Dear Mr. Vice President:
You have offended the Lord, and He has decided, using me as His instrument, to disintegrate you using high explosives.
It is never too late to ask God's forgiveness, and I respectfully suggest that you make your peace with God as soon as possible.
Yours in Our Lord
A Christian.
"Is this for real?" Mike Sabara asked.
Wohl gave him a disdainful look. Matt was glad that Sabara had spoken before he had a chance to open his mouth. He had been on the verge of asking the same question.
"If you're getting a little long in the tooth," Larkin said, "and you've been in this business awhile, you start to think you can intuit whether a threat is real or not. My gut feeling is that it's real; that this guy is dangerous."
"I don't think I quite follow you," Wohl said.
"The Vice President and, of course, the President get all kinds of threatening letters," Larkin said. "There's a surprisingly large number of lunatics out there who get their kicks just writing letters, people in other words who have no intention of doing what they threaten to do. Then there are the mental incompetents. Then there are those with some kind of gripe, something they blame, in this case, on the Vice President-and want fixed."
Larkin paused long enough for that to sink in.
"Everybody, I suppose, has seenCasablanca!" He looked around as they nodded. "There was a great line, Claude Rains said, 'round up the usual suspects,' or something like that. We have a list of suspects, people we think need to be watched, or in some cases taken out of circulation while the man we're protecting is around. This guy is not on our list."
"How could he be on a list?" Matt blurted. "He didn't sign his name."
He glanced at Wohl, and saw Wohl's eyes chill, but then move to Larkin. It was a valid question, and Larkin immediately confirmed this:
"Good question. If they don't have a name, we give them one. For example, No Pension Check. Jew-Hater. Irish-Hater. Sometimes, it gets to be Jew-Hater, Chicago, Number Seventeen. Understand?"
"I think so," Matt said.
"We keep pretty good files. Cross-referenced. As good as we can make them. This guy doesn't appear anywhere."
"What makes you think he's dangerous?" Dave Pekach asked.
"For one thing, he's in Philadelphia, and the Vice President will be in Philadelphia in eight days, a week from Monday. We don't have much time."
"I meant, why do you think he's dangerous, and not just a guy who writes letters to get his kicks?" Pekach persisted.
"Primarily, because he sees himself as an instrument of the Lord. God is on his side; he's doing God's bidding, and that removes all questions of right and wrong from the equation. If God tells you to quote 'disintegrate' somebody, that's not murder."
"Interesting word," Sabara said thoughtfully, "'disintegrate.'"
Larkin glanced at him. Matt thought he saw approval in his eyes.
"I thought so too," he said.
"So is 'instrument,'" Wohl chimed in. "God using this fellow as his 'instrument.'"
"Yeah," Larkin said. "I sent this off, as a matter of routine, to a psychiatrist for a profile. I'll be interested to hear what he has to say. Incidentally, if you have a good shrink, I'd be interested in what he thinks too."
"Her," Wohl said. "Not a departmental shrink. But she was very helpful when we had a serial rapist, ultimately serial murderer, running around the northwest. When we finally ran him down, it was uncanny to compare what she had to say about him based on almost nothing, and what we learned about him once we had stopped him."
"Interesting," Larkin said.
"Payne's sister. Dr. Amelia Payne. She teaches at the University."
"What's even more interesting, Mr. Larkin…" Pekach said.
"Charley, please," Larkin interrupted.
"…is that Matt, Detective Payne, got this guy. With his next victim already tied up in the back of his van," Pekach concluded.
"Fascinating," Larkin said, looking at Matt.
He already knew that, Matt thought. He's not going to shut Pekach up, but he knew. He really must have some files.
"Okay, Matt," Wohl ordered. "As a first order of business, run this letter past Dr. Payne, will you, please?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mike, how are we fixed for cars?"
"Not good. Worse than not good."
"Matt's going to be doing a lot of running around," Wohl said. " He's going to need a car."
"Let him use mine," Pekach volunteered. "With or without Sergeant O'Dowd. I can get a ride if I need one."
"With your sergeant," Wohl said. "Matt, take the Xerox-before you go, make half a dozen copies-to Amy. Explain what we need, and why we need it yesterday. On the way, explain this to Sergeant O'Dowd, ask him for suggestions. The minute you can get through to him, call Chief Coughlin and ask him if he can meet us, make sure you tell him Mr. Larkin will be there, at Bookbinder's for lunch. I'll see if I can get Chief Lowenstein to come too."
"It's Sunday. There's no telling where Amy might be."
"Find her," Wohl ordered. "And keep me advised, step by step."
"Yes, sir."
FOURTEEN
"There are some other things I think we can safely say about this guy," Larkin said after Matt had gone. "For one thing, he's intelligent, and he's well educated. The two don't always go together. You'll notice that he correctly capitalizes all references to the deity. 'His instrument,' for example, has a capital 'H.'"
Sabara grunted.
"And there are no typos on either the letter or the envelope, which were typed on an IBM typewriter. One of those with the ball. So he both knows how to type and has access to an IBM typewriter. Which means probably in an office. Which would mean that he would also have access to a blank sheet of paper, and probably an envelope. He used instead a sheet of typing paper from one of those pads you buy in Woolworth's or McCrory's. There are traces of an animal-based adhesive on the top edge. Actually the bottom, which just means that after he ripped the sheet free, he put it in the typewriter upside down. And he used an envelope from the Post Office. Which probably means that he knows somebody was going to take a good close look at both the letter and the envelope and didn't want us to be able to find him by tracing the paper or envelope."
"Then why write the letter in the first place? Take that risk?" Sabara asked.
"Because he believes that he is a Christian, and is worried about the Vice President's soul," Larkin said. "Which brings us back to someone who thinks he's doing the Lord's work being a very dangerous character, indeed."
"We keep saying 'he,'" Wohl said, but it was a question.
'Two things. Both unscientific," Larkin replied. "Women don't normally do this sort of thing. And there is, in my judgment, a masculine character to the tone of the letter. It doesn't sound as if it's written by a female. But I could be wrong."
"Yeah," Wohl said thoughtfully.
"One more speculation," Larkin said. "'High explosives.' Technically, there are low-yield explosives and high-yield explosives. Maybe he knows the difference. That could suggest that this guy has some experience with explosives. It could just as easily mean, of course, that he doesn't know the difference, but just heard the term."
"But the whole letter suggests that he isn't thinking of taking a shot at the Vice President," Wohl said.
"Presuming, for the sake of argument, that you're right, that's a mixed blessing. Getting close enough to the Vice President to take a shot at him wouldn't be easy. Using explosives-and I don't think we can dismiss military ordnance, hand grenades, mines, that sort of thing-is something else. And since this guy is doing God's work, I don't think he's worrying about how many other people might have to be 'disintegrated.'"
"I don't suppose there's any chance of having the Vice President put off his visit until we can get our hands on this guy?" Wohl asked.