Suzanne Corrigan could feel her heart in her mouth as she held the envelope in front of her. She’d recognised the handwriting straight away. It was the same type of envelope as before — cream, half-A5, mottled and with the stamp perfectly aligned with the corners. Just seeing her name written in his handwriting was enough to send a chill down her spine.
Her first instinct was to put it down and go and tell her editor, but she knew she couldn’t do that. The police had asked her not to. They needed to keep this under wraps for now, they said. At the same time, the envelope stuck to her hand like an industrial magnet, begging her to open it.
She knew she shouldn’t. She knew she should take it straight to the police, but she also knew that if she did that she’d never know what was inside. After all, the letter was addressed to her. The contents were something the killer wanted her to see.
After a few seconds, her curiosity got the better of her and she slipped the end of her letter opener under the flap and gently tapped at the edge of the envelope. Once it was open, she poked the letter opener back in and used it to pull out the letter, taking care to check that there was nothing else in the envelope too. She was wary of leaving fingerprints, even though the police had told her the last letter didn’t have any prints — other than hers — or anything they could use to identify the writer.
She opened the letter with her fingernail and held the bottom half down with the letter opener. That same handwriting. She’d been surprised that the police had scoffed when she suggested a handwriting profiler should look at the first letter. No longer seen as credible expert witness evidence, apparently.
She took a deep breath and began to read.
Dear Suzanne,
I can only presume you received my last letter. Forgive me for breaking with tradition but it seems those idiots need my help. So much for groundbreaking policing.
The third one was easy. They had no chance with that one. Too predictable in their movements. The fourth was a little spicier. That phone call made sure it was far less boring than otherwise. Gave me a bit of a run for my money. Shame I had to do it all myself though. Think they’d make an effort wouldn’t you?
In case you haven’t guessed by now I really like a chase. It’s no fun when the police are clueless. Maybe you might ask them to consider a couple of things. It’s amazing what you can do in plain sight. I thought my disguise was good but maybe I didn’t need it after all.
I’ll say no more. I’m sure you will hear from me again soon, Suzanne. Especially if the local police force continue to be as inept as they’ve already shown themselves to be.
Jack