jobs, or they get one and can’t relate to people and they get into trouble, get fired-and then have no money and no way to get another job. So they turn to what they know, or what they learned in the joint, and that’s robbery, or theft, or drugs. And they get caught and tossed back in prison again.” Vail slid closer to the letter, took another look at it, and said, “There’s more here, but that’s a start.”

“So what do we do with this?” Friedberg asked. “He didn’t give us a way of responding.”

“But he did,” Vail said. “He wants the attention. So if we want to reply, and we do, we have to do it publicly.”

“And what reply do we ‘want’ to send?” Burden asked.

“Appeal to his grandiosity. We should make it all about him. He’s the ultimate, super important. All our efforts are focused on him. We’re blown away by his intelligence. But at the same time, we have to challenge him so he doesn’t get bored with us.”

“Bored with us?” Burden asked. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Psychopaths get bored. It’s a part of who they are, their personalities. We’re finding they’ll even vary their crimes just to keep it interesting and different. That could explain why the new crime scenes are slightly different.”

“But if he gets bored with us,” Friedberg said, “and stops communicating, then what?”

“Nothing good from our perspective. Unless we handle it right, he could quickly lose interest in me. I have to let him think he’s in control. Some detectives who had a dialogue with a serial killer want to talk to them after they’re caught. They think they’ve got some kind of ‘special’ relationship with this killer, but the killer doesn’t give a shit about them. It’s all about how the serial killer thinks he can manipulate and use the detective. And then he spits them out.

“If I go to visit an offender in prison, someone I’ve spoken with a number of times in the past, he won’t have warm, fuzzy memories of talking with me-even if we did have productive chats. These assholes don’t form a bond with me or anyone else. There’s just no loyalty there because they’re not capable of it. Our UNSUB’s contacting us-me-because it’s exciting to contact ‘his’ profiler. But I could lose him really fast if I don’t handle it right.”

“I say we just tell him to fuck off,” Burden said.

“First of all,” Friedberg said, “other than quotes in an article that we plant, we have no way of reaching him.”

Vail said, “He’s set this up as a one-way conversation, which fits-his opinion is all that matters.”

“What about TV? Would that be better than a newspaper or website post?” Dixon asked.

Vail cringed. “TV’s bigger, more grandiose. We definitely don’t want to go there unless he forces us to. So far that hasn’t been an issue.”

“So we build up his ego,” Dixon said. “How would we simultaneously challenge him to keep his interest?”

Vail rose from her chair and walked over to the murder board where the photos were displayed. “We ask him to help us out, because we’re not getting what he’s trying to tell us. We understand he had a tough time in prison, but we sense there’s a bigger picture, that there’s a message here we’re not capable of seeing without his help.”

Burden slapped a hand on the table; the pencil jumped. “So you’re saying we should play dumb and ask this fuckwad, who’s murdered several people, to help us out because we’re incompetent and we can’t catch him?”

Vail tilted her head. “Do you see him behind bars, Burden? Because I sure don’t. So check your ego at the goddamn door so we can do what we need to do to keep this guy contacting us. Sooner or later, if we play it right, he’s gonna tell us something that will give us a direct line to him. Get it?”

Burden tightened his jaw. “Whatever.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

“Karen,” Dixon said, then gave her a slight shake of her head.

Cut it out. Vail took a deep breath. You’re letting the offender get to you. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind. When she opened them, she realized her team was looking at her. “All right. I don’t see where we have a choice. This asshole wants to play.” She shrugged. “Let’s play.”

AT VAIL’S URGING, BURDEN CALLED Allman and told him to meet them at the Tadich Grill, a four minute ride from the station. They hadn’t eaten in several hours, and with Burden looking to avoid his lieutenant’s overtime budgetary wrath, they decided to extend their day by meeting, unofficially, offsite.

“Tadich is the oldest restaurant in the city,” Friedberg said. “It may even be the oldest business, period. Dates all the way back to the Gold Rush days, 1849.”

The neon sign that protruded perpendicularly from the emerald-toned building front confirmed Friedberg’s information. Apparently, the establishment was proud of their heritage, as it was also emblazoned across the transom over the doorway. And on the glass storefront.

Vail pointed to the text. “Actually, it says they’re the oldest in the state, not just the city.”

Friedberg hiked his brow. “Whaddya know. I’ll have to remember that.”

“Please do,” Vail said. She leaned back and looked accusingly at Friedberg. “Is the rest of your info that faulty?”

“Did you notice the name of this building?” Burden asked. He pointed to the sign above the Tadich entrance. “The Bitch Building. Guess it’s only fitting that you’re eating here.”

“It’s B-u-i-c-h,” Friedberg said, spelling it out. “I’m not sure I’d pronounce it ‘bitch.’”

“Karen might,” Burden said.

Vail jutted her chin back and looked admiringly at Burden. “Good one.”

Dixon pulled open the polished copper door and they filed in. Ahead of them stood an expansive bar that dominated the right side of the long and narrow restaurant. A silver-haired man in a white jacket and black pants greeted them and led them across the white tile and paneled walls to a series of private booths that lined the left side of the interior. Quarter loaves of round sourdough bread sat on a plate on each empty table, along with a bowl of sliced lemons.

