John Verdon - Think of a Number

“Like what?”

“To start with, why would he pick victims who are so far apart geographically-and in every other way, for that matter?”

“To keep us from connecting them?”

“But he wants us to connect them. That’s the point of the peony. He wants to be noticed. Wants credit. This is not your average perp on the run. This guy wants to do battle-not just with his victims. With the police, too.”

“Speaking of that, I need to bring my lieutenant up to date. He wouldn’t be happy if he found out I called you first.”

“Where are you?”

“On my way back to the station house.”

“That would put you on Tremont Avenue?”

“How’d you know that?”

“That roar of Bronx traffic in the background. Nothing quite like it.”

“Must be nice to be somewhere else. You got any message you want me to pass along to Lieutenant Everly?”

“Better hold the messages till later. He’s going to be a lot more interested in what you have to tell him.”

Gurney had an urge to call Sheridan Kline with the decisive new evidence supporting the peony linkage, but he wanted to make one other call first. If the two cases were as parallel as they now seemed to be, it was possible not only that Rudden had been asked for money but that he had been asked to send it to that same post-office box in Wycherly, Connecticut.

Gurney took his slim case folder out of his desk drawer and located his photocopy of the brief note Gregory Dermott had sent along with the check he’d returned to Mellery. The GD Security Systems letterhead-businesslike, conservative, even a little old-fashioned-included a Wycherly-area phone number.

The call was answered on the second ring by a voice consistent with the style of the letterhead.

“Good afternoon. GD Security. May I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Dermott, please. This is Detective Gurney from the district attorney’s office.”

“Finally!” The vehemence that transformed the voice was startling.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re calling about the misaddressed check?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, but…?”

“I reported it six days ago-six days ago!”

“Reported what six days ago?”

“Didn’t you just say you were calling about the check?”

“Let’s start over, Mr. Dermott. It’s my understanding that Mark Mellery spoke to you approximately ten days ago about a check you’d returned to him, a check made out to ‘X. Arybdis’ and sent to your post-office box. Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true. What kind of question is that?” The man sounded furious.

“When you say that you reported it six days ago, I’m afraid I don’t-”

“The second one!”

“You received a second check?”

“Isn’t that why you’re calling?”

“Actually, sir, I was calling to ask you that very question.”

“What question?”

“Whether you’d also received a check from a man by the name of Albert Rudden.”

“Yes, Rudden was the name on the second check. That’s what I called to report. Six days ago.”

“Who did you call?”

Gurney heard a couple of long, deep breaths being taken, as though the man were trying to keep himself from exploding.

“Look, Detective, there’s a level of confusion here that I’m not happy with. I called the police six days ago to report a troubling situation. Three checks had been sent to my post-office box, addressed to an individual I’ve never heard of. Now you call me back, ostensibly regarding these checks, but you don’t seem to know what I’m talking about. What am I missing? What the hell is going on?”

“What police department did you call?”

“Mine, of course-my local Wycherly precinct. How could you not know that if you’re calling me back?”

“The fact is, sir, I’m not calling you back . I’m calling from New York State regarding the original check you returned to Mark Mellery. We weren’t aware of any additional checks. You said there were two more after the first?”

“That’s what I said.”

“One from Albert Rudden and one from someone else?”

“Yes, Detective. Is that clear now?”

“Perfectly clear. But now I’m wondering why three misaddressed checks disturbed you enough to call your local police.”

“I called my local police because the postal police whom I first notified exhibited a colossal lack of interest. Before you ask me why I called the postal police, let me say that for a policeman you have a rather dull sense of security issues.”

“Why do you say that, sir?”

“I’m in the security business, Officer-or Detective, or whatever you are. The computer-data security business. Do you have any idea how common identity theft is-or how often identity theft involves the misappropriation of addresses?”

“I see. And what did the Wycherly police do?”

“Less than the postal police, if that’s possible.”

Gurney could imagine Dermott’s phone calls receiving a lackadaisical response. Three unfamiliar people sending checks to someone’s post-office box might sound like something less than a high-priority peril.

“You did return the second and third checks to their senders, like you returned Mark Mellery’s?”

“I certainly did, and I enclosed notes asking who gave them my box number, but neither individual had the courtesy to reply.”

“Did you keep the name and address from the third check?”

“I certainly did.”

“I need that name and address right now.”

“Why? Is there something going on here I don’t know about?”

“Mark Mellery and Albert Rudden are both dead. Possible homicides.”

“Homicides? What do you mean, homicides?” Dermott’s voice had become shrill.

“They may have been murdered.”

“Oh, my God. You think this is connected with the checks?”

“Whoever gave them your post-office box address would be a person of interest in the case.”

“Oh, my God. Why my address? What connection is there to me?”

“Good question, Mr. Dermott.”

“But I never heard of anyone named Mark Mellery or Albert Rudden.”

“What was the name on the third check?”

“The third check? Oh, my God. I’ve gone completely blank.”

“You said you made a note of the name.”

“Yes, yes, of course I did. Wait. Richard Kartch. Yes, that was it. Richard Kartch. K-a-r-t-c-h. I’ll get the address. Wait, I have it here. It’s 349 Quarry Road, Sotherton, Massachusetts.”

“Got it.”

“Look, Detective, since I seem to be involved in this in some way, I’d appreciate knowing whatever you can tell me. There must be a reason my post-office box was chosen.”

“Are you sure you’re the only one who has access to that box?”

“As sure as I can be. But God knows how many postal workers have access to it. Or who might have a duplicate key that I’m not aware of.”

“The name Richard Kartch means nothing to you?”

“Nothing. I’m quite sure of that. It’s the sort of name I’d remember.”

“Okay, sir. I’d like to give you a couple of phone numbers where you can reach me. I would appreciate hearing from you immediately if anything at all occurs to you about the names of those three people, or about any access anyone else might have to your mail. And one last question. Do you recall the amounts of the second and third checks?”

“That’s easy. The second and third were the same as the first-$289.87.”

Madeleine turned on one of the den lamps from a switch at the door. During Gurney’s conversation with Dermott, the dusk had deepened and the room was nearly dark.