“We sent someone to retrieve the letter from the Trib,” Zimmer said. “It should be here any minute.”
Annalisa gripped the back of the chair so hard her fingers turned white. “What does it say? Do you know?”
“Based on what was relayed to me, the content is similar to the other letters.”
“So, he really did mean to kill her,” Harrigan said. “He must’ve been confident he’d do it, too. The letter had to have been mailed before he went to Vega’s place.”
“That is our best guess right now.” She looked Annalisa over critically. “You want to take a seat, Vega? You’re looking a little pale. Harrigan, get her a glass of water, will you?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Annalisa slid into the chair before her knees could buckle. “It’s not like this is brand-new information. We knew he was there to get me. Maybe the letter will offer a new direction.”
A sharp knock on the door got Zimmer’s attention. “Come in,” she called, and a uniformed officer entered with a manila envelope in his hands. “Is that the parcel from the Tribune?”
“Yes ma’am. The mail attendant wanted me to relay to you that he has been wearing gloves to process the mail, as instructed.”
“Thank you. Keep this errand to yourself, okay?” Zimmer dismissed him and then rooted around in her desk until she found her own box of gloves. Annalisa wanted to grab the envelope and rip it open, but she made herself wait. She sat on the very edge of the chair, her gaze trained on Zimmer as she carefully opened the standard envelope inside the larger one. Harrigan practically breathed down her neck from behind.
“We’re supposed to defer to the FBI on this,” Zimmer said. “But the Tribune called us. It’s addressed to one of my people.”
“Let’s see it,” Annalisa said, her voice tight.
Zimmer read the contents silently. Harrigan couldn’t take it. “Well?” he blurted.
“Dear Annalisa,” Zimmer read, distaste dripping from her words. “I couldn’t believe my luck when they sent you to me. For years, it’s been all hairy-armed, flat-footed men with ten-dollar haircuts and cheap suits. You are a breath of fresh air, my darling, a rose among the thorns! I saw you on TV and immediately had to look you up. Your story is so intriguing. Daughter of a cop. I didn’t know George Vega personally, but he must be a fine man to have his daughter want to follow in his footsteps. Your footsteps are light, aren’t they? Light on your feet, like a cat in the night. But I hear them close now. You trail behind me so delicately, I have to remind myself that you are actually very dangerous.
“You aren’t married, and I have to wonder if you’ve been waiting for me. If you knew that one day I’d come. I’ve had many women now, but none as determined and watchful as you. You’re a hunter, like me. We both go out in the night when other people are asleep, dreaming away their insipid lives. I see you clearly now. We’ve missed one another by moments, you and I. Others have tried to come between us, but I’ve dispensed with them as needed. I think it’s fated that we should meet, that our stories become bound. We’ll be tied together for all eternity.”
Zimmer set the letter back on top of its envelope. “It’s got the same signature. Mr. Lovelorn.”
“Can I see it?” Annalisa stood up, and Zimmer turned the letter around so she could read it. The neat block printing was identical to the previous letters. “He gives nothing away,” she said in frustration. “There are no new clues here.”
“We’ll have lab guys go over it for trace evidence, but I think we have to assume it’s a bust like the others. This stuff is for show, to puff him up. It’s his gilding of the lily. I think he’d love it if we spent our time parsing his word choice for hidden meanings. But it does underscore one important matter, which is your safety, Annalisa. He meant for us to be reading this when you were dead. There is no assurance that he won’t try again.”
“I’m being careful.”
“I want you more than careful. I want an officer with eyes on you at all times.”
Heat rose up the back of Annalisa’s neck. “Will he be accompanying me to the shower?”
Zimmer wasn’t amused as she picked up her phone. “That’s up to you.”
“Fine.” Annalisa tried to find a way to spin this to her advantage. “Can I at least pick the detail?”
Zimmer paused with her phone in hand, her expression curious. “Within limits. Who are you thinking?”
“I’d like Rod Brewster for now.”
“Brewster? He’s not in uniform anymore. He does special investigations, assists with the DA’s office. This isn’t his kind of assignment.”
“He’s a family friend from way back. I think he’ll do it.” When Zimmer hesitated, Annalisa played the only card she had left: sympathy. “Please,” she said. “It would mean a lot to me to have a friendly face around now.”
Zimmer gave in with a curt nod. “I’ll see if he’s amenable.”
Annalisa was not surprised to learn Brewster was available and eager for the chance to align himself with the Lovelorn case in any capacity. He joined her at her desk, his big shoulders straining against his suit jacket. Annalisa saw it gape open near his hip to reveal his police-issue 9 mm. “Hey, kid,” he said with a forced grin. He reached for her, like he’d ruffled her hair in the old days, but dropped his hand before he made contact. “Looks like it’s you and me, huh?”