“In a few minutes this place is gonna be packed,” Burden said.

“Food’s that good?” Vail asked.

Burden bobbed his head from side to side. “It’s more…the experience of eating here.”

“The experience,” Vail repeated. She turned to Dixon. “I think we’re in trouble.”

The waiter gave Vail an unsavory twist of his face, set down the cardstock menus, and pushed his way toward the front of the restaurant, where more diners were entering.

Their table was separated by a tall wood divider that gave them a sense of isolation. Stacks of white linens were piled atop each of the dividers, which extended into the distance.

“I figured this would be the best place to discuss serial killers without pissing off the customers,” Burden said.

Dixon pulled out her wood chair, then nodded at the front door. “There’s our guest.”

Clay Allman followed the same path the others had a moment earlier, then pulled over an extra chair and placed it at the end of the table. “I haven’t eaten here in years.”

“I hear it’s quite the experience,” Vail said.

Allman pursed his lips as he snagged an extra napkin from the divider and unfurled it with a flick of his wrist. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“So remember we talked about helping each other out?” Burden said.

“That’s what I do, Birdie. And have done, for twenty-five years. You know that-what’s this about?”

“We’ve got something that needs to appear in tomorrow’s paper.”

Allman stole a look at his watch. “You did say, tomorrow, right?”

“I did.”

Allman sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “We missed the 5-star deadline, but I can probably make the 8:30 ‘1-dot’ edition. What’s so urgent that it has to get into the paper?”

Burden looked at Vail, who picked up the conversation.

“We got a letter from the offender.”

“What’s it say?”

Vail glanced at her task force colleagues, then said, “It reads like a manifesto. Off the record, it seems like he’s done time in prison.”

“And that’s off the record? Give me a break, Karen.” Allman leaned closer. “Can I call you Karen?”

“Call me whatever you want. But we need you to print something for us.”

“How ’bout I print that for you and you let me see this manifesto-and let me mention that prison thing in the article?” Allman twitched his brow.

“How ’bout we buy you dinner,” Vail said. “And you mention that we received a letter from the offender.”

Allman tilted his head in thought. “How ’bout-”

“Clay,” Burden said. “We’re up against the wall here and we need you to do this.” He looked at Allman, his gaze steady-and intense.

“Evening everyone,” the waiter said. “May I take your order?”

They pulled the menus up to their face, selected quickly-Pasta and Clams for Burden, White Branzino Sea Bass for Friedberg, Bay Shrimp Diablo for Vail, and Pacific Oysters Rockefeller for Dixon.

“You’re buying?” Allman asked.

“If we’ve got a deal,” Vail said, “we’re buying.”

Allman groaned. “Fine.” He looked up at the waiter. “Lobster thermidor.” He glanced again at his watch. “Not that I’ll have much time to eat it…”

The server collected the menus and left.

Allman pulled out a spiral notepad from his leather bomber jacket. “So what do you want this to say?”

Vail looked off at the rapidly filling restaurant. The scent of fresh fish sat heavily on the air, the sizzle of frying food off somewhere in the distance. Appeal to his superior intellect. “Try this: A letter was received today by the investigating detective on the Bay Killer case. The task force is awed by the killer’s intellect, and by his insights on the rules of society.” We have to challenge him. “But I’m asking him to be more forthcoming about what his intent is, and what it all means, because even with the mistakes he’s made, I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

Allman stopped writing, then looked up. “You want this personal. You used the first person. Is that the way you want it? A direct quote?”

“I want him knowing it came from my mouth, yeah.”

“Want to clarify what you mean by ‘the mistakes’ he’s made?”

“Just go with what I gave you, Clay. But don’t post it online tonight. Let it hit the paper in the morning. I want to control when he sees it in case he feels the need to act. I’d rather it be daylight.”

Allman again consulted his watch. “If I’m going to make tomorrow’s edition, I’ll have to leave here in fifteen, twenty at the most.”

He began jotting notes on his pad and had filled the third page when their food arrived. Allman ate quickly, periodically checking the time. Finally, he asked the waiter to box up the remaining food on his plate, then left.

“You think that’ll get a reaction from the offender?” Dixon asked.

“I know it will,” Vail said. “He’s shown a pattern of monitoring the media for information dealing with his handiwork. We’re going to hear from him. I just hope it’s not in the form of more bodies.”

Friedberg scooped the last forkful of his sea bass and held it in front of his mouth. “Amen to that.”

Vail crunched on her shrimp, wondering what the connection was to her past… How the killer could know about what she had done in New York… How he had managed to get inside her head-not to mention her hotel room last night. But he had. And somehow he knew the right button to push that would prevent her from sharing this key piece of evidence with her colleagues. It was a brilliant move on his part. But what did it mean?

“What’s on your mind?” Burden asked.

Lots. “Nothing.”

He regarded her a moment, then nodded slightly and directed his attention back to his food.

It was clear that Burden knew something was up with her, but didn’t know what it was. And, unfortunately, Vail found herself rowing in those same shark-infested waters.