“That’s what I said,” Bob said. “He had noticed a growing number of reports of feline mutilations, which usually means . . .”
“Satanists are at it again,” Seth said.
“Takes a cop to know that,” Bob said. “I didn’t know that feline mutilation was so common when we started.”
“There are a lot of cats in the world,” Seth said. “Easy access.”
“O’Shaughnessy started looking into it out of a favor to his next-door neighbor,” Bob said. “She’d lost a couple cats and thought he could do something about it. He was a homicide cop.”
Seth nodded.
“He did a little research, not much, and O’Shaughnessy found there were hundreds of cats mutilated the same way,” Bob said.
“Throats slit? Eyes gone?” Seth asked.
“No. Like those,” Bob gestured to the images hanging on the wall. Seth scowled. “Anyway, O’Shaughnessy figured it was a kid or . . . whatever. He called animal control and got the details. He talked to social services to see if they were tracking any sociopaths. They weren’t, so he pretty much forgot about it.”
“I’d have done the same,” Seth said.
“Sure, so would any law-enforcement professional,” Bob said. “We have too many real cases to go around chasing shadows.”
Seth nodded.
“That’s what he said in his notes,” Bob said. “Six or seven months later, he got a fax. You remember how excited we all were when faxes came around.”
“I do,” Seth said.
“He received this sheet of paper with a name on it. Uh . . .” Bob dug around in his pockets until he came up with a notepad and reading glasses. “I made some notes this morning.”
Seth nodded.
“The fax said . . .” Bob read from the paper: “Please deliver to Detective Sergeant Seamus O’Shaughnessy: Jahnine O’Leary.”
“Please?” Seth asked.
“Please.” Bob looked up and pulled off his reading glasses. “Detective O’Shaughnessy’s neighbor.”
“The cat owner?” Seth raised his eyebrows.
“The very same one,” Bob said. “O’Shaughnessy telephoned his neighbor, but couldn’t raise her. He called his wife and asked her to check. She found . . .”
Bob gestured to the photographs of livestock mutilations. Seth grimaced.
“Right,” Bob said. “Just horrible. Like those beasts, Ms. O’Leary was alive when the mutilations happened. O’Shaughnessy’s wife wasn’t ever very strong. She had a mental breakdown and had to be institutionalized.”
Bob nodded. Seth opened his mouth to say something.
“It gets worse,” Bob said. “I’m just taking a break to . . . gather my strength, I guess.”
“Why didn’t they call the bureau then?” Seth asked.
“Why, indeed?” Bob nodded. “Arrogance, maybe. That’s what it was ruled in the review. I always thought it was fear. This killer reached into O’Shaughnessy’s home, attacked his neighbor, and destroyed his wife. They didn’t want it to get in the papers, too. You never saw anything about it, did you?”
Seth shook his head.
“They kept it completely out of the media,” Bob said. “Of course, they didn’t have to contend with cell phones, YouTube, and blogs, but, still, it was an achievement.”
“I doubt I’ve ever had that kind of pull here in Denver,” Seth said.
“Right,” Bob said. “Anyway, the killer threw down the gauntlet, and, for whatever reason—revenge, anger, arrogance—O’Shaughnessy picked it up.”
Seth grimaced and sucked in air across his teeth.
“Right,” Bob said. “It was cat and mouse after that. The killer would fax a name to the detective’s attention. O’Shaughnessy would have to figure out who it was and get to them before . . .”
Bob gestured with his thumb to the photos.
“That was before the Internet,” Bob said. “Finding people was a bitch. And, every once in a while, the name was of someone who was already dead or a baby or something completely useless. O’Shaughnessy was a mess. Last name he received was his own.”
“Did he . . .?” Seth started to ask.
Bob nodded. A heavy silence fell over the room while they digested the information
“The bureau has kept a close eye on this type of thing ever since then,” Bob said.
“You think . . .,” Seth started.
“Same thing happened in Arizona,” Bob said. “They found the bodies in the desert, mostly Mexican nationals.”
“Rick Lopez,” Seth said.
“Ate his gun,” Bob nodded.
“Same thing?”
“Pretty much.”
“Cats?” Seth asked.
“No,” Bob said. “That was different. This time, he practiced on wild rabbits. In Montana, a year or so after O’Shaughnessy, there was a rash of deer mutilations.”
“No people?”
“Not yet,” Bob said.
“Did he go after Martha Jessep?” Seth asked. “She was a cop in Montana.”
