I had chosen five members for my team: Al Striar, P.J. Lincoln, Dave Balding, and Buzz Farmer. Marsha Russo would be in charge of the command post.
A meeting was scheduled for us to discuss our game plan in detail. I wanted to be fully operational in a matter of days. I summoned Marsha to go over the logistics and determine the materials we would require.
I was seated at the small conference table in the corner of my office when she shuffled in, closed the door behind her, dropped a stack of files on the table, and sat across from me.
“This is about the raid on the Petrov mansion?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a raid.”
“What would you call it?”
“An operation.”
“A raid by any other name.”
“Whatever.”
“Have you time for another subject before we start?”
“Is it relevant?”
“Of course it’s relevant. Why else would I bring it up?”
I nodded.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Okay.”
“It involves Buzz Farmer.”
“Go on.”
She resettled herself in her chair and planted her elbows on the table. “You know I’ve been researching unsolved serial killings.”
“I do.”
“There are a number of places where cases are still open, some more recent than others. It’s the recents that caught my eye. Hartford, Connecticut. St. Louis, Missouri. Atlanta, Georgia. Chicago, Illinois. It was Chicago that got my attention.”
“Because?”
“As you taught me, Buddy, I trusted my instincts. I made a cold call to Chicago Police headquarters and reached Captain Art Schimmel, commander of the violent crimes section, Central Division.
“He seemed nice enough, although clearly overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his job. He termed it Dozens of unsolveds. Murder rates through the roof.”
She stared at me for several moments, deep in thought, uncertain how best to proceed. “He knows Buzz Farmer. Brought his name up without my having to ask. Wondered how Buzz was doing here in Freedom. How he was dealing with the separation.”
“Separation?”
“Apparently his wife left him. Took the kids and returned to Rockford.”
“Rockford, Illinois?”
“That’s where she’s from.”
“When?”
“You ready?”
“Go on.”
“About six weeks after they moved here.”
“What?”
“Approximately three months ago.”
“How could we not have known?”
“Good question. There’s another fact I haven’t yet grappled with.”
“That being?”
“If what the commander said is true, she left him nearly coincident with the first killing.”
She stared at me, then looked away.
“What aren’t you telling me, Marsha?”
“There are a string of unsolved serial killings in Chicago central.”
“And that’s relevant because?”
“One of the primary detectives was Buzz Farmer.”
“So?”
“The killings stopped after he left.”
“You’re not suggesting he’s the killer, are you?”
“Not at all. I know it’s not unusual for time gaps to occur between serial killings. I’m just noting an odd coincidence is all.”
“But you have suspicions.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t really know.”
“I’d like to interview the wife. Kelly.”
“You mean phone her out of the blue?”
“I mean I want to go there.”
“To Rockford?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Something’s not kosher. If I can look in her eye, woman to woman, maybe I can learn what it is. I don’t like this, Buddy.”
“You don’t like it enough to drag yourself all the way to Chicago?”
“What is it you call it, coply intuition?”
I sat quietly for a while, mulling over her request. “He can’t know.”
“I understand. Nobody but us can know.”
“Okay.”
“I wish I felt better about this.”
“Me, too.”