Melanie might be reckless, but she wasn’t stupid. Once she was convinced she had the killer online, she called in the big guns.
When he heard the news, Mark Sonschein rushed to her office, bringing along his boss, Sam Estes, who was the chief of the Criminal Division. Sam had been on his way out the door to a meeting in Washington with the deputy attorney general, and the fact that he’d taken time out to confer with her brought home to Melanie the gravity of her situation. These guys were the front office. When people talked about the higher-ups, when they worried about what the chain of command would think, this was who they meant. And now they were sitting here with Melanie talking strategy. She realized this was because she was in danger, not because she was a force to be reckoned with in the office. Yet she couldn’t help feeling gratified at how impressed Sam and Mark seemed by her bravado.
“We should view this as an opportunity,” Estes said. He was blond, bearded, and thickset, with a reputation for being a big-picture guy, an idea man, while the thin, intense Sonschein specialized in nitty-gritty details. “How do we use the e-mail connection to capture the killer while keeping Melanie safe? Has any effort been made to trace the e-mails?”
“The FBI already determined that this guy is using public access terminals,” Melanie said. “Different ones for each communication. Even if we run down an e-mail as soon as it comes in, he’ll be gone by the time we get people over there.”
“What about the e-mail address?” Sam asked. “Partysover2007@ yahoo.com? Have we investigated who holds that account?”
“That’s the first thing the FBI did,” Melanie replied. “Yahoo’s a free service. They don’t require address verification to send a bill. The name and address used were false. We did learn that the account was opened only thirteen days ago, for what it’s worth.”
“Does the e-mail address itself mean anything to either of you?” Sam asked.
“Party’s over?” Mark said. “It sounds like he plans to put an end to somebody’s fun.”
“Yeah. Like mine,” Melanie said.
The guys laughed, but she didn’t.
“Hmm, well…is there some way to get him to tell us his location?” Sam continued. “I mean, here we sit, three of the most skilled questioners in America. We should be able to come up with a clever way of asking.”
“What question could we ask that he wouldn’t see through?” Melanie asked.
“He’d have to be an idiot to fall for that,” Mark said. “Besides, we’d risk scaring him off. Whatever message we send has to be carefully crafted to keep the lines of communication open.”
“Maybe we should consider an e-mail wiretap,” Sam said.
“Wiretaps tell us the content of his communications, not where he’s e-mailing from,” Mark said. “We already know what he’s saying, since he’s writing to Melanie.”
“Wait a minute, I think that’s an interesting idea,” Melanie said. "What if the killer’s writing to other people, too? If we find out who he’s communicating with, what he’s saying to them, maybe we can identify him that way.”
“Like if he’s writing to his aunt Flo in Peoria, we track down Aunt Flo,” Sam said.
“That won’t work,” Mark insisted. “You’d be asking to intercept innocent people’s communications. What about Aunt Flo’s privacy rights? No judge would sign off on such a request.”
“We limit our request to communications that reference the killer’s identity or location,” Melanie said.
“Who knows, it just might fly,” Sam said.
Mark frowned. “How long is Main Justice taking to turn around an authorization on an e-mail wire these days?”
“If we’re lucky, a few days,” Melanie said. “With an unusual request like this, maybe closer to a week.” She sighed. “You’re right, I’m dead by then.”
“No moping now,” Sam said. He gave Melanie’s shoulders a jaunty squeeze, like she was a prizefighter and he was her trainer. “We’re the feds. The bad guys never beat us. Mark here managed to outwit an entire Colombian cartel, and he’s not half as smart as you are, Melanie.”
“Actually, Sam, I do consider myself half as smart as Melanie,” Mark said, deadpan.
“You were threatened by the Colombians?” she asked.
“Yeah, good story,” Mark said. “About five years back, we were up on a wire on this big cocaine cartel, and the agents called me up all excited because they’d intercepted a call about a murder plot. Our targets were negotiating for some C-4 to make a car bomb. So the agents bring me the transcript, and I’m sitting there reading along. The bad guys start talking about this Honda Civic they want to blow up. They give the plate number, and lo and behold, it’s my car.”
“What happened to the Colombians?” Melanie asked.
“Thirty to life, the scumbags, and it was better than they deserved,” he said.
“No, I mean how did you catch them?” she said.
“Oh, we set up a sting. We used my car as bait. Lured them out.”
They all looked at one another.
“I know what you’re thinking, Melanie, but in this case, the bait wouldn’t be a car,” Mark said. “The bait would be you.”
“It’s the obvious next step, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Put you out there with a panic button to push when the Butcher shows up?” Sam said. “No way. You could be killed. This office isn’t losing any assistants on my watch.”
“That’s a job for agents, not prosecutors,” Mark said.
“Gentlemen, I’m divorced and I have a daughter to raise,” Melanie said. “I’m not looking to take foolish risks. But this lunatic is after me anyway, and I want him caught. Can’t we come up with something more controlled? A scenario where we lure him to a specific place, and I have protection?”
“You can have protection without doing a sting,” Mark said. “I’m calling in the Marshal’s Service the second we’re done here.”
“It’s my safety at stake, and I’d rather be proactive than sit around and wait for the ax to fall,” Melanie insisted.
“Look, I respect that,” Sam said.
“Me, too,” Mark said, “but we’d also understand if you were reluctant to take this kind of chance. In fact, we’d think you were smart.”
“You’re missing the point,” she said. “I’m already in danger. I’ve been in danger for a while now. The Butcher fixated on me after seeing me talking about him on TV, the morning after Suzanne Shepard’s murder, but we just didn’t realize it. He hasn’t gone away, and he’s not going to.”
“You’re right,” Sam said. “By e-mailing him, what you accomplished was outing the threat. Now we know your cyberstalker is the Butcher. And we know the Butcher is serious about attacking you.”
“We also know what he’s capable of. That’s why I want to get out in front of the problem,” Melanie said.
Sam turned to Mark. “If that’s how Melanie feels, maybe it’s worth you talking to the FBI about a sting.”
“Can’t hurt,” Mark agreed. “I’ll find out what they think and what the logistics would be. Who’s the supervisor of the squad that’s working this case, Melanie?”
“Mike Fagin.”
“Don’t call him,” Sam said. “I know the guy, he’s got shit for brains. Who’s the case agent?”
A noise at the door made them all look over. The case agent was standing there, and he did not look happy.
“I heard you’re e-mailing with the Butcher,” Dan said, glaring at Melanie, ignoring the powerful men who stood beside her. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”