First Night of Summer (15 page)

“Think we should try some?” He stood back up.

“I wouldn’t. It just came out of the oven, and unless you want to burn your taste buds off, you’ll have to wait.” Sarah stood in the double doorway open to the living room. She came forward and kissed him on the lips. “You had a good trip?”

“Yep. Rain had me grounded at Mom and Dad’s the first morning.”

“At least you were at your parents and not a hotel. Did you and your dad get to hang out?”

“Yeah.” He decided not to tell her about the chest. He wanted it to be a surprise when Tom finished it. “How was your week?”

She looked at the floor. “Fine. You know, just did stuff around the house, showed Josie how to cook, and went to the Smith’s one night for dinner.”

He knew she had something she didn’t want to say. It wasn’t difficult to see. A personality without pretension, she was an open book. “Anything else?”

“Josie, if you want to help put supper on the table, go wash your hands and face.”

She brightened and ran from the room. Isaac gave his wife a puzzled look.

“A letter came in the mail today,” she said. “I haven’t opened it. I don’t know. Maybe I’m paranoid, but it seems out of place.”

His heart sank, and he recalled the conversation with Charlie on Wednesday morning before he left. Other than that, there was no reason to assume the worst.

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to be alone. It’s gross. What if there’s something bad in it?”

He knew exactly what she meant. For hours, he had laid awake at night, seeking to understand what corrupted some creep’s mind to send gruesome pictures and sick letters to children. Isaac loved life and the world, but he also understood that evil people shared it. And one of them was after his family.

“Where is it?”

“In your desk box. I didn’t want Josie to see it.”

He went into the living room and stepped through a set of French doors that separated his office. Stacked on top of a book sat a plain, white envelope with a handwritten address. If it were from the killer, more than a letter was inside. He could feel an object approximately a quarter-inch thick.

“I think something is in it,” Sarah noted.

He nodded.

“Should we open it?”

He inhaled and let out the long breath with a reserved sigh. “I think we have to.” He gestured toward the doors. “Close those, will you?”

Sarah leaned her head out. “Josie, after you wash your hands, set the table, please.”

“Okay,” came a reply from the hallway bathroom.

He put the blade of his pocketknife to the envelope and went to cut it.

“Wait!” Sarah scolded. “Charlie said not to open anything suspicious. We could contaminate evidence. Call him and tell him we might have another letter.”

Isaac didn’t want to. He wanted to open it right there and find out what was inside. If there were another threat against his little girl, he wanted to know about it immediately. But Sarah was right, and he had to make the call. If he messed up anything by opening it, he would never forgive himself. He picked up the handset and dialed.

“Charlie Biddle,” he heard after the second ring.

“Hey, it’s me.” His tone was grave and emotionless. “I think we have another letter.”

Charlie’s voice grew serious. “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure, but it’s suspicious. There’s no return address, and the handwriting looks like the other one.”

“Is anything else in it?”

“Yeah, there is, but I don’t know what. It’s right here on my desk.” Isaac tried to remain calm. He hadn’t been home for more than ten minutes, and the situation grew more agitating by the second. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s fine,” Charlie reassured. “Don’t touch it anymore. I’m coming right over. Just … leave it where it is.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

C
harlie leaned over the desk in Isaac’s study and analyzed the standard white, slightly bulging envelope. He removed his cap, frowned, and tucked a jowly chin to his chest. The longer he scrutinized the handwritten address, the more his balding scalp shined.

“What do you think?” Isaac asked from the opposite side with his arms crossed. He looked at Charlie, then to Sarah, and back at Charlie.

“I think.” He let out a huff. The creases on his forehead and between his brows grew deeper by the second. “I think I don’t like this. At all.”

Sarah scooted away from the built-in bookshelf she leaned against and moved closer to the desk. “It’s from him, isn’t it?” She eased up to Isaac. The side of her arm touched his as a subconscious fear leeched into her heart.

“Well …” Charlie continued to ponder the evidence. “Maybe. There’s no return address, like the last one. The handwriting is definitely not a child’s.” He squinted. “And it looks similar, if not identical to the first letter, but without having them side by side, I can’t say for sure.”

“So what now?” Isaac rocked back on his heels.

Charlie stood up straight and made eye contact. “The usual. Investigate. I take this down to the station, open it, and take a look. That’s the only way to know for sure.”

“Can you do it here?” Sarah asked.

“I suppose,” he said uncertainly. “It arrived in your mailbox, and that means you have a right to see it. But, if it is from him, are you sure you want to?”

“Dammit, Charlie.” Her expression was now stern. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me.” The fear that had previously been in her voice vanished. “I’ve already read one letter and seen the picture with it. This can’t be any worse.” She lowered her voice so Josie couldn’t hear from the kitchen. “If it’s idle threats, then so be it. But if it’s not—if it has anything to do with when he might come back—then I have to know. This shithead’s pushed me way beyond niceties.” She jabbed at the letter with her pointer finger. “Let’s get on with it.”

Charlie relinquished with a slightly shocked, slightly somber expression. Sarah’s directness was new to him, different from her usual mild way. He didn’t know if it had always been a part of her personality, the current circumstances revealing a dormant persona, or if she was hardening in a way that she never previously had need of. Whichever, he couldn’t blame her. “Okay, then.”

From a bag of forensics and evidence collection supplies, he put on a pair of latex gloves and draped a thin piece of painter’s tarp over the desk. He set the envelope in the middle and, holding it down gently with one hand, slipped a scalpel under the flap. The sound of metal slicing through paper scraped against the anxious silence in the little room.

Isaac wrapped his arm around Sarah and pulled her close.

After Charlie slit the paper across the top, he inserted his thumb and pointer finger, pinching the contents between them. A plain sheet of neutral stationary, twice folded, came out. He opened the folds and held the corners down.