“Don’t get comfortable,” she said as she stood from her chair. “I want to take a drive over to my parents’ place. Mom needs some stuff for Pops at the hospital.”
“Now?” He checked his watch, his frown registering the fact that it was past nine at night. “I figured you’d want to pack it in for the day. You must be running on fumes by now.”
“No, I’m good.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Unless you’re too tired…?”
He puffed out his chest. “Me? I’m rarin’ to go.”
“Great. I’m driving.”
In her car, he adjusted the passenger seat as far back as it would go, but his knees still bumped up against the dash. The weather had turned wet again, the dark sky packed with heavy clouds. Her wipers set a lazy beat, and she turned on the dehumidifier to try to clear the fog from her windshield. Streetlamps cast a watery glow on the slick roads, but Annalisa knew the way home by heart.
“I just want you to know,” Brewster said, “this asshole isn’t going to win. Nick, he’s going to pull through. You’re going to be safe. This time, we nail his ass.”
Annalisa thought of Grace Harper, dead on her floor, and Amy Yakamoto, who wouldn’t be there to see her summer flowers bloom. “He’s taken more than enough already,” she said, striving to keep her tone neutral. She glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t being followed, but there was no one behind them. “You and Pops went after this guy hard,” she said.
“Hard as they would let us.” His tone was bitter, all these years later.
“It must have been frustrating to be kept on a leash.”
“A case like this, you want to use everybody you can. George and I knew that neighborhood better than anyone. We knew the Duffys. Somehow, that knowledge was deemed a liability by the powers that be.”
“You mean Don Harrigan.”
He shifted in his seat. “Let me tell you something about Harrigan. He’s a good cop, but he lives in Glencoe with his Richie Rich wife but uses some cousin’s address to pretend like he’s following regulations. You priced a house up in Glencoe lately? They start at a million bucks and go up from there. He doesn’t live here, didn’t know the people like we did. How’s he supposed to find a guy who blends in like he belongs?”
“Maybe the outsider perspective gives him an edge,” Annalisa countered lightly as she turned the wheel.
Brewster answered with a derisive snort. “Some edge. It’s twenty years later and he still ain’t got the guy.”
“Why do you think he’s resurfaced?” She genuinely wanted to know his answer. “He got away with it, like you said. Why come back now?”
Brewster shrugged. “Guess he got that old itch.”
“Still. Twenty years.”
He looked sideways at her. “You’ve been on the job awhile. You should know why he’s back. It’s got to be the same reason they all do it. They can’t help themselves. Not just the crime. The talking about it afterward. Imagine you’re this guy. You’ve pulled off some of the most heinous unsolved murders in history, and where’s your glory? Who can you tell? No one.”
“You’re saying he wanted an audience again.”
He looked out at the rain. “Wouldn’t you?”
She sat with that for a moment as they drove in silence. “You and Pops, did you come up with any leads? Any angle on the case you thought Harrigan was missing?”
His posture stiffened. He gave her a curious look. “Nothing that panned out. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered. I thought maybe you did your own review of the evidence.” She paused. “Pops’s name is on the logbook. He definitely took a look.”
She’d kept her questions casual but he didn’t buy her tone. His whole body tensed. “You’ve been studying the old logbook? What for?”
She decided to lay one of her cards on the table. “Some of the material from the Duffy case is missing.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s missing?”
She gave him a pointed look that said she wasn’t about to answer. He made a face like he’d tasted something foul.
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting here, Annalisa.”
“I’m not suggesting. I’m asking.”
He went quiet, and she thought he was going to ignore her in perpetuity. Finally, he said, “You ever do something you’re not proud of? Or that you wouldn’t want getting out?” Her skin tightened all over, as if she’d been put to a flame. What was he going to confess? She wondered if she could reach her phone to record this, but decided any movement might scare him off.
“Of course you have,” he continued, staring out the window. “I remember you as a kid, sneaking out at night to run around with the Duffy boy. About broke your mother’s heart.”
“I was a stupid kid,” she replied. Headlights flared in the mirror, a car rushing up from behind. She held her breath as it passed her and disappeared down the road.
“Right,” he said. “Stupid. We all do stupid stuff. The thing is, when you’re dead, it all comes pouring out. The secret journal you kept about how you loved one of your kids more than the other. The office supplies you filched from your job. Maybe you had a lover or a hidden kid or you trashed your ex’s place when he broke up with you. Whatever. All the secrets, suddenly they ain’t secret anymore. Part of our job is to turn over all those rocks and see what crawls out because probably one of them is the reason you got killed.”
“Sure. I see what you’re saying.”
He hesitated, seeming to choose his next words extra carefully. “It’s not the same with this case. The killer is a stranger. He didn’t know these women, so it didn’t matter what their secrets were.”
He couldn’t possibly know that, but she didn’t want to argue with him. “Who cares if they cheated on their taxes,” she said. “Right?”