Bob nodded.
“She retired . . .”
“Instead of playing with him,” Bob said. “That’s correct.”
“Huh,” Seth said. “You think he’s going after police detectives?”
“Famous ones,” Bob said.
“What about Griffin in LA?” Seth asked.
“Not yet.”
“Eliot in Maine? He retired early.”
“He called the bureau with a few mutilations about a year apart,” Bob said. “We shared the case files, and he retired.”
“So you’re thinking it’s my turn?”
“Maybe,” Bob said.
“These animal mutilations cases go back . . . forever.” Seth shrugged.
“I know,” Bob said.
“But?”
“He has a specific signature,” Bob said. “I found it on your calf and in a couple of these photos.”
Surprised, Seth couldn’t think of anything to say. He blinked at Bob.
“You think he’s practicing on cattle to warm up to murdering people?” Seth asked. “Here? In Denver?”
“With the great Seth O’Malley as his foil,” Bob nodded. “My advice?”
“Okay.”
“Get out now,” Bob said. “You have a young wife, money, and another career. Have some kids. Move to the Bahamas. Write symphonies. Play concerts. Hang out with the Queen of England. Don’t trade what you have for this and the end of your gun or worse.”
“He mutilated a cop?”
“O’Shaughnessy,” Bob nodded. “And . . .”
“Who?”
“Cavetti.”
“Jen?” Seth swallowed hard.
Bob nodded. Seth felt a wave of sorrow at the loss of one of the best detectives in the world, and his friend.
“How . . . I mean . . .” Seth started but couldn’t come up with words.
“About a year after Lopez,” Bob said.
“How many murders are we looking at in total?” Seth asked.
“Not as many as you’d think,” Bob said. “Five in Providence, one in Montana, three plus Agent Cavetti in New York.”
“Nine,” Seth said.
“Hundreds, maybe thousands, of animals,” Bob nodded. “We’re still trying to figure out how many in the Arizona desert. The number will go up.”
“Going back how many years?” Seth asked.
“That’s a question for your friend Ferguson,” Bob said. “I don’t think we ever put the whole thing together at the FBI. Of course, cat mutilations are a dime a dozen, so it’s hard to track those.”
“Maybe,” Seth said. “These mutilations sound so specific. I bet if we tapped into the animal-shelter network, they’d have information for us.”
“Go for it,” Bob said. “But remember, his end game seems to be to destroy the great detectives.”
“Sounds like I should be flattered.”
“This isn’t funny,” Bob said. “Amazing law-enforcement officers have ended up with the choice of killing themselves or getting mutilated. You want that?”
“Just cops,” Seth said.
“Cavetti was FBI,” Bob said.
“She was a cop before she joined the bureau,” Seth said. “Twenty years in Philly, five of those as head detective.”
“This was her case.”
“Explains the secrecy,” Seth said.
“What do you mean?”
“Jen was always tight with details,” Seth said. “If it were me, I’d put this entire thing on the wire. Let every beat cop, every bureau chief, every detective in small rural towns and big cities know that this was going on.”
“What would that give you?” Bob asked.
“It would help put eyes on the street,” Seth said. “Cops watch other cops. Might save a life or two. Hell, there might be a guy or gal who’s dealing with this type of case right now.”
“Too much risk of it getting out,” Bob said.
“You didn’t say how many people were killed in Arizona,” Seth said.
“We don’t know,” Bob said. “That’s the serial killer we’re checking on.”
“The case Ava’s been dying to do? The border case with so much money behind it?”
“We’re looking for specific markings on human remains—mostly bones—found in the Arizona desert. Pima County has identified about seventy percent of the remains. For those they’ve been able to send home to their families, we have files, photos, and the coroner’s paperwork.”
“You’re working on this case?” Seth asked. “I thought it was to track a serial . . .”
Bob nodded.
“And the calf has the same markings?” Seth asked.
“It’s a circular core, hide deep, in between the eyes,” Bob pointed to the spot between his eyebrows.
“This is no coincidence,” Seth said.
“Can’t be.”
Trying to get a grip on his rage and sorrow, Seth looked down at the ground for a few minutes. Seth hated nothing more than coincidences and serial killers. He’d already lost a wife and two children to a serial killer. He swallowed hard.
“The circle between the eyes?” Seth asked when he looked up.
“We thought it was a trophy,” Bob nodded. “You should know that he took a cutting from Lopez.”
“After Rick shot himself?”
