The Delilah Complex

Forty-Four

Detectives Jordain and Perez were sitting in an unmarked navy-blue sedan across the street from the Butterfield Institute. The morning had started with a call from their officer who was working the mail shift at the New York Times. Betsy Young had gotten a fourth correspondence from Delilah.

The man in the photographs had been reported missing five days earlier. Bruce Levin was a celebrity real estate developer whose name was almost as well known as the people he brokered luxury apartments for. It helped that he had been married to a top model, with whom he’d fathered a pair of twins. The divorce had been in all the tabloids because of the exorbitant demands his wife was making and the claims she made about how much she spent on her children.

Like the other three packages, this one included a lock of Levin’s hair in a small plastic bag and three photographs, all taken from the same angles as the previous shots. There were the same ligature marks around his wrists and ankles.

And as they expected it would be, the number 4 was painted in red on the soles of both of his feet.

What was different was the reporter’s demeanor when she arrived at the precinct house. She’d written up her article and had brought it with her to the station house.

Previously, she’d been very professional, slightly nervous, clearly disturbed, but in control. Even to the point of being angry at Jordain and Perez for holding the articles too long-according to her-for not letting her reveal everything that was in the packages, and for insisting the Times not print all the photographs.

Betsy Young’s star at the paper had risen in the weeks since she broke the story about Philip Maur, and with it, her attitude had become more strident.

Except that morning she had been subdued and completely shaken. Once the meeting was over, Perez offered to have a car take her back to the Times, which she agreed to. She was clearly too upset to think through why he was offering: that it would be even easier to tail her if she were in a cop car.

She’d gone back to work, stayed for three hours, and then taken a cab to the Butterfield Institute, getting out of the taxi with a different color hair than she’d had getting in. The detectives had talked about the wig and tried to come up with a reason for it. Like everything else in this case, the reporter’s hair change made no sense.

Perez sipped at his coffee. They’d been in the car so long it was lukewarm. Jordain had finished his already but wished he’d bought two cups. They might be there for a while.

“We are so cold on this one I need a winter coat,” Jordain said.

“I’m not as sure about that as you are.”

“I’m betting she is not our Delilah. All I’m hoping at this point is that she knows who is, and might lead us to him.”

“Well, something’s going on. She’s the most important crime reporter in the city right now, and that is more motive than anyone else we can think of.”

“Talk about willing to do anything to get ahead, that’s-” He was interrupted by his cell phone.

“Jordain,”

“It’s Butler. I’ve got the information you wanted.”

Jordain mouthed the police officer’s name to Perez. “Good, go ahead. I’m waiting with bated breath.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you guys, but I came up with absolutely nothing on Young being linked romantically with the last victim.”

“Let me guess,” he said wearily. “It’s the same as with the other three. You talked to business partners, friends, doormen, and did some quick phone-record searches. No calls from our new Samson to Young’s home number, cell number or office.”

Perez shook his head after Jordain had filled him in on Butler’s investigation. “Maybe she didn’t know them. Maybe she saw them somewhere and for some reason targeted these four men-stalked them. Maybe she tried to date them and they all rejected her.”

“And then she drugged them and killed them to exact her revenge? She’s a perfectly normal-looking woman- even if she’s a little pugnacious and aggressive-no reason to assume she’s that hard up for a social life that if a guy said no, she’d go to this extreme. No, if this is tied in any way to her, it’s the career thing.”

A woman walking an apricot-colored miniature poodle stopped alongside the car while her dog sniffed at the sidewalk. She glanced into the window, saw the two men talking to each other, but didn’t focus on them. Jordain watched her without looking directly in her face.

“Have we found out if there’s another exit to the building?”

Perez shook his head. “Most buildings in the city don’t have one. If this one does, and if she used it, it would mean she knows we are on her tail. So, do we get out and check and risk bumping into her, or do we wait? And how long do we wait?”

“Most sessions last forty-five minutes. We’ve got a ways to go.”

“Do they ever let a patient go more than a hour?”

“Morgan would if it was important. If the patient was in crisis. She’d break a rule like that.”

“But not break a rule for us?”

“She’s got integrity.”

“Oh, is that what she’s got?”

Jordain arched his eyebrows.

“Come on, partner, I’ve known you long enough to be able to tell when you are interested in someone. Christ, I’ve been waiting for that to happen.”

“Well, give it up.”

“I’ve seen the two of you in a room together and-”

“I’m hungry,” Jordain interrupted. “Do you have one of those nutrition bars you’re always eating instead of real food?”