“Jack,” I said. “Look at the return address.”
He turned the evidence bag where he could read the envelope more clearly. And in the top corner it read SON OF SAM in small print. And underneath, instead of an address, the word HELL was written.
“Huh,” Jack said. “Who knew they had a post office in hell?”
He unlocked his office door and then closed it behind us, moving behind his desk and putting the evidence bag down.
“You have gloves?” he asked.
I looked in my bag and pulled two sets from the box I habitually carried, and I realized I was going to have to get a new box soon.
“Let’s see what he has to say,” Jack said, and carefully removed the envelope from the bag.
Except for the postmark, there were no other markings on the outside, but the envelope was crinkled where it had gotten wet from the rain.
“It’s postmarked from the King George post office,” I said.
“Probably because it’s the most crowded,” Jack said. “But he would’ve had to mail the letter before he committed the crime. Timing is everything. Does that count as backstage work? Making sure the timing flows correctly?”
I thought back to Bruno Corelli’s statement about working sets backstage. He certainly had the experience.
Jack used his knife to slit the top of the envelope, and pulled out a single sheet of white paper.
“Sheriff Lawson,” Jack read. “Hello from the gutters of hell. It’s this place I call home—the streets, the alleys, the basements, the living rooms, the movie theaters. Hell can be anywhere. You’ve witnessed my handiwork. Did you like it? I’m writing the script for my masterpiece. Please inform all your detectives you’ll hear again from me soon. Yours in murder. Son of Sam.”
There was a knock at the door and I jumped. I couldn’t help myself. There was no feeling in what Jack just read. No remorse. Just evil.
“Come in,” Jack said, but his eyes never left the letter.
“You wanted to see me,” Colburn said, sticking his head in.
Colburn was a seasoned cop and had been promoted to lieutenant last year, so we didn’t get to work together as much as we once had. He had a thick head of brown hair that was graying at the temples, and he skimmed just under six feet. His jaw was square and his eyes were hazel and hard as ice. I almost felt bad for the suspects in interrogation. Almost.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Come on in and shut the door. I heard about the bust today. Good work.”
“Thanks,” Colburn said. “Heard Cole caught a rough one. What’s going on there?”
“Well,” Jack said. “We’ve had four bodies since early yesterday, so it’s not going great. Looks like we have a copycat serial killer?”
“I heard about the Jack the Ripper murder,” Colburn said, coming closer to the desk. “But that letter in your hand does not look like Jack the Ripper.”
“Son of Sam,” Jack said. “Two students shot to death last night at the movie theater.”
“What do you need from me?” Colburn asked.
Jack took a picture of the letter with his phone and then carefully put it back in the evidence bag along with the envelope. “Let’s see if we can get any prints off the letter or envelope.”
“I’ll take it over to Clary and see if he can work his magic,” Colburn said.
“Don’t get too hopeful,” Jack said. “So far we haven’t found prints on the car he stole, two murder weapons, or on the inside of an entire house where he strangled our last victim. He’s been very careful.”
“They always make a mistake at some point,” Colburn said. “Maybe this is the time.”
“Keep everyone out patrolling on the roads tonight,” Jack said. “And I mean everyone. This guy is going to strike again, and he’ll do it soon. He’s working on a timeline. Keep open lines and focus on any stolen vehicles or missing persons reports that come in. We don’t know who he’s going to copycat next.”
“What about the media?” Colburn said. “I haven’t seen anything about a serial killer on the local news. I saw Samson’s sketch last night, and then the video still of the suspect from the shooting last night. But the media is treating it as two separate incidences.”
“They’ve not put it together yet, but I don’t expect that to last long,” Jack said. “We doubt much will come of the sketch and video image. He’s in costume for each with wigs and makeup.”
“Face shape is slightly different too,” Colburn said. “Maybe some prosthetics too.”
Jack grunted in acknowledgment, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“I know you hate it, but sometimes the media can help,” Colburn said. “We can warn people to be on their guard. And it might help us run him to ground faster.”
“I’m with you,” Jack said. “And I do hate it. This guy wants to be center stage. That’s been his point from the beginning. He’ll love the attention it brings.” Jack looked at his watch. “I’ll try to get in touch with Carrie Colson and give her the minimum. We don’t want to start a panic.”
“I’ll brief everyone,” Colburn said, slapping Jack on the shoulder. “This is priority.”
“Jaye and I are headed home,” Jack said. “The team is already set up there.”
“Good hunting,” Colburn said and saluted as he made his exit.
Chapter Fifteen
“What about Jody Burkett?” I asked Jack as he passed by the funeral home and turned onto Anne Boleyn to head home. “I can’t just leave her there. I need to do the autopsy. It’s still early in the day. I can have the autopsy done and be home by dinner.”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “My gut is telling me no, and that we need to focus our attention on what we do know. The killer wants us separated and distracted. Do you really think there’s anything useful you’ll find in Jody Burkett that you didn’t find in the others?”
“That’s not really a question I can answer until I’m in there,” I said.
“Any DNA swabs you take will have to be sent off to the crime lab. We won’t have answers right away. And we need something now. He was watching our home, and he sent one of the letters to our house. We need to put everything we have into focusing on the evidence and information we do have. Doing another autopsy right now and collecting more details is just going to keep us scattered. Let’s focus on the other three.”
I had mixed feelings about this. I understood what Jack was saying. But I wasn’t a cop. My best contribution came from inside the lab. On the other hand, I also knew he was worried about me being alone. I remembered his reaction when the first letter had come and he hadn’t been able to get ahold of me.
“Lily can do it,” I finally said, compromising. “I don’t feel comfortable with it not being done tonight. But she’s capable, and I trust her.”
I saw Jack’s grip loosen on the steering wheel. He’d been expecting an argument. I picked up my phone and called Lily.