THREE

Solomon had just finished his second cup of coffee when his administrative assistant walked into his office with an odd look on her face.

“What’s going on, Grace?” he asked.

“Sorry, Solomon. It’s that reporter from the St. Louis Journal again.”

He felt a flash of irritation. “I told you I didn’t want to talk to him. Send him to our media coordinator.”

“I tried, but he says you have to talk to him. That Kaely Quinn’s life is at stake.”

“Oh, come on. He’s caused her nothing but trouble. Now he’s at it again. Tell him to get lost and not to come back.”

Jerry Acosta had been trying to get an interview with Kaely for the last year. He was a pest who’d followed her from Virginia to St. Louis. Acosta was obsessed, determined to write a book about the daughter of a monster who now fought monsters for a living.

Back at Quantico, Kaely had been instrumental in giving law enforcement clues that led to catching quite a few dangerous criminals. Acosta heard about the talented profiler and planned to write a story about her. Then someone tipped him off about her background. When he contacted her, Kaely met with him. Tried to get him to back off. Acosta refused unless she granted him an in-depth interview for his book. She’d said no, unwilling to give him that much power in her life.

When the article came out, revealing that Kaely was the daughter of The Raggedy Man, the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit made the decision to transfer her. The Bureau picked St. Louis, and they’d accepted her. Kaely was told by the powers-that-be at Quantico that they weren’t sending her away because they didn’t want her. They were transferring her to keep any distractions away from their team—and to protect her from people who blamed her for her father’s twisted deeds.

Although Kaely assumed Acosta had gotten what he wanted and would leave her alone, he showed up in St. Louis. He’d already written several articles about Kaely for the St. Louis Journal.

Solomon sighed. It had been hard for Kaely, but they’d weathered it. Or so he thought. But somehow Acosta discovered Kaely’s odd process of profiling. To this day, Solomon wasn’t certain where he got that information, but it had to be from one of her fellow trainees in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. She admitted to Solomon that she’d revealed it to another agent she thought was a friend, and the female agent had told others. One of them must have leaked it to Acosta. Solomon swore softly. No wonder Kaely didn’t trust many people.

He realized he was clenching the sides of his chair so tightly his arms hurt. He willed his body to relax, but it was difficult. They’d gone to great lengths to keep Kaely out of the public eye, but Acosta was relentless, as if this was some kind of personal mission. Calls to the newspaper had finally stopped the extraneous columns about her. But even though the stories had disappeared, people hadn’t forgotten. His office constantly had to contend with writers, reporters, and even other LEOs who wanted to hear about the incredible Kaely Quinn and her highly unusual background.

Solomon decided from the outset that he would keep Kaely and ignore the distractions. Slowly, things started to improve. But now Acosta was at it again. Solomon had no intention of helping him write his book.

“Like I said, send him to Jacqueline Cross, Grace. I don’t have time to deal with him today.”

“He says he has a letter. Something . . . disturbing. A threat against Agent Quinn. He seems convinced that if you don’t see him, it will put her life in danger.”

“Grace . . .”

She stood her ground and stared at him, her eyes narrowed to slits. Solomon knew that look. It meant Grace had already decided he should see the guy.

He sighed again, this time much louder. “Five minutes, Grace. I mean it.”

“Yes, Solomon,” she said soothingly. He could hear a slight hint of victory in her voice, but he decided to ignore it.

Solomon reached for his coffee and took a sip. Cold. It only added to his irritation. Acosta was a pushy liar who would do anything for the story he wanted. Solomon had no idea what his ploy would be today, but he was convinced this was just another way of trying to manipulate the Bureau into giving him the interview he so desperately wanted.

A couple of minutes later, Jerry Acosta stepped into Solomon’s office. Today he seemed a little different. The ingratiating smile was gone from his face, and he looked a little nervous.

“Okay, Acosta. What is it this time? No matter what, you’re not going to talk to Special Agent Quinn.”

Acosta slid into one of the chairs in front of Solomon’s desk even though Solomon hadn’t invited him to sit. “I’m not here about that. This is . . . something else. I felt you should see it right away.” He reached into his tattered briefcase and pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag. Solomon noticed a letter inside. What was this about?

“This came in the morning mail. I put the letter and the envelope in this bag to protect them. I mean, in case there are fingerprints. I . . . I touched the letter when I opened it, so my prints will be on it. Sorry. I didn’t know what it was at first.”

Solomon took the bag from the reporter’s hand and carefully placed it on his desk.

Block letters on cheap yellow-lined notebook paper. Easy to obtain. The envelope was also economical. Nothing special. Self-adhesive. Probably no DNA. No return address. Postmarked from St. Louis. A closer look at the letter revealed it was a poem.

Seven Little Elephants
A Eulogy for Kaely Quinn

Seven little elephants walking in the forest

One hit his head and fell down dead.

Six little elephants called it a day.