I considered how to answer in a way that would not scare him off: I can safeguard you... I can tell your story... I can be your go-between...
I decided on a direct approach that laid the reality of his situation on the line. Looking up every few seconds or so to check for the detectives, I composed an email that I hoped would lead RogueVogue to trust me with his story and safety.
I am a writer. I have written books about killers like the Poet and the Scarecrow. I am writing now about the Shrike. You are in danger. He killed Hammond and he killed a man he thought was you. I can help you. I can get you to safety and I can tell your story. I know you and Hammond had nothing to do with the Shrike. You never planned on that. I’m including my number here. Call me and we can help each other.
I read it twice and typed my cell number at the bottom before sending it. My hope was that RogueVogue would read and react to it right away.
I checked the parking lot and the front of the coroner’s office once more but saw no sign of the LAPD detectives. I realized that they might have parked over at USC Medical Center and taken the tunnel through to the coroner’s office. I may have missed them. But I decided to call Rachel while maintaining my vigil. She answered in a whisper.
“Jack, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I was just checking in. Did you meet with anybody yet?”
“Yes, we’re in the middle of it. I just stepped out to take the call.”
“And?”
“Well, they’re working on it. They’re looking for other cases and trying to run down Hammond’s partner. I should have something on that soon.”
“There might be a case in Tucson. But more importantly at the moment, there was another killing today here in L.A. I thought it was Hammond’s partner but it’s not. It looks like a mistake. Like the Shrike thought it was Hammond’s partner.”
“How did you find that out?”
I filled her in on how a check of the causesofdeath website led me to the coroner’s office. I told her that the bureau now had competition in the form of the LAPD connecting the same cases the FairWarning team had. I suggested that maybe the FBI should join forces with the LAPD rather than have the agencies run parallel investigations.
“I’ll suggest it but don’t hold your breath,” Rachel said. “That never worked well when I was here and I doubt attitudes have changed much.”
“Well, it won’t look that great when the story comes out and it says they’re running different investigations,” I said.
“Jack, that’s another thing.”
“What is?”
“They don’t want you to publish yet.”
“Jesus, I knew it would come to that. You can tell them to forget it. It’s our story. We brought it to them as a courtesy. We’re going with it.”
“They feel — and I agree — that it would be better if this guy doesn’t know they’re coming. You go with the story, he’ll probably drop from sight and then we’ll never get him.”
“‘We’? You’re back with them now?”
“You know what I mean. As soon as this guy knows we’re on to him he’ll disappear and change his pattern.”
“And if we don’t publish and warn the public about this guy, he just goes on killing until maybe he is caught.”
“I know that’s the argument but—”
“He killed two people today alone. And this was him covering his tracks. He must already know that something is up, that people are on to him.”
“But not the FBI, Jack.”
“Look, I’ll talk to Myron and Emily about it but I will vote to publish. The world needs to know this guy is out there and what he’s doing and how these victims are identified and stalked.”
“And you have to make sure you don’t get scooped.”
“Look, I’m not denying that. I’m a reporter and this is my story, and yes, I want to be sure I’m first out with it. But now with both the FBI and LAPD aware of it, it’s only a matter of time before some asshole leaks it to some reporter he’s trying to leverage. That alone makes me want to publish, but the more important reason is to alert the public to the very dangerous thing going on out there.”
“Okay, Jack, I’ll tell them. How long can I say they have before it goes out?”
I looked through the windshield and saw Mattson and Sakai walking along the sidewalk that fronted the parking lot. I put my phone on speaker so I could use it to take a photo of them. Myron liked to put photos into the body of long stories as visual breaks. As long as they were somehow connected to the story, that was all that mattered.
The detectives went down either side of an unmarked car and got in.
“A day,” I said. “We’ll try to get it out by tomorrow night.”
“Can’t you push it back at least twenty-four hours, Jack? There is not much they can do by tomorrow night.”
“What if he kills somebody on that extra day? You want that on you, Rachel? I don’t.”
I got the call-waiting buzz in my ear and looked at my phone’s screen. An Unknown Caller was reaching out to me.
“Rachel, I’ve got a call I have to take,” I said quickly. “It might be him.”
“Who?” Rachel said.
“RogueVogue. I’ll call you back.”
“Jack—”
I disconnected and accepted the other call.
“This is Jack McEvoy.”
Nothing. Just an open line. I watched Mattson and Sakai drive out of the parking lot and turn right on Mission Road.
“Hello? This is Jack.”
“You sent me a message...”
The voice came through a digital modulator that turned it into the voice of a robot.
“Yes... I did. You’re in danger. I would like to help you.”
“How can you help me?”
I quietly unzipped my backpack and grabbed a notebook and pen so I could write his words down.
“For one thing, I can get your side of the story out. When this thing hits, there are going to be victims and villains. You want to get your story out there before other people put it out there for you. People who don’t know you.”
“Who are you?”
“I told you. I’m a writer. I track killers. I’m tracking the Shrike.”
“How do you know about him?”
“He killed someone I knew. He got her name and details from Dirty4.”
There was a silence and I began to think I’d lost him. I wanted to persuade him to talk. But I wasn’t willing to dance around what he and Hammond had wrought with their scheme. As far as I was concerned, RogueVogue was firmly on the villain side of the ledger. He was not as culpable as the Shrike but pretty damn close.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I wrote the line down verbatim before responding. I knew it would go high up in the story.
“What was supposed to happen?”
“We... it was just supposed to make money. We saw a niche.”
“What was that niche?”
“You know, helping guys... some guys have trouble meeting girls. It wasn’t that different from Tinder and some of those others.”
“Except the women whose profiles you were selling didn’t know, right?”
I said it in a non-accusatory tone but it brought silence. I threw a softball question out before I lost him.
“How did you and Marshall Hammond meet?”
After a pause he answered.
“College roommates.”
“Where was that?”
“UC–Irvine.”