The letter arrives with the morning mail. As with the first one, there is no return address. The handwriting on the envelope is in the same distinctive style, but this time the contents are different. For one thing, it’s not just a one-sentence note; this is a rambling three-page missive. I’m incredulous. Not only do the details spell out exactly how Rhonda Jeffries was killed, but who it was that killed her. And, the most amazing thing of all is what I find at the end—a signature. My mind races as I read and re-read the letter.
One passage in particular captures my attention: “He killed her. He didn’t do it on purpose but he done it just the same.” I’m reminded of the many cases of second-degree murder I investigated when I was with Homicide, back in New York City. In virtually every case, there were “extenuating circumstances” surrounding each killing. The most common explanation (as if there could ever be any acceptable explanation for killing another human being) was “she made me do it,” or “she drove me to it.” It was all bullshit. When it came right down to it, they all knew what they were doing. They were all weak, flawed, crippled – no matter how they were portrayed by some fast-talking lawyer – bullies. And, so it is with this murderer.
I sense someone in my office, and look up from the letter to find Nancy, standing as she often does, with hands on hips, waiting for me to notice her. “What is it, Nancy?”
I finally remembered,” she says.
“Remembered what?”
“Do you recall when I found out about the pair of boots—the size 15s? I said the name Andrews rang a bell, but I couldn’t remember why?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, it came to me last night. It was Claire Andrews.”
“I know,” I say.
“You do?”
Without saying another word, I hand Nancy the letter, and begin to plan my strategy.
“Well I’ll be a…”