Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

“If she has information about the Bayside Strangler, shouldn’t she be contacting the department investigating these recent killings?”

“She’s called the chief of police up there in Bowers Inlet several times, but he hasn’t called her back. So I’m thinking he’s in over his head, not calling back the writer because, hey, she’s just a writer and what he needs isn’t more publicity but a few leads.”

“That’s a big assumption, John.”

John nodded. “Could be unfair, sure. But I’ve seen the local chief on TV. Looks like he’s really trying to get a handle on things, but my impression is, he’s overwhelmed. He mentioned on the Today Show he has one detective. One detective, and all these bodies. Think about it.”

Mitch did. He didn’t envy the chief of police who had to try to track a serial killer with only a small department and one detective.

“So…?”

“So I’m sending you to go through Josh Landry’s paperwork and see if you can find anything there that might shed some light on the case.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to send an agent to the scene and give them another set of hands and eyes?”

“That’s next on my agenda.” John handed Mitch a business card. “Here’s Regan Landry’s phone number and address. Give her a call and let her know you’ll be stopping by tomorrow. I already told her I’d send someone up, tell her you’re it.”

“Okay.” Mitch took the card and stood. “I should know after a day or so if there’s anything there.”

“Good. I’ll wait to hear from you,” John said. “Oh, and on your way out, tell Eileen to track down Rick Cisco and get him on the line.”

It was nearly ten P.M. by the time Mitch turned off the light in his office and gathered the file containing the information about Josh Landry he’d printed off the Internet. The hall stretched long and quiet before him as he started toward the elevator. Light spilled from the doorway of the office five doors down from his. He rapped his knuckles on the frame and peered inside.

“You almost done?” he asked.

Rick Cisco looked up from his desk, where a ream of paper spilled out from a fat file.

“Just about. You heading out?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d stop at Henry’s for a beer on my way home. Want to join me?”

“I need about ten more minutes.”

“Sure.” Mitch dropped his briefcase on the floor and slid into the lone visitor’s chair.

“I have a few more things I want to print out…” The agent’s focus was on his computer screen. “I’m leaving for New Jersey first thing in the morning and I want to get a handle on this case.”

“Let me guess. You pulled Bayside Strangler duty.”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Mancini intimated earlier he’d be sending someone to work with the police, right before he asked Eileen to track you down.”

“Should be an interesting case.” Rick stood and leaned over his desk to replenish the paper supply in the printer. “I spoke with the chief of police up there today. They really have a mess on their hands. Bodies piling up, no witnesses, no suspects. Very little trace evidence. This guy has been very, very careful, all the way around. He’s left very little behind. No semen, no saliva, no blood.”

“Fingerprints?”

“They’re trying to lift them off the victims’ skin-all the vics were manually strangled-but it’s been tough going. They’re sending the prints on to our lab, see if we can get something usable.” Rick sat down and hit the Print command and watched the first few sheets of paper feed through before turning to Mitch. “Of course, if there are no prints on file that match, it won’t much help us at this point.”

“Well, I’m heading to New Jersey, too, and coincidentally, my assignment is related to yours, though I’m sure it won’t be as interesting. I’m going to be going through the papers of a writer who may have received some correspondence from the Bayside Strangler. The original one. The real one. Whatever we want to call him.”

Mitch filled Rick in on the information he’d gotten from Regan Landry when he’d called her that afternoon.

“So what’s she got in the files that the FBI needs to look at?” Rick asked.

“She says she has a lot of notes that her father had made and some letters from someone claiming to be the Strangler.”

“Why would he have contacted a writer?”

Mitch shrugged. “Who knows? I guess that’s one of the things I’ll find out. Not as exciting as directly working a serial killer case, though.”

“I don’t know about that.” Rick grinned. “Have you seen this Regan Landry?”

“No.”

“Well, I have. She was on one of those morning news shows not too long ago.”

“And…?”

“Short and sweet, good-looking. Interesting face. Lots of long curly blond hair and nicely put together, if I recall. And smart. She came off as being really, really smart.” Rick stood and packed the printed material into the file, which he tucked under his arm.

“Well, we’ll see how smart she is when we start going over her father’s notes.” Mitch followed Rick to the door and snapped off the light. “I’m still thinking you got the best deal, though. I haven’t had a good serial case in a long time.”

“You had that guy in California last year,” Rick reminded him as they headed for the elevator.

“Yeah, but that was an easy one. Something tells me this is going to be a lot more involved.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve got two possibilities here. One, he’s the real Strangler. Two, he’s a copycat. If this is the guy who has been around for-what is it, twenty-some years?-he’s good, Rick. He’s really, really good. Where’s he been all this time? You know he’s been up to something-they don’t kill, then stop, then start up again unless something has intervened.”

“Like maybe a prison term.” Rick hit the Down button.

“Maybe. Could be you’ll get a match off those prints there.”

“I’ve already requested that any prints we find be run through NCIC on a priority basis.”

“And if he hasn’t been in prison, where’s he been?” Mitch asked. “And then we have to consider the possibility that this guy is not the real deal.”

“The chief up there in Jersey- Denver ’s his name-seems to be weighing in heavily on the copycat scenario.”

“Either way, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Mitch said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside the car. He hit the button for the lobby. “The original Strangler or someone following in his footsteps, he’s going to be hard to bring down. He’s killed how many now-three? four?-in a short period of time, and no one has a clue as to who he is or what he looks like.”

“And it isn’t going to get easier the more time that passes. According to Denver, every day more people come into town for the summer season.”

“If you’re the killer,” Mitch noted, “that’s good news. The more potential suspects the law has to weed through, the less heat on you.”

“If you’re the killer, it’s great news. The higher the population, the more potential victims get added to the pool. There’s no telling how high the body count could go before we find him.”

The two men stepped off the elevator and signed out at the main desk in the lobby.

“I’ll meet you at Henry’s,” Mitch said as they walked out through the back door to the parking lot. His car was just ten spots off to the left, Rick’s a little farther out in the lot.

Mitch unlocked his driver’s-side door, thinking about the files that awaited him at the Landry farm and the possibility there’d be something that might aid in the search for a killer.