“Oh yeah, we go way back,” Peter said. “Good times. Good times. So anyhoo, I got a phone call this morning from your killer.”
Ellie and Flann exchanged skeptical looks. Reporters contacted cops to suck up information, not to dole it out.
“It was probably just a prank,” Flann said. “Routine on high-profile cases.”
“That’s what I assumed too. It was at least a clever crank. He told me to go to the public library to find a letter he left there for me. Sound familiar?”
“That’s how William Summer delivered the first of the College Hill Strangler letters,” Ellie explained to Flann. “He hid a letter inside a book at the library, then gave a tip to a reporter.”
“I guess I play the role of the reporter.” Peter handed them a piece of paper sealed inside a plastic bag. “I watch CSI.”
Dear Mr. Morse, Congratulations. You found this letter. Now here is your reward. The letter continued with a detailed description of the killings, down to the shrill mews of Amy Davis’s cat while he strangled her and the tapestry pattern on the sofa where he found the pillow used to smother Megan Quinn. They were sinners and fornicators and temptresses, but that is not why I killed them. The police are covering up the real reason. They were liars, using deception to trigger lust in honest men. They used FirstDate, then took their Last Breath. “And behold! He cometh to execute judgement upon all, and to destroy the ungodly, and to convict all flesh of all the works which they have ungodly committed.” Three down and many more to go. Enoch.
“You probably recognize that last line about how many more,” Peter said, looking at Ellie.
Of course she recognized the reference. In 1982, the College Hill Strangler wrote a letter to police asking how many people he had to murder before he would get some media attention. In his postscript, he wrote, “five down and many more to go.”
“He’s fucking with me,” Ellie said. “He saw the news coverage mentioning my connection to William Summer, and now he’s intentionally fucking with me.”
“I’m sorry.” Peter Morse sounded like he actually meant it.
“You can’t run the story,” Flann said.
“What?” Peter exclaimed. “That’s not your call to make. I only came here to give you evidence and to see if you have any comment.”
“He’s escalating,” Flann explained. “It’s all about his ego. He wants notoriety. If you give it to him, it’ll only up the ante. He’ll kill again to prove that he can live up to the reputation.”
“That’s not enough to justify holding the story. If publication presented an imminent threat-”
“Don’t hold the story,” Ellie said. “Get it out there as soon as you can.”
“Ellie, this is not your decision.”
“I’m sorry if I’m being insubordinate, Flann, but I will not be part of hiding this from the public. I grew up in a town where every couple of years a woman would be tied up in her home and slowly tortured to death. The police knew about it and kept us in the dark. Then they said he was gone, when they should have known he wasn’t. Some of his victims might have lived if they’d known to be more careful. Peter’s right. You’re just speculating about what Enoch will do. He might be more likely to kill again if he doesn’t get the press he wants. The only thing we know for sure is that women might be more careful if they know what they’re dealing with. He should go with the story.”
“He signed the letter Enoch,” Peter said. “Is that a name that means something to you?”
It was clear the train was leaving the station. Flann had no way of stopping Peter from running the story – he of all people was not going to report Ellie to the department for cooperating with the press – but that wasn’t going to stop him from salvaging some secrecy. “Any way we can persuade you to at least hold back the name?” he asked.
“I already know it’s from the Book of Enoch. The reference librarian tracked down the quote in the letter for me.”
“Off the record for a second?” Ellie asked.
“Sure.”
Ellie told him about the FirstDate user who called himself Enoch. “His profile is still online. It’s a real long shot, but we’ve got it monitored so we can locate him in the event that he logs back on to his account.”
“Okay. That’s good enough reason for me. The name won’t go in. Neither will the quote.”
“Really?” Ellie tilted her head.
“Even reporters can be reasonable, Detective. I need to do more work on the Book of Enoch angle in any event. Just one more question, back on the record. What do you want me to say about you? About the fact that he’s apparently trying to push some buttons in your background?”
“I think that letter gives you enough for a day’s newsprint. You can say we believe that one man has used FirstDate to kill at least three women and that we believe the letter is authentic.” She chose her words carefully when she described at least three victims. The letter detailed the Hunter, Davis, and Quinn murders, but didn’t mention Tatiana Chekova, and Peter apparently didn’t know about her. She wanted to be truthful, but no more forthcoming than necessary to protect the public. Flann nodded his approval. “We have no further comment about any other details.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ve got enough to run with for now. You’ll give me a break in the future, I hope. For holding back the Enoch thing?”
“No problem,” Flann said, already turning his attention back to his desk.
Ellie offered to walk Peter out. She finally spoke once they reached the sidewalk. “You probably hate me. I’m so sorry-”
“I don’t hate you. I’m intrigued. And, with tremendous guilt given the circumstances, I’m actually happy to have an excuse to break my promise never to call you again.”
“I’m not the kind of person who lies, who tells stories-”
“Hey, if you want to make it up to me, promise me you’ll stop apologizing. It’s not like I regret anything that happened. And if you really, really want to make it up to me, rethink that whole never-seeing-each-other-again agreement. We’ve both got a ton of work to do – yours more important than mine, obviously – but if you get a chance, even just for a drink, call me tonight.” He scribbled a number down on a business card and handed it to her. “Hopefully I’ll talk to you soon.”
ON THE WAY back to the detectives’ room, Ellie checked her reflection in the glass door to make sure it didn’t reveal the few seconds of giddiness she allowed herself. Nope, plain old normal Ellie, even though Peter Morse knew who she was and what she did for a living. He didn’t hate her. He wanted to see her again. He agreed to hold back the name, without even a fight.
Flann wasted no time getting back to the task at hand. “I sent the original of the letter down to the crime lab, but it’ll be a while before we hear anything.”
“They won’t find anything anyway.” Enoch hadn’t left prints behind on anything yet. “I think I’ve got a better lead from our friendly neighborhood FBI agent.”
Flann ate tiramisu, nodding occasionally as she walked him through her chat with Charlie Dixon.
“So Chekova was killed for flipping for the FBI, but then the same gun used on her is used to kill our first victim? That doesn’t add up.”
“It does if Enoch is somehow tied to whatever criminal enterprise Tatiana had knowledge of.”
“So we’re looking for Russian heroin dealers, or, more interestingly, we’re looking at Mark Stern. You think Stern’s got it in him?”
“Anyone can be evil. But I don’t think it’s Stern. I remember the momentary look of panic on his face when we first told him that someone was using his company to pluck off young single women. He wasn’t panicked because he was our guy; he was freaking out because that piece of information, made public, would ruin his company. If he wanted to go on a killing spree, why drag his livelihood down with it?”