He slipped on the stolen sunglasses as he stepped up to her window. Emily’s eyes smiled back at him as if she recognized him, though she likely could not remember from where.
He needed to be efficient and get out of there before the guards took notice and let their gazes linger. Best for him to clear the front doors before they started after him. To speed the process, MacNally placed the frame on the counter in front of her.
Emily squinted, no doubt instantly recognizing the item from her home. The photo of James and Irving. Her eyes widened in fear.
MacNally placed his note atop the frame. It read:
EMILY SEPTEMBER PAY ATTENTION. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. I’VE BEEN IN YOUR HOUSE. I’VE BEEN IN IRVING’S ROOM. I MEAN YOU NO HARM IF YOU DO AS I ASK. I NEED MONEY, EVERYTHING YOU HAVE IN YOUR DRAWER. I’VE BEEN OBSERVING THE BANK FOR DAYS SO I KNOW ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU HAVE THERE. COOPERATE AND I WILL LEAVE THIS TOWN FOREVER AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN. PUT ALL THE MONEY IN THE BAG. DO NOT LOOK AT THE GUARDS. DO NOT REACT. JUST SMILE. IF YOU CROSS ME, I WILL USE THE GUN IF I HAVE TO. DON’T MAKE ME HAVE TO.
MacNally watched her face carefully. He could tell when she reached the important points in his note, particularly the one where he mentioned Irving. Then she looked up at him. Her eyes riveted to his, conveying a blend of anger, fear, and hate-no, contempt. But he did not take it personally; he would probably feel the same way if the situation was reversed.
MacNally tilted his head, then canted his eyes down to the letter, reminding her she had better follow his instructions. He slowly moved the Luger onto the countertop, in such a way that only Emily was able to see it. Then he lifted the leather satchel, rested it on the frame, and pushed both toward her. She moved the photo aside, with a lingering glance at the image that stared back at her. Cooperate and I’ll leave you and your family alone. He could see on her face what was running through her mind. Exactly what he wanted to convey.
Emily pulled the satchel’s metal hinge apart and began placing packs of money inside. MacNally reached into his left pocket and felt James’s ID bracelet. He slowly pulled it out, then dropped it at his feet. If cops later searched the bank, they would find it-and perhaps think that the robbery was an inside job-perpetrated between Emily and her husband. Even if it only caused them to hesitate for a minute or two, it would serve as a welcomed cushion.
MacNally wanted to chance a look at each of the guards, but he did not want to risk making eye contact. Instead, he moved his right hand to the Luger, which attracted Emily’s eyes for a moment. She stuffed in the last packet of bills, pulled the satchel closed and zipped it, then hoisted it onto the counter. She shoved it toward MacNally. He pulled the Luger back, then slid the weapon into his belt and grabbed the bag. It was full, and sufficiently heavy.
“Thank you, Emily,” MacNally said. “If all goes as planned, you’ll never see me again. You made a wise choice.”
Her hard facial features demonstrated her emotional shift from fear and contempt to pure derision. She tightened her lips and said, “You’d better keep your word and go far and fast, because my husband’s gonna find you if you don’t. He’s a cop. But you probably already know that.”
“I do. And that means he has to follow the law. I don’t.” With that, MacNally turned and walked toward the exit, wanting to glance at the guard closest to him to gauge his reaction, but he instead kept his face forward, his eyes focused on the door.
He had no way of knowing that the next few moments were going to have a formative effect on the rest of his life.
20
Vail, Burden, and Friedberg returned to the Hall of Justice and took the elevator up to four. Friedberg stopped by evidence control to inquire about obtaining the brass key they had secured from the 1982 crime scene, while the others began laying out their case on a large whiteboard that spanned a wall facing the Bryant Street windows.
An hour later, Vail stood back to take in the murder board, and its victims, which now numbered four-five, as soon as Clay Allman sent over his materials on the 1982 murder. The linkage was tenuous for now, but it was an intriguing break in the case. An offender’s first kill-if it was the same guy, and if it was his first-often provided more clues about the man than his later crimes. As an inexperienced criminal, he was not likely as careful as he would be so many years later, when he had time, and presumably other victims, to hone his trade.
And if there was a victim in 1982, there were likely others in the intervening years. It was not a certainty, but it was a strong possibility.
Vail looked over at Burden, who was seated at his desk. “We’ve got four, maybe five vics, and probably a whole lot more we don’t even know about. And we’re nowhere in finding this guy. And he’s not going to stop killing to give us time to catch up.” She turned back to the crime scene photos of Maureen and William Anderson, Russell and Irene Ilg. “But I do think he’s trying to tell us something.”
Burden joined her at the murder board. “Like what?”
“He’s placing the male bodies in specific locations, out in public. And he’s leaving something at the female vic crime scenes. That key. I think it was meant for us.”
“Okay, so what does that mean? What if he’s telling us something and we’re not hearing him?”
Vail rested part of her buttocks on the edge of the desk. “It could get ugly-I mean, uglier. It’ll frustrate him. Remember BTK?”
“Bind, Torture, Kill. How could I forget that asshole?”
“Dennis Rader, in his BTK persona, sent the cops a note basically saying, How many do I have to kill before I get my name in the paper, or some national attention? Part of his positive feedback loop was attaining fame. He gave himself a media-ready nickname, for chrissake.”
“So maybe we should let Allman run with his story. Are we making things worse by not mentioning the key, which he’s purposely left for us? If he thinks we didn’t find it, won’t it piss him off?”
Vail sighed. Her eyes flicked over to the brutalized bodies of Anderson and Ilg. I really don’t want to see this happen again. Goddamn it. What’s the right call here? “I’m honestly not sure if I have enough info yet to make an informed decision.”
“We’ve got five goddamn bodies,” Burden said, anger lacing his tone. “How many more do you need?”
Vail banded her arms across her chest. “You have five seconds to apologize. I don’t fucking deserve that.”
Burden turned away and faced the whiteboard. “You’re right. That was out of line. I’ve been a detective for over twenty years. I should be able to work this case without relying solely on your analysis.” He thought a moment, then said, “How sure are you about this key?”
“That it was left for us? I’d like to know if the key from thirty years ago matches the one we just found at the Ilg’s. If they do…but how do we define match? An exact match? It’s the same key, just a copy…or a similar type of key…or same type of lock?” She thought a moment. “If Allman’s memory is right, and the ’82 key is very similar or identical to the one we just found, then that’s significant. Assuming for a minute that it’s not an incredible coincidence, it’s a very specific ritual behavior. My gut tells me it has meaning to the offender-and because it doesn’t appear to have been used to maim or mark the victim, I really do think it’s meant for us.”