„An interesting perspective.“ Richardson turned back to the camera. „This is Zoe Richardson in Chicago.“
He switched off the television, trembling. He looked at the name on the paper he’d drawn from the fishbowl. It would have to wait. He had another target to eliminate first.
Friday, February 20,
10:30 p.m.
„Where’s Spinnelli?“ Jack grumbled. „I wanna open the box.“
Abe’s smile was wry. Jack sounded like a little kid on Christmas morning. „He’ll be here soon. You’ll have all day tomorrow to analyze what he’s left this time.“
Jack grunted. „Where’s Mia? I would have thought she’d want front-row tickets to this.“
„She had a date. I called her to tell her Kristen was all right, but when I called her a half hour later, her phone was turned off.“
Jack huffed. „Well, at least one of us will be smiling tomorrow.“
Kristen looked up from her seat at the end of the kitchen table. She’d changed into a sweat suit, but her hair was still fiercely pinned to her head and Abe fought the urge to release her curls, knowing it was likely the last semblance of control she possessed.
„Why should Mia be any happier than the rest of us?“ she asked. Then her eyes widened as she caught Jack’s meaning, and her face blushed a pretty pink. „Never mind.“
Jack grinned. „Sorry, Kristen.“ Then sobered. „You know there won’t be a hell of a lot to analyze tomorrow. He wasn’t even here, we know that.“
They did. The bastard must have seen the cameras because the surveillance tape showed only a young boy delivering the box. They had a good picture of the kid’s face and of the name of his high school on his letter jacket, so they could find him pretty easily.
Nevertheless, Jack’s team was currently dusting Kristen’s front porch for prints and combing every square inch of her front yard for anything that might have been left behind. A call to her neighbors revealed the box had been there when they got home from work at five o’clock, and beyond that, nobody had seen anybody.
Jack pointed at the box. „Let’s just open it, okay?“
Abe sighed. „Okay. Go for it.“
Jack had already covered Kristen’s kitchen table with white paper. „I don’t expect to find any prints on this box either, but you never know. Here goes.“ He sliced open the box and pulled out an envelope. And sat down hard in his chair. „Dear God.“
Kristen jumped to her feet, wincing. „What?“
Jack looked up, every ounce of color drained from his face. „It’s Trevor Skinner.“
„Oh, no.“ Kristen sank back down, her face white as the paper on the table. „I was afraid of this,“ she whispered. „He’s added defense attorneys to his target list“
Abe reached for the envelope in Jack’s trembling hand. He’d heard of the man by reputation only. A real piece of work. „Did you know him well?“
She nodded, stunned. „We butted heads quite a few times. He was ruthless. I hated being in the same courtroom with him. He was merciless to the victims, pounding away until they were… nothing.“ She pressed her fingertips against her lips. „I can’t believe this.“
Abe shook the envelope’s contents on the table, found the letter. „ ‘My dearest Kristen, I am so glad the proverbial cat is now out of the bag. I hope you’ve taken comfort knowing these monsters are dead. I’ll continue for as long as I’m able. By now you’re probably wondering why I’m doing this, why I’ve set out on this mission to rid the city of the festering filth that roams its streets. Suffice it to say that I have my reasons. I’ve watched Mr. Trevor Skinner at work in the courtroom, the way he so skillfully turned opinion away from the victim, often rendering them incapable of speaking on their own behalf.’“ Abe paused and looked up at Kristen.
„Yes, that’s very true. I would object and object, but he never stopped. He’s a favorite among the defendants with money. He could make a victim look worse than the accused. The rape cases were so painful.“ Her lips quivered and she pursed them. „He made those women feel so worthless and dirty,“ she finished on a whisper, met his eyes, hers shiny and wet. „I’m sorry he’s murdered, Abe, but I’m glad he can never do that to a woman again.“ She blinked, sending two fat tears down her cheeks and Jack reached out to take her hand.
„We should have done this in my lab,“ Jack said softly. „This is too much for you, after what happened tonight.“
She drew a steadying breath, gently pulling her hand away. „I’m okay, just shaken up. Let’s hear the rest of it.“
„ ‘So in the spirit of an eye for an eye, I devised a punishment that was fitting. Sleep well, Kristen, knowing Mr. Trevor Skinner died unable to say a word in his own defense. Please ensure the criminals of Chicago know that I am watching, I am angry, and I am not bound by the laws of man. I am as always, Your Humble Servant.’“ Abe sighed. „ ‘P.S. You really should finish one job before you start another.’“
„What new job did you start?“ Jack asked.
Kristen’s mouth thinned to a grim line. „Last night I started making curtains for my damn windows.“
Jack’s lips twitched. Then he began to laugh and after a moment she joined him. She had a wonderful laugh, Abe thought, once again feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut. His face must have shown it, because she quickly sobered, looking guilty.
„I’m sorry, really. It’s just… been a really long day.“
„It’s about to get longer,“ Spinnelli said from the doorway. „You catch the news?“
„We’ve been a little busy, Marc,“ Kristen said wryly. „We were at the press conference. What more harm could she have done since then?“
Spinnelli pulled a tape from his coat pocket. „Where’s your VCR?“
„It’s in the living room,“ she said, worried now.
Spinnelli looked at the box. „Who was it this time?“
„Trevor Skinner,“ Abe said and Spinnelli’s face went as pale as everyone else’s.
„And I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.“
Saturday, February 21,
2:00 A.M.
„You should be sleeping.“
Startled by the sound of Reagan’s nimbly voice on the basement stairs, Kristen jerked her attention from the mantel she was sanding, putting a pause on the delightful fantasy of Zoe Richardson dipped in honey and tied to a thriving anthill. Vicious red ants that bit hard. She was still angry, hours later. Angry that Richardson had insinuated she’d hired a killer. Angry that the bleached blonde bitch had given the criminal community yet another reason to come after her with knives. Angry that Angelo Conti got another chance to posture in front of a camera. And at this very moment, angry that just the sound of Reagan’s voice could make her pulse race.
But none of her anger was his fault. He’d been more than kind, refusing to leave after Spinnelli and Jack left, worried that the men who had accosted her would be back. „I’m sorry,“ she said quietly. „I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was trying to be quiet.“
„I wasn’t asleep.“ She watched as he descended the stairs in a slow, deliberate way. He still wore his hard shoes, as if he expected to go chasing after an intruder any moment. His trousers were still creased, despite all the hours he’d worn them. The only sign he’d relaxed at all was the absence of his tie and the shirt he’d pulled out of his pants, unbuttoned just past the hollow of his throat. Her eyes lingered there, probably longer than they should have. She lifted her eyes to his face where dark stubble shadowed his cheeks, then to his eyes which were shadowed with concern. For me, she thought, and tried not to let it mean too much. „Doesn’t that hurt your shoulder?“ he asked and she looked down at her sandpaper.
„It’s okay. It’s my left shoulder, and I’m right-handed.“
„Oh. I thought you were sewing curtains,“ he said. „The sewing machine makes too much noise, and I -“ „You were trying not to wake me. Got it.“ He walked over to the little windows that lined her basement wall. Unlike herself, Reagan was tall enough to look through the glass without standing on a chair. There was something settling in his size and strength. „Where’s your sewing machine?“