He visibly relaxed. “Right. There you go. It doesn’t matter. It would only confuse the investigation and slow it down.”
She drove without speaking as her mind raced to connect the dots. Secrets that would confuse the investigation. Pops messing around with evidence. “You and Pops knew Katie Duffy’s secrets,” she guessed. “You wanted to keep them from Harrigan and the others.”
“You make it sound dirty. We were helping keep the focus where it belonged.”
“What did you do?” she pressed.
He glared at her. “It ain’t any of your business. Like I just got done telling you, these details don’t matter.”
“It’s Pops’s name on the book, and evidence has gone missing. Harrigan has already noticed, so if you want my help in talking him off the ledge, you’d better tell me everything right now.”
“Aw, hell.” He scowled at her and turned away to face the passenger-side window. She just waited him out in silence until he turned around again with a heavy sigh. “Your dad and Owen Duffy used to ride together. You know how it is with partners. The squad car is like a confessional—say whatever you want, and it goes no further. You get absolution, understanding.” He appealed to her for the same. “Right?”
“Sure, yeah.” She moved restless hands over the wheel. Get to the point.
He took a deep breath. “Duffy told George some stuff about his private life with Katie. Uh, bedroom stuff. I guess they liked to role-play and do other stuff that some folks might find … surprising.”
She was going to make him say it. “Like what?”
“Like blindfolds, handcuffs. Silk scarves and that sort of thing.” He looked at his lap.
“Ropes?” she guessed.
“I don’t know. Maybe. George wasn’t sure. But he was damn sure that Owen didn’t kill Katie, and he didn’t want anyone getting confused by what they found in the Duffy’s bedroom closet.”
“So he tampered with evidence.” What about the red scarf? She wondered. Maybe the colorful scarves had been used other places than just for Katie’s Halloween costume.
“It wasn’t evidence,” Brewster growled at her. “Haven’t you heard a damn word I said? He was helping his buddy, his partner. You were sweet on the Duffy kid. Colin, right? How do think he’d have felt if it came out that his dead mother liked to get tied up and take it in the ass? He would’ve been disgusted, that’s what. Ashamed. And for no good reason, since whatever the Duffys did in their bedroom had no bearing on this case.”
She tightened her hold on the wheel and brought the car to a stop at a red light. He’d given her an image she wouldn’t soon forget. She thought of her own bedside drawer at home and the goodies hidden inside. The thought of her fellow officers going through them made her skin crawl. It made sense to her that Pops would want to protect the Duffys from any lurid details during their vulnerable time after Katie’s death. But outright tampering with evidence … she couldn’t yet see her way clear to that.
“You understand, right?” Brewster was saying. “George was trying to help.”
Annalisa didn’t answer. She was looking down the side street to where a bright light illuminated a utility crew as they worked to repair lines after the recent storm. She’d seen dozens of crews around town in the past few days, she realized. They were everywhere. The white spotlight caught the mist and made it look like an electric cloud. STORMS. SEVERE WEATHER. Grace’s tacked-up headlines came back to her in a rush. Annalisa jerked the car to the left, turning down the road toward the crew.
“Hey, you just ran that light.” Brewster looked backward at the empty road.
“I want to see this.” All the deaths had been preceded by a recent storm, Grace had noted. Annalisa glided to a halt by the crew and craned her neck to look up at the guy on the pole.
“What are we doing here?” Brewster asked, but she shushed him.
Her heart rate picked up as she got out of the car. No one ever noticed the killer, a stranger to these neighborhoods. It was like he belonged everywhere at once. Invisible.
“Can I help you?” the guy on the ground asked as Annalisa approached him.
She flashed her badge and introduced herself. “You guys doing the whole neighborhood?”
“Hey, yeah, usually we have one of Chicago’s finest doing traffic duty for us, but I guess you guys are kind of all busy right now.” He gestured at the dark, quiet street. “It’s not like anyone’s really out and about tonight anyway.”
“You mind if I go up there?” She nodded to the man working the pole.
“Huh? What do you want to go up for?”
“I’m checking out a lead.” He didn’t seem moved by this, so she doubled down. “It’s for the Lovelorn case.”
“Oh. Oh, well, that’s different. Frank!” He yelled up to his buddy. “This lady is a cop, and she wants to take a look up on the pole. Can you give her a hand?”
Brewster got out of the car to watch as the utility guys armed her with climbing gear and let her up on the pole. She felt her excitement rising as she gained height. This had to be it. She got to the top and looked around—right into the top floor of the neighboring houses. She saw a guy watching the news. A woman in a bra walking around her bedroom. She was up in the trees, an eye in the sky. The storms came in, and the crews came after to clear away the debris and make repairs. The cops, the tree trimmers, and the utility workers were everywhere after a major weather event. She turned first one way and then the other, marveling at how much she could see of other people’s lives.
He must have felt like God.