John Verdon - Let the Devil Sleep

“Any questions?” she repeated.

“Just one. I assume that Daker showed you the FBI profile of the Good Shepherd?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think of it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Good.”

“Pardon?”

“Sign of an open mind. Now, before we go in, I have a small bombshell for you.” He opened the Priority envelope he’d been holding in his lap, then the inner envelope, and slid the message out. “This was delivered to me this morning. I’ve already handled it, but it would be better if no one else touched it.”

Bullard and Clegg turned a little farther around in their seats to face him. He read the message aloud, slowly. He was struck again by its elegance-especially in the conclusion: “With devils in pulpits and angels ignored, it falls to the honest to punish what the mad world rewards.” The problem was, it was an elegant expression of emotion that felt devoid of any emotion at all.

When he finished, he held it up for Bullard and Clegg to read for themselves. Bullard’s expression was electric.

“This is the original?” she asked.

“One of two originals that I know of. The other one was received by Kim Corazon.”

She blinked several times, rapidly-in a way that seemed a by-product of rapid thinking. “We’ll make half a dozen copies when we go inside, then tag the original in an evidence bag for Albany forensics.” Her eyes shifted to Gurney. “Why you?”

“Because I’m helping Kim Corazon? Because he wants to stop both of us?”

More blinking. She looked at Clegg. “The people alluded to in this message need to be alerted. Everyone we can identify that would fit his definition of the enemy.” She looked back at Gurney. “Hold it up again so I can read it.” She scanned down through the text. “It sounds like he may be threatening everyone in the families of the original victims, their children, and their children’s families. We need names, addresses, phone numbers-fast. Who would have all that stuff?” She glanced at Clegg.

“There was some location and contact information in the files Daker showed us, but the question would be, how current is it?”

“Your most current source would be Kim Corazon,” said Gurney. “She’s been in touch with a lot of those people.”

“Right. Good. Let’s get inside and get some help on this. Our main concern here is to provide an appropriate alert to anyone who may be in danger, without creating a panic situation.”

Bullard was first out of the car, leading the way into the headquarters building. Gurney recognized the aggressive stride of the kind of person who is totally energized by a crisis. As he was about to follow her through the heavy glass doors into the reception area, he caught sight of a dark SUV turning into the parking lot. The lean, expressionless face behind the wheel belonged to Agent Daker.

A reflection on the glass obscured the face of Daker’s passenger. The result was that Gurney couldn’t tell if Trout had seen him or, if he had, how unhappy it had made him.

Because of the turmoil generated by the Good Shepherd’s message and the time required for the various initiatives that needed to be set in motion, their scheduled meeting began forty-five minutes late, with a rearranged agenda and burned-smelling coffee.

It was a typical windowless conference room with a pushpin cork-board affixed to one wall and a shiny whiteboard on the adjoining wall. The fluorescent lighting was both bright and bleak, a reminder of Paul Mellani’s claustrophobic office. A plain rectangular conference table with six chairs occupied most of the space. A small table with an aluminum coffee urn, Styrofoam cups, plastic spoons, powdered creamer, and a nearly empty box of sugar packets stood in a corner. It was the kind of room in which Gurney had spent countless hours, and the reaction it produced never changed. Whenever he entered a room like that, he immediately wanted to leave it.

On one side of the table sat Daker, Trout, and Holdenfield. On the opposite side sat Clegg, Bullard, and Gurney. It was an arrangement suited to confrontation. On the table in front of each of them, Bullard had placed a photocopy of the Good Shepherd’s new missive-which everyone had now read several times.

In front of Bullard herself, there was also a fat file folder-on top of which, to Gurney’s surprise, was the summary he’d e-mailed her of his thoughts regarding the original case.

Bullard was seated directly across the table from Trout, whose hands where folded before him. “I appreciate your making the trip here,” she said. “Beyond the obvious importance of this new communication, purportedly from the Good Shepherd, is there anything else top-of-mind that you’d like to address as we get started?”

Trout smiled blandly, turning his palms up in a traditional gesture of deference. “It’s your turf, Lieutenant. I’m here to listen.” Then he shot a less cordial glance at Gurney. “My only concern would be the inclusion of nonvetted personnel in an internal discussion of an investigation in progress.”

Bullard screwed up her face in bafflement. “Nonvetted?”

The bland smile returned. “Let me be more specific. I’m not referring to Mr. Gurney’s much-publicized past career in law enforcement, but to the unknown nature of his present entanglement with individuals who could become subjects of this investigation.”

“You mean Kim Corazon?”

“And her ex-boyfriend, to name just two that I’m aware of.”

Interesting that he would know about Meese, thought Gurney. Two possible sources for that: Schiff in Syracuse and Kramden, the arson man, who had asked Kim about threats and enemies. Or Trout may have started snooping into Kim’s life in other ways. But why? Another indication of his control mania? His hell-bent determination to circle the wagons?

Bullard was nodding thoughtfully, her gaze drifting to the blank whiteboard. “That’s a reasonable concern. My own position is probably less reasonable. More emotional. My feeling is that the perp is trying to push Dave Gurney away from the case, and that makes me want to pull him into it.” Suddenly there was steel in her voice and in the strong lines of her face. “See, whatever the perp is against , that’s what I’m for . I’m also willing to make some assumptions here about individual integrity-the integrity of every individual in this room.”

Trout leaned back from the table. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not questioning anyone’s integrity.”

“Sorry if I missed your point. A moment ago you used the word ‘entanglement.’ In my mind that word has definite connotations. But let’s not get bogged down before we get started. My recommendation is that we review first what we know about the Blum homicide, then go on to a discussion of the message received this morning, as well as the nature of the relationship between this homicide and the murders that occurred in the spring of 2000.”

“And, of course, the jurisdictional issue,” added Trout.

“Of course. But we can address that only in light of the facts on the ground. So facts first.”

A small smile came to Gurney’s lips. The lieutenant struck him as tough, smart, clear, and practical-in the right proportions.

She continued. “Some of you may have seen the detailed CJIS Update Number Three we posted last night? In the event that you haven’t, I have copies here.” She removed several printouts from her folder and passed them around the table.

Gurney scanned quickly through his. It was a concise summary of the Blum crime-scene evidence and the preliminary forensic conclusions. He was pleased by the validation of the guesses he’d made at the site, as well as by the frowns forming on the faces of Trout and his companions.