I said, “What’s this? Am I having a dream where there are nothing but beautiful women in the world?”
The older girls did not appreciate my comment. Shawna and Chrissy giggled.
Mary Catherine said, “It’s so much easier to coordinate bridesmaids when your groom can provide the entire wedding party. The girls and I have been getting separate fittings, so this is my first chance to see what they look like as a group.”
Juliana said, “Like a cluster of grapefruits waiting to be picked.”
Jane said, “Please don’t take pictures, and if you must, don’t let anyone see them. I’d die if Allan ever saw me in this dress.”
The twins were caught between the more sophisticated, grown-up girls and the cute, silly little girls. They wisely decided to skip commentary.
Shawna stepped out of line, turned, and looked at her sisters. “I think we all look soooo beautiful. I am so excited about being in the wedding!”
That was all it took to shut down Juliana and Jane. If their little sister was this excited, they weren’t going to complain.
Mary Catherine said, “Is everyone happy with her dress? Do they all fit well?”
The girls all nodded or mumbled that they were satisfied. Mary Catherine clapped her hands and said, “Then go change and off to school, all of you.”
As the girls scampered away, Mary Catherine turned to me. “Good morning. You seemed so exhausted, I would’ve bet you’d sleep right through till noon. At least you look better this morning.”
“Is it getting that bad?”
“This is the worst I’ve ever seen a case drain you. Anything new on it? I knew better than to ask you last night.”
“I spoke to a detective in Atlanta yesterday. It seems very likely our killer was there too, though about eight months ago. After committing five murders, he abruptly stopped killing there. Maybe we’ve heard the last of him here too.”
“You really think so?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
Mary Catherine looked around to make sure none of the kids was close by. “Can we talk about Brian for a minute?”
I felt a sudden flutter of panic. What has my oldest son done now? I gave a silent nod, steeling myself for what disturbing news might possibly follow that cold open.
“You know I’ve been curious about where Brian goes every day.”
“Curious, intrusively paranoid—they’re all just words.”
She punched me in the arm playfully. For the record, playfully doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
“I followed him yesterday morning.”
“You conducted surveillance on Brian?” My tone indicated exactly what I thought of the idea.
“I know, I know. It’s shady and shifty and I shouldn’t have done it. But I’m worried about him. God knows what he’s doing. Or who he’s meeting with.”
I hated that I had to ask. “So what did you find out?”
“I followed him to the subway. He got on the 1 train headed downtown.”
“You didn’t follow him to see where he was going?”
“I think he might have spotted me. I’m not sure, but I thought it’d be best if I didn’t continue.”
I let out a smile and said, “Brian was running countersurveillance. Interesting. You got burned and returned to HQ.”
Mary Catherine said, “That’s all you have to say? Interesting? Aren’t you worried about your son?”
“You know I am, but he’s not breaking any laws by hopping a train downtown. We’ve got to have some faith in him. On the basketball court the other day, a boy tried to pick a fight with him, but Brian wouldn’t engage. I saw how hard he’s trying to stick to his anger management program. I’d like to give him a little more of a chance. Let’s have breakfast.”
I put my arm around Mary Catherine as we walked from the living room into the kitchen. I saw the New York Daily News on the kitchen counter, stepped over and picked it up. It was still rolled with the rubber band the doorman used to make the papers easier to deliver.
Mary Catherine grabbed a cup of coffee and headed into the dining room. She took a seat at the end of the dining room table. I sat down next to her and unrolled the paper.
My eyes locked on the headline blaring in bold type: LETTER FROM A KILLER. At that same moment, my phone started to ring. I knew there had to be a connection.
The entire front page of the New York Daily News was a letter from the person claiming to be our killer.
To the Women of New York:
Now that you see what I can do, you are right to be afraid. Respect the fear.
I know how to watch. I know how to kill. I know how to evade the police.
Your arrogance has been your downfall. I am the one in control, not you.
Think of the one who has killed the most. I am better than him.
And I’m about to prove it. Again. And again. And again. And again.
Bobby Fisher
The NYPD hadn’t gotten any heads-up about the publication of this letter. My phone kept ringing and ringing. I was getting multiple calls from management.
The only one I answered was from Harry Grissom.
Chapter 42
Daniel Ott walked the streets of Manhattan. He had to get to work in Queens, but that could wait.
Now that his letter was finally out there, he sensed people were acting differently, and he wanted to experience how it felt to walk among them. As he walked, he noticed that the crowds still bustled about, bumping and pushing, but their overall energy felt more tentative. He also noticed more people reading actual newspapers. Ott realized he was starting to get quite a kick out of seeing how others reacted to his hobby.
How scared they seemed.
He couldn’t suppress his smile. I did this.
Ott pulled a copy of the New York Daily News out of his bag. He’d already read the article that accompanied his letter to the paper. He’d read it six times. Every time, he’d gotten even more excited. He loved that the reporter called him a “maestro of death” who played “a genius game of cat and mouse with the police.”
Ott contemplated sending another letter, maybe to a national newspaper, like USA Today. He wondered if he should mention the other cities he’d visited, then he hesitated, concerned that someone might piece together his travel itinerary. It was a long shot but one he’d rather not risk. Maybe he’d just point out how clever he was in arranging his counting messages. He couldn’t deny the thrill he got from boldly taunting the police.
His phone rang. It was too early in the morning for his usual call with his wife and daughters, but Lena said she needed to talk to him. After Ott spoke to his two daughters for a few minutes, and listened to their stories about the neighbor’s dog and how they were learning to use computers almost as well as their dad, they gave the phone back to his wife.
Lena seemed upset. She told him that this morning an older woman had bullied her at the grocery store.
“I was standing in the meat aisle when she reached over and pulled a package of pork chops right out of my hand. She looked at me, then walked away with the pork chops in her basket.”
“What did you do?”
“I let it go. I decided it wasn’t worth arguing over pork chops. Plus, she was old.”