Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

"Strange name."

"They're anagrams, aren't they?" James says.

Alan turns to look at him, surprised. "That's right. How did you--

never mind." He turns back to me, shows me the pad. "See-- Did Shoe Write-up . Change the letters around and you get: Die, Stupid Whore. "

My stomach lurches.

"Then Armouried Murrey-- mix the letters up and you get--" He shows the notepad to me again.

I am your murderer.

"The final insult," James murmurs. "He tells her that she's going to die and that he's going to do it, right to her face. And she never has a clue."

I realize I expect to feel rage at this, but it is absent. I'm becoming hardened to their games. I glance at Alan. "That's pretty impressive work."

He shrugs. "Just always had a thing for anagrams. And niggling details."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're amazing," James says. "The question is, what does it mean and how can we use it?"

"Why don't you tell me, asshole," Alan says.

The insult misses James by a wide mark. He is nodding, thinking. "I don't think he came to gloat. I think he came to scout. To make sure he knew the full layout of the place."

"Or to verify prior data," I say. "He might have been there before, and wanted to verify that nothing had changed."

"Casing the place," Alan says. "That makes sense, with these guys. They're smart, careful. Planners."

"Maybe it's their MO," I say. I feel an excitement building in me. "If we could get some kind of a jump on their next victim--anything--we might be able to catch whichever one does the recon." I turn to Leo.

"Where do we stand on your end of things?"

Leo grimaces. "No good news, I'm afraid. The IP number was not a static IP. We were able to track where the usage originated, but it was a dead end."

"How's that?"

"He used a cybercafe. Think of a coffeehouse where you can get on the Internet. Completely anonymous."

"Damn. Anything else? At all?"

"No."

"Well, everyone put your thinking caps on. Hard."

The phone rings. Alan answers it, speaks, and hangs up. "They're ready for you down in the lab," he says to me.

I take the elevator down four floors, and when I get to the lab, I find Gene chattering away at a bemused Callie.

"Careful," I say to her, "he'll talk your ear off."

Gene turns to me. "I was telling Agent Thorne about the latest advances coming out in the identification of mitochondrial DNA."

"Heady stuff," Callie says in her driest voice.

Gene scowls. "Oh, knock it off," he says. "I know you better than that, Callie. You were one of my best interns."

She grins, winks at me.

I raise my coffee in a toast. "I've always sung your praises, Gene. In that vein--what do you have for me?"

He gives Callie a last frown. She sticks her tongue out at him. He turns to me with a sigh. "No immediate physical evidence. By that, I mean no fingerprints, fibers, hair, epithelials, anything. But what is there is very, very interesting. It tells us something about the unsub that even he is unaware of."

This perks me up. "How's that?"

"In good time, Smoky. To understand it, you have to read the letter first." He passes it to me. "Go ahead."

I don't like people being cryptic. But Gene is one of the best forensic scientists in the country. Maybe in the world. And Callie is nodding at me.

"It's worth the wait, honey-love."

I turn my attention to the letter.

Greetings, Agent Barrett!

So, I'm dying to know: How did you enjoy the tale of Ronnie Barnes?

Not the brightest boy, I'm afraid, but perfect to demonstrate a point. You are wondering, I know. How many other Ronnies are out there? I'm afraid I find it far more satisfying to let you continue to wonder. I saw you walk into that shooting range when you returned from San Francisco, by the by. I have to say, I was EXCITED! It's always reward- ing when a gambit comes to such perfect fruition. Now my opponent is fully armed and operational. Something that gets my blood singing through my veins! Do you feel the same? The pounding of the heart?

That sharpening of the senses?

"He's following you, honey-love."

"Yeah. We're going to have to address that."

You look different now, Agent Barrett. More dangerous. No longer hiding those scars you were so ashamed of.

Good for you. And for me. Because now we can dispense with the kid gloves. Now we can begin to make this game truly interesting!

I've enclosed two things for you. One of them, the contents of the jar, requires some explanation for full understanding. Let us talk about Annie Chapman. Also known as Dark Annie. Does that name ring a bell for you, Agent Barrett? It should. She was my an- cestor's second victim.

Poor, poor Annie Chapman. She wasn't always a dirty whore, you know. She waited until her husband died to start spreading her slut legs for money. Most offensive. When my ancestor killed her he was lancing a boil on the skin of society.

She was the second killed, but she was the first one dear Jack took keepsakes from. He excised her uterus, the upper portion of the vagina, and the posterior two-thirds of the bladder.

Of course, many different theories have been put forth about this. And of course, all of them have been wrong. No one had the vision to under- stand my ancestor's plan. I am sharing it with you now, so listen closely: Jack knew that his bloodline, both past and future, was of an excep- tional nature. Descended from the ancient predators. The original hunters. Above the cattle of humanity. He knew that it was his duty to pass on his knowledge and his power to future generations, to explain our holy mission.

And so he took many keepsakes. He took these pieces of whores and sealed them up, preserving them. He decreed that they be passed down, from generation to generation, as a reminder of what he had begun. I told you I would provide proof of my claims, Agent Barrett. I am a man of my word. I am passing on to you one of the sacred keepsakes. The preserved uterus of Annie Chapman.

Awe-inspiring, is it not? Run your tests. When you do, I think you will find it harder to sleep at night. For you will know that a descendant of the Shadow Man is out and about.

"Is what he's saying true, Gene? Is that a human uterus in that jar?"

He smiles. Another cryptic smile. "We'll address that. Finish reading the letter."

The Shadow Man. While there is only one original, you have known many pretenders, haven't you, Special Agent Barrett? Those who live in the shadows, kill in them. My ancestor was born in the shadows. His was a heritage of darkness.

He loved the shadows, and the shadows . . . well, they loved him back. He was their purest child.

But I digress.

I have included another CD for you. I have been continuing the mis- sion of my ancestor. I've cleansed the earth of another whore, lanced an- other boil.

"Damn," I say.

Enjoy it. I am quite proud of my work.

That is all for now, Agent Barrett. Rest assured, I will be in touch. Perhaps in a more personal fashion. One week. Tick tock, tick tock. From Hell,

Jack Jr.

I put the letter down, and look at Gene. "Spill it."

He rubs his hands together. "After reading that, the jar was the first addressed, of course. I ran some basic tests, and that's how I found it."

"What?"

He pauses for effect. "There's no human tissue in that jar, Smoky. If I had to guess, I would say that it's bovine."

Shock strikes me speechless for a moment, and then: "Holy shit!"

He grins. "Yes. Our boy thinks he has something passed on by Jack the Ripper. But he doesn't. He has a piece of preserved cow flesh. He has an entire belief system built up that he doesn't know is a lie."