Joel Goldman - The Dead Man

"So the killer wanted us to know that he'd taken the letter. He's playing a game with us, taunting us. That's what serial killers do," I said.

"The books, jewelry, and letter were more subtle. It took a while for us to figure them out. There's nothing subtle about Anne Kendall's amputated finger. I'd say the killer is getting impatient with us."

"He's telling us how stupid and incompetent we are. We didn't get it the first three times, so he's making it easier on us. That's why Anne's murder was so violent and her body was staged for maximum shock and her finger was amputated," I said.

"And that fits with the shorter time frame between murders. All of which means that there's going to be another victim sooner rather than later if we don't get a lucky break. The first four victims were connected to the institute. Stands to reason the next one will be too."

Anthony Corliss was the one person with ties to all four victims, though his connection to Anne Kendall was less direct than with Delaney, Blair, and Enoch, limited to the fact that he and Anne worked at the same place. Connie Nichols might know whether their paths ever crossed.

I grew uneasy thinking about potential victims, realizing that there was at least one other vulnerable person in Corliss's immediate orbit. Maggie Brennan. I'd see Tom Goodell at the retired cops' lunch today. If my Maggie and his were one in the same, I wouldn't let her suffer the same fate as her parents.

I scanned the walls. There was a Post-it titled DREAM PROJECT VOLUNTEERS with five names I didn't recognize. I assumed that their background checks had turned up something of interest. Another page titled DREAM PROJECT STAFF listed Anthony Corliss, Maggie Brennan, and their research assistants, Janet Casey and Gary Kaufman. A third page had the names of the other project directors that had accessed the dream project files.

Milo Harper and Sherry Fritzshall's names were on a separate page along with another name, Peggy Murray. Hers was the name Jason Bolt had waved at me like a sword. Lucy had circled it in black and underlined it in red.

"Why did you put those volunteers' names on the wall?"

"Just covering the bases. They're the only ones with anything hinky in their backgrounds. Couple of DUIs, one domestic abuse complaint, stuff like that."

"What about Corliss's research assistants and the directors of the other projects?"

"Janet Casey and the directors are dull, boring academics."

"What about Gary Kaufman?"

"He's got a juvenile record but the details are sealed. Whatever he did, the record was expunged when he turned eighteen."

"Couldn't have been that bad," Lucy said, "if he got into college and grad school."

"His parents could have known the right people," I said. "Keep working on it. Find out what he did."

I pointed at the Post-it with Peggy Murray's name. "Jason Bolt, the lawyer for the Delaney and Blair families, says she's his secret weapon. Where does she fit in to all of this?"

"Hey Jack, you got an extra razor around here?" Simon asked before Lucy could answer.

He had come down the stairs and into the living den, barefoot, wearing yesterday's chinos and an undershirt, rubbing his chin stubble. I looked at Lucy who blushed and kept her eyes on the floor.

"Sure," I said. "Check the cabinet under the sink in my bathroom."

"Thanks. Any chance you got a spare toothbrush to go along with it?"

I nodded. "Same place. Keep the razor and the toothbrush but do me a favor and leave the towels, okay?"

"No problem. Hey, Luce," he said to her. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

He grinned at me, mouthing Simon Says , and disappeared up the stairs.

"Luce?" I asked her. "Since when are you Luce? What is he, Sim?"

She took a breath and planted her hands on her hips. "He's nice and really smart, both of which are a change of pace for me so don't give me a hard time. Besides, it's been a while."

"Just tell me he didn't ask you to play Simon Says." She blushed again. "Okay, never mind," I said closing my eyes and covering my ears. "I don't even want to know."

"Luce, honey," Simon called from upstairs. "Can you run up here for a second?"

She took the stairs two at a time. I heard her giggle and a door slam as Roxy and Ruby raced in from the backyard, their paws muddy and wet. They slammed into my legs, ran circles around me, and flew back to the kitchen, a sure sign they hadn't had breakfast.

I followed them, poured their food, and watched them chow down. "Well," I told them. "Life goes on."

They didn't look up. When they finished eating, Roxy nipped at Ruby's hind legs, Ruby chasing her through the doggie door into the backyard. The banker's box with Simon's files was on the kitchen counter, the files still in alphabetical order except for one labeled Peggy Murray that lay on top. The names on the other files were typed on labels that had been neatly applied to the folders. Peggy's name was handwritten, proof it was a late entry.

Inside her file were printouts from a blog titled The Milo Harper Files authored by Jamie Del Muro who wrote that her mission was to expose the truth about Harper. She gave a laundry list of his sins, everything from stealing the idea for the social networking Web site that made him rich to engaging in insider trading of the stock in his company. The home page of the blog carried a dedication that read For my sister, Peggy Murray. No Retreat! No Surrender!

According to Del Muro, Peggy Murray came up with the idea for what became Harper's Web site, building the first version of the site while she was a student at Stanford and dating Harper. They both quit school to work on the Web site. Then Peggy had a bike accident when she and Harper were riding together on a country road alongside a gorge. According to the police report, which Del Muro included on the blog, Harper claimed that Peggy lost control of her bike going down a steep hill and fell a hundred feet to her death. Del Muro accused Harper of running her off the road so that he could have the Web site to himself. Later, Peggy Murray's parents accepted Harper's gift of stock in the company, which proved to be worth more than a million dollars when it went public. Del Muro accused her parents of taking blood money and being accomplices after the fact to the murder of their daughter.

No doubt Harper knew all about Jamie Del Muro and her blog and his lawyers would be ready when Jason Bolt played this card. Under normal circumstances, I expected Harper to brush the whole thing off as the rant of a crazy person. But these circumstances weren't normal. Dead bodies were piling up around Harper and his institute. Bolt was right about one thing. Harper wouldn't want Jamie Del Muro's story hitting the papers where it would get more play than in the blogosphere. And if the public interest got ginned up enough, an ambitious prosecutor might reopen the investigation.

The better question was whether the story was true, whether Peggy Murray was the first victim of Milo Harper's whatever it takes credo. If she were, Harper wouldn't have broken a sweat over ruining Kate's practice. I added those questions to the ones I had about Harper accessing Delaney's, Blair's, and Enoch's dream project files before and after their deaths.

Even though the institute was closed for the day, I was certain Milo wasn't taking the day off. I'd only been on the job for three days but it was time for a performance review. His, not mine.

Lucy and Simon were on the sofa in the living den, feet up on the coffee table, bare toes touching, when I came downstairs after showering and shaving. Lucy's hair was wet. Simon's bald pate was glowing, radiating heat.

It was her house. I was just living in it. She wasn't my underage daughter and he wasn't the bad kid who'd led her astray. I knew all that but still felt like I'd walked in on Wendy and the pimple-faced boy who took her to prom so he could get in her shorts; my problem, not theirs.