David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

“More fan mail,” Betty said when she saw them.

The cops and prosecutors had received all kinds of weird mail about the Old Testament and wrath of God stuff since they began to prosecute Burgos. Almost none of the correspondence actually favored what Burgos had done, but many letters warned “sinners” of the consequences of their actions.

“This one, I thought, was especially weird,” Betty said.

Riley took the letter and, along with Lightner, read it:

As justice or belief will eternally live, likewise do others need evil. I must ask your new, educated elite: Does opportunity now evade morality or respect ethics and love? Behold a new year.

He looked at Betty, who shrugged. “This is weirder,” he agreed. Most of the letters they got simply recited verse from the Old Testament, or predicted rather dire consequences for people who did not follow the Lord’s teachings. But whatever else they were, they were not vague. “You have the original?”

She nodded. “Tagged and stored.”

As a precaution, the county attorney was tracking all of the original letters sent to its office, keeping each one sealed in plastic and dated.

“I don’t even get what this says,” Riley said.

“Some people need evil like others need faith,” Betty speculated, looking over his shoulder. “And today’s generation is greedy and immoral.”

“What is this, Philosophy 101?” Lightner asked. “Today’s generation is greedy and immoral? Today’s cop is hungry for a cheeseburger.” He nodded at Riley. “Can we go?”

Riley reread the letter. “This is weirder,” he repeated.

“Lawyers.” Lightner sighed. “Don’t make this more difficult, Riley. I’m starving over here: ”

“Yeah.” Riley thought for a moment. Don’t make this more difficult. He dropped the copy of the letter into the garbage and headed out for lunch.

Wednesday

June 22, 2005

THE DETECTIVES’ squad room at Area Four, Third Precinct, is filled with detectives and some uniformed officers, too. Detectives Ricki Stoletti and Mike McDermott stand up front. It’s nine in the morning. Everyone is on alert, a collective energy in the room.

Everyone is reading the sheet that has been put in front of them, the now-numbered lyrics to the second verse of Tyler Skye’s song “Someone.”

(1) An ice pick a nice trick praying that he dies quick

(2) A switchblade oughta be great for lobotomy insane a call to me

(3) Precision blade incisions made a closer shave a bloody spray

(4) Trim-Meter chain saw cheerleader’s brain’s all paint on the stained wall

(5) Machete in the head he isn’t ready to be dead I can’t explain why I’m in pain why I’m unable to refrain from getting in somebody’s brain

(6) Ditchin’ life kitchen knife no more itch and no more strife no more hate I passed the test

And on the seventh day I rest.

Ricki Stoletti speaks first. “‘An ice pick a nice trick praying that he dies quick.’ That’s Ciancio. ‘A switchblade oughta be great for lobotomy.’ That’s Evelyn Pendry.”

“So next up is a razor blade,” says someone in the back of the room.

Another guy, seated at the table, says, “So all we have to do is find out who has bought a shaving kit over the last ten years.” He gets some laughter, but this isn’t exactly a merry moment, least of all for Mike McDermott.

Still another guy raises a hand and nods to me. “It says ‘on the seventh day I rest.’”

I nod. “The sixth kill is suicide. He kills himself. No more itch. No more strife. No more hate. He’s done now. He kills himself on the sixth day, with the kitchen knife. On the seventh day, he rests. Obviously comparing his actions with those of God, in creating the world.”

A woman in the back says, “So the offender’s gonna do us all a favor and kill himself?”

“Burgos didn’t.” I shrug. “The first verse called for suicide at the end, too, and he ignored it.”

“That’s one of the reasons you beat his insanity defense, right?” says an older guy in the back. “Because he didn’t follow the song lyrics.”

Score one for the old-timer.

“Maybe when he’s done with this song,” says a big guy, standing against the wall, “he’ll follow the lyrics to that old Randy New-man song and start killing short people.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” says McDermott. “That’s strictly fucking hilarious.”

The minor burst of animation in the room quiets. When McDermott talks, they listen.

McDermott squints into the air. “Let’s start with what we know. We know this offender leaves a totally pristine crime scene. Two kills, no prints, no trace evidence. He holds them down and tortures them. Controls them. The scene is highly organized. Clean entries and exits. He leaves the weapons behind.”

He leaves the weapons behind. A good point. Everything else he did, he did on purpose.

He wants us to know.

“And then, page four of the packet,” McDermott continues. “We think this is our same guy who sent Riley these.”

Everyone flips to the back page.

“The first one-‘If new evil emerges’-Riley got on Monday. Two days ago.”

If new evil emerge do heathens ever link past actions? God’s answer is near .

“The second one, he got yesterday.”

I will inevitably lose life. Ultimately, sorrow echoes the heavens. Ever sensing. Ever calling out. Never does vindication ever really surrender easily. The immediate messenger endures the opposition, but understanding requires new and loving betrayal and new yearning.

“In the first one,” I say, “he’s saying, if the murders start again, will we link it to Burgos-to past actions? Apparently, he’s about to tell us.”

“Yeah, and what about the second one?” Stoletti asks.

We’ve already been through these notes. I went to my office last night and showed them to Stoletti and McDermott.

“Hell if I know,” I say, rereading the message myself. “He’s mortal? He won’t go easily, but he’ll go at some point?” I look at McDermott.

“He’s talking about understanding,” he says. “Understanding the true message, whatever he thinks that message is. Right?”

“You have to be willing to betray convention,” I speculate. “To think outside the box. Understanding requires betrayal of the conventional, and the yearning to want to understand.”

No one comments on that. If anyone has a better idea, they sure as hell aren’t speaking up.

“He uses the word ‘new’ twice,” Stoletti says. “He didn’t need it the second time. ’New betrayal’ and ‘new yearning.’”

“Now it’s a grammar lesson,” says the guy sitting next to her.

She isn’t in the mood. “I’m saying he’s deliberate about his choice of words. This handwriting is very careful. He didn’t write this quickly. He took his time. He thought about every word. ‘Never does vindication ever really surrender easily.’ It’s sloppy. He doesn’t need ‘ever’ because he wrote ‘never’. I don’t know what it means, but it’s weird.”

She’s right. I hadn’t looked at it that way. The handwriting is meticulous. But the choice of words here is odd.

“Let’s everyone think about this,” says McDermott. “We’ve got the originals being worked up right now. Impressions, ninhydrin, everything. Let’s talk about Fred Ciancio.”

Last night, Carolyn Pendry dropped this on us: When she was reporting on Terry Burgos back in 1989, she got a call from a man who said he had some information about Terry Burgos. The man seemed scared, Carolyn said. He said it was important, but he wasn’t sure whether to share the information with her. Then he hung up. But Carolyn, ever the reporter, traced the phone call back to a house. The house was owned by a man named Fred Ciancio.