Myrna was Myrna Simpson, and it just happened that she was the wife of retired police lieutenant August Simpson. While Tyler had awkwardly tried to explain himself, she waved a hand. “Please, don’t. I’m fine. No big deal.”
“Thank you!” he told her and turned to walk away.
“I believe I know who you’re after!” she said. “Tall woman—actually an inch or so taller than me. Very blonde. A drag queen? Or...just someone in costume?”
“Someone in costume, we believe.”
“Too bad. He’d make a great drag queen,” Myrna said. “He bought some things. I saw a few of them, but the clerk can probably give you a real list.”
“The clerk said he was still in the dressing room.”
“Two clerks are working. Mindy and Fiona. Come on.”
It turned out he’d spoken to Mindy. Fiona hadn’t been at the desk. She was then, though, a woman older than Mindy and the manager on duty.
She was suspicious at first. Tyler gave her his ID, but she remained skeptical, even with Myrna Simpson trying to help out.
Luckily, Craig Frasier walked in. His FBI identification made Fiona much more agreeable.
She gave them a list of the purchases made by Perry Knowlton.
“Is she here often?” Tyler asked.
“Often enough, I guess. Every couple of weeks,” Mindy said.
When they finished, Tyler thanked Myrna again. “You really had no reason to trust me, but you did.”
She laughed. “I told you. I’ve been married to a cop—now retired—for thirty-three years. I learned a lot about sizing up people with first impressions. Though, to be honest, I mistook your man, Perry Knowlton, for someone with a few issues—not a serial killer. If I see him anywhere, I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
IN THE KITCHEN of the safe house, Aunt Renee had just about finished her special French toast.
“Want to set the table?” she asked Sarah.
After she set places, Sarah headed over to Special Agents Lawrence and Parton, who were by the door, diligently on guard.
“Brunch!” she told them.
“I’ll stay. You eat first,” Parton told Lawrence.
“You sure?”
“Just make sure you leave me some!” He glanced at his watch, then looked up and grinned at Sarah. “Sorry. We’ve been on a long shift. Reinforcements are coming in an hour or so.”
“You’ve been great—and you must have my aunt’s special French toast. It’s really the best!”
She went to get Davey, Suzie and Sean from their rooms.
Of everyone, Suzie was looking the worst for wear. Frazzled.
“I’m just hoping I have a job when we get out of all this,” she said. Then she winced. “Of course, I’m hoping to have a life first, and then a job.”
Sean was dealing with it better. “I’m seeing it as a very strange vacation. She’s usually too tired for sex!” he whispered to Sarah.
“Sean!”
“I’m trying to get a lot of sex in!”
“Sean!” Suzie repeated in horror.
“Oh, come on...hey, I’ll bet you Sarah is getting a little, too!”
“French toast, at the moment!” Sarah said. She turned to head out; Suzie and Sean followed her.
They gathered around the table. Special Agent Lawrence said they were free to address her by her first name—Winona. She was a ten-year vet with the force, they learned as they passed eggs, French toast and bacon around the table.
“Agent Parton—Cody—is a newbie, really. He’s been with us about a year and a half. Thankfully, there’s a constant stream of recruits. It’s a busy world, you know.”
So it seemed, Sarah thought.
“Tell me about your books,” Winona Lawrence said, looking at her. “I admit to being a sci-fi geek!”
“She’s working on alien bugs now!” Davey said excitedly.
He explained. Sarah was glad he was doing the talking when her phone rang. It was Tyler.
“You okay?”
“Everything is good here,” she said. And she added, “The agents are great.”
“Some are more personable than others, so Craig has told me. That makes them good at different things. Anyway, I’ll be a while. I wanted to make sure you were okay. We’ve found out Perry Knowlton has most probably dressed as a woman often. We have a list of his most recent purchases.”
“But you weren’t able to find him?”
“No.” He hesitated. “There’s some kind of a new lead. We don’t really know what. Craig’s director just called and asked him to come in. We have the image of Knowlton’s latest appearance out with a number of patrol officers. They’re still looking. I’ll call back in when I know more.”
“Okay, great. I’m fine here,” Sarah assured him.
She hung up. Conversation had stopped. Everyone was looking at her.
“We’re getting close, I believe!”
There was silence.
Then Special Agent Lawrence said, “Well! I can’t wait to read your latest novel, Sarah! You have a wonderful fan club here.”
Sarah smiled. And wished she could remember what they’d been talking about before Tyler’s call.
She couldn’t.
It didn’t matter. She realized it was going to be a very long afternoon.
* * *
“DIRECTOR EGAN DIDN’T mention what arrived?” Tyler asked Craig.
“I just got a message from his assistant—come in as soon as possible,” Craig said.
Tyler thought he could have stayed on the streets, searching, but he didn’t think Knowlton was going to allow himself to be found that easily.
He was out there, though. And he was a chameleon. That made the situation even more frightening than before.
He’d made the decision to come with Craig. The FBI just might have something that could lead them to Perry Knowlton. The man had no known address. According to all official records, he didn’t exist. He’d died a decade ago.
