Whack A Mole

CHAPTER FORTY

Helen found it when she stepped outside for a smoke.”

The chief sets the two bags down on his desk.

“Where was it?” asks Ceepak.

“Stuck in the gravel. Poking up near the curb.”

The grounds around police headquarters are landscaped with pea pebbles instead of grass. Crushed rock requires little in the way of maintenance, irrigation, or a green thumb.

“Did she see who placed it there?” asks Ceepak.

“No,” says the chief.

“Were any vehicles in the vicinity?”

“I don't think so.”

“Pedestrians?”

“No. She just saw the envelope.”

“Was it Gus?” I ask. “You think he put it there before he came in?”

“It's a possibility,” says Ceepak.

Our old pal just worked his way back onto the suspect list. Ceepak finds another sterile pair of gloves in his cargo pants.

“This message,” he says, “as well as the initials J. C. typed on the front of the envelope, was done on an IBM Selectric typewriter.”

The chief nods. “Just like the cards we found buried in all the holes. We should check the office supply stores in town. Office Depot over on the mainland. Staples. See who's been buying ribbons for antique typewriters.”

Ceepak stops his study of the card long enough to shoot me the slightest little look, because the chief just said exactly what he had said earlier. Back then, our boy Baines told us there wasn't enough time for such niceties.

Ceepak goes back to work. Guess we'll gloat or scream later. It seems our serial killer has climbed out of his mole hole and, after years of silence, wants to communicate with the police.

“‘Thank you for arresting the doctor,’” Ceepak reads. “‘He is an odious fornicator.’”

“See?” says the chief. “He's been following us! Knows what we've been doing, knows we brought in Dr. Winston.”

Ceepak is unsurprised. “Fits the profile.”

“We might as well cut Dr. Winston loose,” the chief says.

“Agreed,” says Ceepak. “Perhaps we can prevail upon him to show us where he met the girl. It might be a location she frequents.”

“That's what I was thinking,” says the chief even though I doubt he was thinking anything like that.

“I'll put Kiger on it,” he announces. “Have him drive Dr. Winston around town.”

Ceepak reads on.

“‘I have come forth to complete God's work. To finish the task he hath placed in my hands. She is a whoring harlot defiling all good men who cross her path. Therefore, her lewdness shalt be made to cease as I continue to live my life under the Son. Do not dare judge me for, in the end, He, the Son, the true J. C., shalt find me steadfast, loyal, and true. Thou shalt not stay my hand nor prevent His will from being done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.’”

Ceepak puts the card back into its plastic bag. Similarly, he places the pink envelope back in its bag. With the evidence secured, he takes off his gloves.

“I need to talk to Rita,” he says.

The chief looks confused. “Your lady friend?” He twists his wrist to check his watch. “Jesus, John-I was sort of hoping you guys would stick with this thing … see it through.”

“Rita Lapczynski knows someone who was part of Reverend Trumble's community during the time period when the serial killer was most active. Perhaps her contact will remember something that everyone else has forgotten.”

The chief shakes his head. “You still worked up about Reverend Billy? Do me a favor, John-give it a rest. The guy's already called the mayor who, of course, called me. Trumble claims you're harassing him, infringing on his freedom of religion, yadda-yadda-yadda.”

“Be that as it may, I sense Life Under the Son is the key to all of this.”

“Why? Because the nut job's mash note had a few ‘shalts’ and ‘thous’ in it?”

Chief, were you even listening? I want to say. He spelled it out, right there in the middle of his THANK YOU card! He lives his life under the Son? Duh. Buy a vowel, big guy.

But I don't say any of this because I've become sort of accustomed to receiving a paycheck on a regular basis. Besides, Ceepak will say it better than I ever could. He knows how to remain professional in all circumstances. Even on days when the boss forgets to pack his brains.

“Sir-were you listening to what I just read?”

Okay. Maybe Ceepak's had enough, too. Who could blame him?

The chief slants down one eyebrow, squints up the eye underneath it.

“Come again, John?” Hey, I think he's miffed.

“Sir, the note writer clearly states, ‘I continue to live my life under the Son.’ An odd choice of words unless, of course, he is referring to Reverend Trumble's ministry. A group that, as I have said, I believe our killer has had some prior association with.”

“Maybe,” says Baines. “However, you might also consider….”

“Danny?” Ceepak heads for the door.

I follow.

“Where do you two think you're going?”

Ceepak stops. Turns. “To catch a killer.

We haven't much time. Less than five hours.” We walk out the door.

Behind us I hear the chief say, “Dismissed.”

Guess it makes him feel better.