Dear Josephine, This being my second letter, I hope it reaches your hands. My recent attention has been on Lindsay Watson in West Virginia. I noticed this little music prodigy and immediately wanted to see how special she really was. My time with her may have been brief, but what we missed out on in quantity, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. I, however, am amazed that miles and variety fail to curb my hunger, my hunger for you, the one who slipped away. I do hope you are adjusting well to life as it is. I think about you and Caroline every day. Until we meet again …

Thinking of you
,

XOXO

P.S. Do you like red?

Isaac flared with anger. How anyone could want to hurt little kids, Josie, evaded comprehension. “I’m going to kill him,” he said flatly. He looked into Charlie’s eyes. “I’m going to hurt him, bad, and then I’m going to kill him.”

“Isaac?”

“You can say whatever you want, Charlie. But if it comes down to it, if I ever get lucky enough to be alone with him, I will kill him slowly. Some people on this earth need killing, and he’s one of them.”

Charlie didn’t look away. He locked eyes with his best friend, his childhood pal, and nodded his head. He knew there was no talking him out of it. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him.
I hope you never have to
.

“Before you kill anyone,” Sarah chimed, “shouldn’t we see what else is in the envelope?”

A month ago, she lived on the border of reason and hysterics. Now the reality that Josie remained a target for a demonic pedophile made her more centered in terms of behavior and logic. Caroline no longer needed their protection; Josie did.

Charlie refocused on the task at hand without comment. Reaching back inside, he pulled out two more items. They quickly passed around a Polaroid picture—held between a Kleenex—of Lindsay Watson. The image would have previously been just cause for nausea, but they had seen the like with Bailey Davis, and their faces remained emotionless.

No mother should ever see her child like this
, Sarah thought.

The second item, a plastic baggie with something bloody inside, Charlie held up to the light and squinted his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to throw everything away and never look at any of it again, but his job was to detect information from the evidence at hand, no matter how unpleasant. Finally, he set it aside and wiped his brow with a handkerchief from his hip pocket. The meal in his stomach felt like it might crawl back up his esophagus and make a second appearance. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

He picked up the Polaroid and laid it directly beside the baggie. “I think …” He looked back and forth, studying them closely. “I think it’s … her nipple.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“I
want to talk about this before I leave tonight,” Charlie started. He closed the lid on the forensics kit and hesitated. “Knowing more about this pervert probably won’t make life easier, but it will help both of you to better understand him.”

“Understand?” Isaac asked scathingly. “I think it’s pretty cut-and-dry, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily, no. I don’t think it’s cut-and-dry.” He hardened his face, arched his eyebrows, and looked serious. “I’m not talking about physical pleasure, the seemingly obvious motive. What I’m talking about is: Why does he really do what he does? What is the very basis for his behavior, the true core of why he is the way he is? Absolute motive?”

“Don’t give me that,” Isaac held up fingers in quotations, “he’s probably got Mommy or Daddy issues line of crap. It shouldn’t matter why. It
doesn’t
matter why. The fact is, he does. End of story!” He looked at Sarah for confirmation.

“I’m not saying that both of you don’t have the right to feel the way you do. But from an investigative point of view, it matters a great deal.”

Sarah paced to the corner and turned around. “Why? Why can’t the all-powerful FBI just catch him already?” Her frustration emanated, and she threw one hand in the air. “Why do we have to get to know him?”

“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, he implies he
will
come back for Josie. If he does, don’t you want to know as much about him as possible?”

Neither answered. They knew Charlie was right. To know their enemy better could turn out to be the only means of protecting Josie.

“He wants us to know who he is, guys,” Charlie continued. “Not personally, but with his identity as a child predator. Otherwise, there is no reason on this earth that he would send letters to someone he wants. He’s waving a flag saying, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’”

“All right then.” Isaac shifted his weight to one foot. “What about postmarks? Where is he?”

Charlie shook his head. “The first was from Nebraska, and this one is from Ohio. He’s mailing them on the road. However, I think he lives somewhere in the western half of the country.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Both letters were processed by the Postal Service west of where he made the previous abductions. If he’s mailing them on the drive home, then he lives west of Hiawatha, Kansas.”

Sarah wanted clarification. “So just west?”

“That’s right. Just west. Without a name or state where the vehicle is registered, that’s all we’ve got.”

She paced four more steps to the opposite corner and turned again. “Back to the motive. Isaac told me the FBI is working on a profile. What do you think he’s after?”

Charlie rubbed a hand over his shiny head, a nervous tick when thinking. “In the past three abductions—this is beyond the physical resemblance of the girls—there is a recurring thread. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I don’t think so.”

Sarah stood akimbo. “And?”

“Within one month prior to every kidnapping, each of the girls, Josie and Caroline included, have been recognized for an outstanding quality or action.”

Realization popped into Isaac’s head. “You mean catching Jason with the tablecloth when he jumped off the roof?”

Charlie nodded once. “And Bailey Davis from Kansas. She raised over two thousand dollars for a local food drive with a lemonade stand.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine? Two thousand dollars with lemonade? The local paper covered her, and so did a Kansas City paper.” Charlie zipped his bag and let it rest on the desk. “Lindsay Watson has also made the papers recently.”

“What did she do?” Isaac asked with new interest.

“Lindsay plays,” he stopped short. “Lindsay
played
the violin. She was scheduled to make a guest appearance with the New York Symphony Orchestra. Once a year, a select group of musically gifted kids is chosen. The
Times
printed an article about her a couple weeks before she disappeared.”

Sarah’s hands were over her mouth. Shock was in her eyes. Before all of this, she didn’t have her mind wrapped around the idea that the killer’s motives went beyond the physical weakness of lust. Now that changed. “You’re saying he only goes after kids who have done something special?”