But he was breathing and in the flesh—and killing people—whether he was dead on record or not.
They reached the FBI offices and went through the security check required by everyone, agents included, and then headed up to the director’s office. Egan’s assistant sent them in.
Egan was on the phone, but he hung up, seeing that they’d arrived.
“We’ve had a message from the killer,” he said. “It literally arrived ten minutes ago.”
“We’ve received hundreds of messages from hundreds of ‘killers,’” Craig said wearily. He looked at Tyler. “You’d be amazed by the number of people who want to say they’re killers, or to confess to crimes they didn’t commit.”
“I think this one is real,” Egan said. He glanced at Tyler. “It was actually addressed to you, as well as this office.”
“And?” Tyler said.
“Apparently, Perry Knowlton wants to be a poet, too,” Egan said. He tapped a paper that lay on his desk and slipped on his reading glasses. “Don’t worry—this is a copy. The real deal is with forensics. Anyway, ‘Six little children, perfect and dear, wanting the scare of their lives. One little boy, smarter than the rest, apparently felt like the hives. They went into the house, they cried there was a louse, and one fine man was gone. But now they pay the price today...six little children. One of them dead. Soon the rest will be covered in red.’”
“Six little children. Well, we weren’t exactly little, but in a way, we were still children,” Tyler said. “But he makes no mention of having killed the wrong Suzie Cornwall.”
“He might not want to admit that he made a mistake,” Craig said.
“Sounds like it might be legit,” Egan said. “Naturally, we’re testing everything, finding out about the paper and the typeface and all...and what came with it.”
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“What came with it?” Tyler asked.
“A C-1, I understand,” Egan said. “According to doctors, there are seven cervical spine bones in a human being. The C-1 vertebra is closest to the skull. We received one—and we believe it might well have belonged to Hannah Levine. When a victim has been beheaded, the neck bones may well be crushed or... We’re comparing DNA. But I do believe that we’ll discover it belonged to Hannah.”
“So now he’s taunting the police. But we just put the images of Perry Knowlton out today—how did he know so quickly that we know who he is?” Craig wondered aloud.
“This arrived via bike messenger. I’ve emailed you the address for the service. I’ll need you to look into it. You should get going,” Egan said.
“Yes, sir. We need to inform Detective Green...” Craig said.
“Already done,” Egan assured him.
They left the office.
* * *
THE MESSENGER SERVICE’S office was just north of Trinity Church, on Cedar Street.
The clerk behind the desk was pale. He was young and uncertain, with a pockmarked face and shaggy brown hair. “I know... I talked to a man from the FBI. I...I have a log, of course. I—I, oh, God! He didn’t really say anything—just that the FBI had to know about a package! Was it a bomb? Did we handle a bomb?”
“It wasn’t a bomb,” Craig said. “What we need to know is who gave you the package to deliver?”
“Um...” The clerk fumbled with a roster on the counter. “Jacob Marley. He paid cash. It was a man...an old man, hunched over, crackling voice. Told me he didn’t believe in those newfangled credit card things. He believed in cold, hard cash.”
The clerk looked up at them. “Um, we still take cash.”
“You’re the one who received the package here?” Tyler asked.
“Yes, sir. Er, I should really see your credentials.”
Craig flipped out his badge. The clerk swallowed hard.
“It was a transaction like dozens of others. People do still use cash. I mean every day, people use cash!”
“Did you notice where the man went?” Craig asked. “Or where he came from?”
The clerk shook his head. “It was a busy morning. But...there’s a subway station just down the street.” He tried to smile. “Don’t think he’d use a newfangled thing like a car, huh? Then again...I don’t know. But he didn’t look like the kind of guy who’d be driving a car around the city. How old is the subway?” he wondered.
“Built in 1904,” Tyler said briefly, wondering how he remembered the exact year. He’d actually seen a documentary on it, he recalled, and then impatiently pushed the history lesson aside. “But he was here not long ago, right?”
“About an hour ago...yeah!” He suddenly seemed proud of himself. “I have it on the roster!”
Craig started to say more; Tyler touched him on the shoulder.
“The subway,” Tyler murmured. “There’s no other way. He was just up by the theater district, and while we were going crazy running around and checking out the clothing store, he was on the subway headed here, changing his appearance. He left the package. And then he—then, hell, he went back to wherever it is he comes from.”
“He’s been in New York City a long time,” Craig mused. “He knows the system.”
“I’ll bet that he more than knows it. Craig, long shot here, but he’s had plenty of time to study it. I was watching a program on the roots of the subway and the progression through the years. We know he can leap quickly and know where he’s going.” Tyler paused and took a deep breath. “Long shot, like I said. I can’t help but think that he really knows the subway and the history of it—knows it like the back of his hand. There are so many abandoned stations. We know that the homeless often find them in winter. Do you think it’s possible he’s living underground somewhere?”
Craig listened and then nodded slowly. “Underground New York. We just had a case that involved the deconsecrated church right behind Finnegan’s. Yeah, the subway.”