“Eliot died a few years ago,” Bob said. “Pancreatic cancer. The family had a showing and . . .”
“He took a core from the funeral home?”
Bob nodded.
“Wow,” Seth said.
“‘Wow’ is right,” Bob said.
“Did you have any theories on why he went after police detectives?” Seth asked.
“Famous police detectives,” Bob said. “He’s never lowered himself to run-of-the-mill detectives. Everyone he’s taken an interest in has been in the press for solving a big murder or two.”
“Why go after them?”
“For the sport of it,” Bob said. “Why go after the drunken detective just working his nine to five? It’s the big fish that make the biggest splash.”
“He hasn’t gotten his big splash.” Seth scowled. “This has never made the nationals. There’s no quaint name for him yet.”
“True,” Bob said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to send the information out,” Seth said. “O’Shaughnessy didn’t have the Internet. And Jen always played close to the vest. Where did that get her? Every cop in the country should know this maniac is coming after them.”
“You’re not going to get out?”
“Imagine that conversation with Ava?” Seth gave Bob a hard look, and Bob nodded. “No, I’ll find him.”
“O’Shaughnessy thought he was smarter than him, too,” Bob said.
“I’m not smarter,” Seth said. “No. I’ll find him because I’ll get every cop in every state looking under every rock for him. He won’t be able to move.”
“Could work,” Bob said.
“What would you do?” Seth asked.
“I’d like to say that I’d get out,” Bob said. “But I’m not out now.”
“By bringing this to me, you’ve put yourself in the ring,” Seth said.
Bob nodded.
“Thanks,” Seth said. He turned to his computer and wrote a quick email sketching out the details of Bob’s case and warning other cops that there was a vicious cop killer on the loose. Bob read over his shoulder and corrected a few details. With a nod, Seth sent the email out to every detective he knew in the United States, Canada, Mexico, and a few in Europe.
“I’m s’posed to tell ‘the masters’ that your rellenos are ready,” Dale said.
“Is she . . .?” Seth started to ask.
“She’s fine,” Dale said. “Singing. But you’d better come fast. Sandy’s coming to go over budgets for the front yard.”
“Shall we?” Seth stood up.
Bob gave him a nod and followed him out of the room.
“Oh, she said nothing disgusting at the table,” Dale said at the top of the stairs.
Bob looked at Seth. In a few days, Seth would remember this moment as the last chance he had to save a good man’s life.
But at this moment, he grinned at Bob. They followed Dale to the kitchen. Maresol had laid out a feast of chili rellenos, enchiladas, and tacos for the spice-sensitive Dale. As if to pay for his meal, Bob turned up the charm. Seth’s eldest daughter, Sandy, arrived just as they started eating. Bob entertained them with tall tales of the inner workings of the FBI. He kept them laughing for the better part of two hours.
Around two o’clock, Ava called to tell Bob to bring them lunch. Maresol packed up the meal she’d made for the lab and sent Bob on his way. Because Seth was a recovering drug addict and alcoholic, Sandy managed the bulk of the money he made making music. Dale and Maresol went over their plans for the front yard with Sandy.
Seth started a pot of decaf coffee and went for a swim in the lap pool in his carriage house. He’d originally installed the pool to help his father rehabilitate a broken hip. When Seth couldn’t run last year, Maresol filled the pool and bullied him into swimming. He enjoyed the rhythmic motion of a refreshing swim. Plus, something Bob had said was nagging at his mind. While he swam, he let the thoughts roll around his head in the hopes that whatever was bothering him would come to the fore.
He felt the thought nearing his consciousness when there was a giant splash in the pool. He looked up to see that Mitch’s teenaged son, Charlie, had jumped in. Charlie’s splash was closely followed by another created by Sandy’s stepson and their friend. Great kids, they would have let him swim if he’d insisted. But Seth never missed a chance to hang out with the kids. He stopped swimming laps to join them in a game of water volleyball.
The thought disappeared.
They played in the pool until Maresol came to get him. He ran the grill while the kids played. At some point, Ava came home from work, and the evening slipped away. The case and the mysterious mutilations slipped out of Seth’s mind. He went from laughing at lunch to swimming laps to playing with the boys to enjoying a family barbeque to making love to Ava to deep sleep.
He was sound asleep when the thought appeared, in living color.
He sat up in bed.
“What is it?” Ava asked.
“Everest.”
|-||-|||-||-|||-||-|||-||-|||-||-|||-||-|||-||-|||