Into the Dark

31

Commerce, California

Leeza Meadows had high cheekbones and eyes that sparkled with hope.

She was just twenty-one.

Tanner stared at the photocopy of her driver’s license that he’d paper clipped inside the cover of his file folder for the task force meeting. Leeza was the youngest of the five victims. A few years out of high school, she was working at the Misty Nights Bar amp; Grill to put herself through college. Her eyes blazed with life, he thought, flipping through the other pictures in his file.

Terror consumed her in one of the photos that had been sent to the AllNews Press Agency. Again Tanner’s gut tightened at the indignity. It had been nearly two days since Mark Harding had alerted them to the letter. In that time the task force had held several case status meetings.

It was now 9:00 p.m.

The ANPA had been calling Tanner every thirty minutes, demanding confirmation so they could run their story. Tanner was leading the group’s last meeting before the task force would respond, aware that they’d already missed the agreed upon deadline with the newswire service.

More than two dozen investigators from a spectrum of law enforcement agencies had taken seats around the table in a meeting room at the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department.

“Let’s get to this,” Tanner said. “We’ve concluded that the letter and contents originated from the person responsible for Leeza Meadows’s homicide and the four others.”

“Hang on.” Art Lang, a detective with the LAPD, was drawing circles on his case status sheet. “Are we ruling out the possibility that someone originally happened on the Meadows’s scene, collected the items and sent the letter in response to the article as a hoax?”

Tanner acknowledged the theory.

“Our analysis shows that the photographs are authentic,” Tanner said. “And they were taken before and after her death. Only the killer could’ve taken those images and only the killer would know about, and possess, her missing driver’s license. Only the killer could’ve used her pinky print in the message the Cold Case Unit discovered in Temple City.”

Lang let a moment pass before nodding, and Tanner continued.

“Unfortunately,” Tanner said, “the material sent to the ANPA has yielded no suspect DNA or latent prints. Nothing so far. Our guy was careful.”

Tanner turned to FBI Special Agent Brad Knox, who said that preliminary lab results showed the envelope was sealed with moisture activation of the manufacturer’s adhesive. Examination was still in progress to determine the type of camera used to take the photographs of Leeza Meadows. The writing instrument used for the letter and envelope was a standard felt-tip medium-point marker. The paper was standard, white, twenty-pound recycled. We’re still working on it.”

Knox said the Behavioral Analysis Unit had found that the syntax of the block-lettered message was indicative of someone of above-average intelligence who craved attention and was likely in a highly regarded position of control.

“This is someone who enjoys being looked up to. This guy needs to have his ego fed,” Knox said. “Can we get more time before the news agency prints its story?”

“The letter is their property,” Tanner said. “If we take much longer, they’ll do a story without us confirming it’s from the killer. They’ll say it’s from someone claiming to be the killer and that we’re investigating. We’d lose our chance for some control of the fallout of the story.”

“Why did we go to the press with this?” Lang asked.

“When the evidence first surfaced we talked to retired detectives who’d handled the original five cases and we consulted with the FBI profilers. It was suggested we use an anniversary to draw the killer out, if he was still alive. We went to the wire service so we could reach across the country.”

“It worked,” Lang said. “We’re going to panic Southern California. Every whack-job will be confessing to us. We’ll have to set up for tips. This could get as huge as Son of Sam, the Zodiac Killer and the D.C. Sniper. It’s going to draw intense scrutiny. We’re going to be in the national spotlight once this breaks.”

“Can we get them to hold back running the letter’s entire contents?” Knox asked.

“Working on it,” Tanner said, going around the table for last questions. None came. “All right, then we’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

Less than half an hour after the meeting ended, Tanner arrived home to a dark, empty house. Sam was spending another night with his sister. Kim had been great. When she realized that his long hours would lengthen further, she’d offered to take Sam for a few sleepovers. Sam loved going there, so it worked out fine, gave him time to concentrate on the case.

In the dim light of his kitchen he texted Mark Harding.

I’m ready to talk in the a.m. — my office.

Harding responded instantly.

9?

9 is good.

Tanner went to the fridge, took out a box with a few pieces of leftover pepperoni pizza. He ate a slice with a glass of water. When he finished, he was still too wired to sleep.

He grabbed his car keys and drove through the night, one thought hammering in his head.

This case is solvable. The asshole contacted us. It’s our shot to grab him.

It wasn’t long before Tanner found himself at the edge of Santa Clarita. A lot can happen in ten years, he thought, taking in the new subdivision that had risen in the vicinity of the first homicide.

But, like a hallowed patch of earth, the exact spot where the killer had left Leeza Meadows’s body, had not been touched. It was deep in a hilly sector that remained undeveloped.

Tanner parked.

Scanning the ground with his flashlight, he walked along a path that twisted into the wooded section where ten years earlier Leonard Nallis, the birdwatcher, had found her.

“At first I thought it was a mannequin, or some kind of sick joke,” Nallis told Tanner, who was a deputy then working out of the Santa Clarita station.

Now Tanner thought it was strange how his life had gone full circle. He remembered being a young deputy, staring at Leeza’s remains.

At that moment he’d yearned to be the lead investigator on that case. Now here he was. It was all on his shoulders. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, but at what cost?

Tanner turned on his phone. The darkness glowed with the tiny light of his wife’s video.

“I almost think I can beat this, I–If I don’t beat this, just hug Sam today for me, okay.”

Tanner swallowed hard.

He prayed to Becky’s ghost to help him stop the Dark Wind Killer.

“Help me find him, Becky, before he does it again.”