“We know that people do make use of the empty space—warm, and out of snow and sleet and all in winter. An abandoned station—that might even be lost to the history books?” Tyler suggested.
“Surely, in ten years, the man has needed to bathe. Needed running water. A way to eat and drink and sleep and—survive,” Craig said.
Tyler shrugged. “I know I’m speculating, but it does work. Okay. My mom told me that once, when I was a kid and we were traveling on vacation, we wound up in Gettysburg and couldn’t get a hotel room. So she and my dad parked the car in the lot of a big chain hotel—so we could slip in and use the bathrooms in the morning. Maybe our guy is doing the same thing. Not from a parking lot, but an abandoned station somewhere near several hotels...places he could slip in to use the facilities. Maybe hotels with gyms that have showers—he’s evidently good at changing his image constantly. Wouldn’t be hard for such a con to snatch a key and learn the identity of a paying guest.”
“Possible,” Craig said. “Hey, we went on theory. Theory has proved true. We’ll head back to the office. In fact...” He pulled out his phone. “Mike should be in. I’ll have him get started, pulling up all the spec sheets we’ll need.”
“Sounds good,” Tyler said, and then he was quiet.
“What?” Craig asked, clicking off after speaking with his partner.
“That poem...it still bothers me.”
“Because it was bad? Because it mentioned Davey and Sarah and the others?”
Tyler shook his head. “Because it didn’t mention the Suzie Cornwall who is dead. He said ‘one.’ Made it sound as if he just killed one.”
“Maybe he doesn’t consider a mistake to be one of his kills.”
“Maybe. Still...” Tyler shrugged. “You know, I can’t help but want this bastard dead. By the same token, I want him alive. I want him answering questions.”
“Well, we have to find him if we’re going to take him in,” Craig said pragmatically, “dead or alive.”
* * *
SARAH WAS RESTLESS and didn’t want to stay at the safe house any longer.
She wanted to be doing something.
Of course, she knew she’d be stupid to head out.
She did the dishes and played a Guess the Hollywood Star game with Davey—knowing full well he’d beat her soundly, and fairly.
Then Tyler called to bring her up to date—it seemed Perry Knowlton had sent a message and a bone to the FBI offices, taunting them.
She was glad when Kieran arrived with her brother Kevin. Due to Kieran’s connections, she and Kevin had been given special dispensation to visit.
They sat together in one of the little chair groupings in the living room area. Craig, of course, had informed Kieran what was going on, and she and Kevin had come to tell Sarah about one of the recent cases they had wound up working on—or rather, that Craig had worked on, and which had involved them. It had revolved around the deconsecrated church and a killer who’d left his victims “perfect” in death.
“The point is, he liked the underground.” Kieran paused and looked at her brother. “He killed a young actress Kevin had been seeing.”
“I’m lucky I was never charged with the murder,” he said grimly.
“I think they’re right. I think it’s the only solution. This guy has been hiding underground and taking advantage of his obsession with dressing up and—so it seems—his ability to borrow other identities,” Kieran said.
“It makes sense.” Sarah added, “Tyler said they were going to find a place near hotels—somewhere he could use facilities when he needed them. He’s probably a very adept thief—the kind who steals small-time and therefore is never apprehended.”
“Quite possibly. Anyway, we think they’re on the right track,” Kieran said.
Tyler called again then. Sarah hastily to
ld Kieran and Kevin it was him.
“They’re at an abandoned station not far from here,” she said when she’d hung up. “But so far nothing.”
“They’ll keep looking,” Kieran assured her. “People have the images and they know.”
Next, Craig called Kieran. Sarah saw her wince.
“What?” she asked when Kieran clicked off.
“Well, they’re getting calls and leads,” she said.
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes, except it’s hard to winnow through them. Apparently, someone even called in about Craig and Tyler. They’re phoning in about every man over six feet in the city of New York!”
“Oh!” Sarah said.
“Don’t worry, they’ll keep working.”
Davey peeked his head out. “Want to play a game?” he asked.
“Davey,” Sarah murmured uncomfortably. “They’re probably busy...”
“We’d love to play a game!” Kieran said.
And so they all played.
For once, Sarah won.
Davey was her teammate.
* * *
THE DAY WAS long and hard.
When eight o’clock came around, Tyler and Craig decided to wrap it up and start again in the morning.
They didn’t want to be obvious about what they were doing; they didn’t want Perry Knowlton to know they were actively searching underground for him.
They’d been provided with a really good map of the defunct stations—those that had existed years ago and were not in use now.
They needed more, Tyler thought. More to go on.
But shortly after eight, they returned to the safe house.
Sarah looked at Tyler anxiously. So did the others.
“We’ll be starting up again in the morning,” he assured them all. “We did take a step forward today. Another step tomorrow. We will catch the bastard.”
He once again tried to get Sarah to stay at the safe house.
She absolutely refused.
He was, on the one hand, very glad.
Because there was nothing like getting back to the hotel room with her. There was nothing like apologizing, telling her he’d been underground, digging around in tunnels.