Karen Rose - I’m Watching You

That Kristen still felt guilty for not convicting Ramey had been clear as she’d stood on the street, her dread almost palpable as she’d stared up at the house. But once inside, she was composed, her face as still as Whitman’s, and Abe had to give her credit for that.

„Forgive me if I don’t offer you tea,“ Mrs. Whitman said, leading them into the living room, and Abe chose a chair that gave him a good view of Whitman’s face. He’d been serious last night when he’d said one of the original victims could have killed all the men. Original was how he now thought of the eleven names inscribed in marble. That the five dead men deserved their fate didn’t change the fact they’d been murdered. One of the originals could have masterminded the whole plot, taking out a few other deserving accused felons on the way. What an ironic dilemma for the prosecution.

Sitting, Kristen folded her hands together in her lap. „These are Detectives Reagan and Mitchell. Mrs. Whitman, why aren’t you surprised to see me?“ she asked levelly and Abe felt a spurt of pride on her behalf.

Pursing her lips, Mrs. Whitman rose to her feet and retrieved an envelope from a desk. More envelopes , Abe thought. Without a word she handed the envelope to Kristen, who slid the letter out and, holding it by one corner, scanned it, and sighed.

„‘My dear Mrs. Whitman,’“ she read, „‘what you have suffered defies articulation, so I will make no attempts to do so. I want you to know your tormentor has received justice at long last. He is dead. This doesn’t begin to restore what you’ve lost, but I hope you can now go on with your life.’“ She looked up. „ ‘Your Humble Servant’.“

„So it’s true?“ Whitman asked. „Ramey is dead?“

Kristen nodded. „Yes. When did you receive this letter, Mrs. Whitman? And how?“

„It was on the welcome mat under my newspaper this morning.“

After Kristen had found the offerings in her trunk, Abe thought. The timing was interesting, the method of delivery conveniently untraceable. He’d bet they’d find no prints on the letter or its envelope, but they could get delivery time from the paperboy. „Was there anything else with the letter?“ Abe asked and Whitman met his eyes unflinchingly.

„No. Just the letter and the envelope. Why?“

Kristen slid the letter in the envelope and handed it to Mia. „The detectives will need you to verify your whereabouts at the time of Ramey’s death, Mrs. Whitman.“

Mia bagged the letter. „We’d be grateful if you and your husband would come down to the station and provide us with fingerprints. Then we can separate yours from the letter writer’s.“

„I’ll save you the trouble, Detectives,“ Whitman said entirely too softly. „If Ramey was killed at night, I was here alone. I’ve no one to corroborate my alibi. I didn’t kill him, but I salute the man who did.“

„And Mr. Whitman?“ Kristen asked.

„He’s gone.“ For a moment Abe thought Whitman’s composure might crack, but with a deep breath she held it together. „He filed for divorce a year after the trial.“

„We’ll need his address, ma’am,“ he said. Whitman’s eyes flashed with pain and anger and humiliation, and Abe felt a stirring of pity. „I’m sorry.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:00 p.m.

If the interviews with Sylvia Whitman and Janet Briggs had been stiff and formal, the conversation with Eileen Dorsey and her husband had been anything but. Kristen’s ears still rang from the shouting. Her heart still raced like a wild thing in her chest.

„Well, that was pleasant,“ Mia said, rubbing her forehead wearily.

Kristen leaned back against her rental car, barely controlling her trembling.

Reagan’s voice came rumbling from just behind her. „Are you going to be all right, Kristen?“ She let the sound of his voice, his very nearness, seep in. Felt the trembling begin to subside. Didn’t let herself think about how or why he made her feel so safe. For now she’d just take what he offered and leave it at that.

She threw Reagan a weak smile. „I’ll be fine. But I’m grateful you were there. Having two armed detectives certainly helped diffuse them. At least we know they own a gun.“

Mia whistled. „Or fifty. Man, I’ve never seen a personal arsenal so well equipped.“

Reagan moved to lean one hip against the hood of Mia’s car. „ ‘Yes, I have a gun, Detective,’“ he mimicked and Kristen snickered as the adrenaline high started to subside. He sounded just like the outraged Stan Dorsey as the man had slapped an enormous revolver on his dining room table, followed by two semi-automatics, a hunting rifle covered in camouflage paint, and an AK-47. Then he’d opened his custom-made oversized gun cabinet, revealing another forty weapons, his eyes angry and wild.

„And yes, they’d all been fired lately,“ Kristen added lightly. She could still taste the fear she’d felt when Dorsey advanced, standing toe-to-toe, icily declaring that he dreamed every night of filling Ramey’s body full of holes. That he hadn’t killed the bastard, but if he had, he could only hope he landed her as his prosecutor. That her ineptitude would ensure he made it home for supper. Then Dorsey had leaned in close and lobbed the final verbal grenade. That he wished Ramey had picked her parking garage that night. Then she’d know what it was like to be a victim.

Then there had been heat at her back as Reagan moved behind her. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t said a word, but something in his face caught Dorsey’s attention and in a slow, measured movement, the man took a step back, fists at his sides. Reagan handed Dorsey his card over her shoulder, instructing them to call if they had more information.

Mia shook her head. „I wonder if their neighbors know they’re living next door to a fucking armory. He’s a ‘collector.’ How clever.“

Reagan shrugged. „They’re all registered. They aren’t breaking the law.“

„They got a letter, too.“ Kristen tried to put Dorsey’s wild eyes from her mind. He was angry enough to have killed, but probably too passionate to have done it so methodically.

„As did Janet Briggs,“ Mia said.

„Our humble servant either used one hell of a discreet delivery service or he was out last night himself,“ Abe said. „Assuming the other victims received letters, he made eleven deliveries. Somebody must have seen something somewhere. We’ll do a canvass of the neighborhoods to see if anybody remembers a car or a person lurking.“

„Good idea.“ Mia’s cell phone rang, a simple non-musical beep. „Yeah.“ Her eyes narrowed. „When?… Fine, we’ll be there.“ She pocketed her phone and looked up. „Spinnelli says the ME has news. We’re meeting back at the office ASAP. You coming, Kristen?“

Kristen nodded, just as her stomach growled. „I am, but first I’ll stop and grab some dinner to go. You bought the gyros last night, Detective Reagan. I’ll pick up something from Owen’s and bring it to Spinnelli’s. Don’t let the ME start until I get there.“

„What’s Owen’s?“ Mia asked. „Please tell me it has meat.“

Reagan rolled his eyes. „The Indian curry was good .“

„I gotta have meat, Reagan, or I’ll get anemic.“

He snorted. „Yeah, you look real anemic to me, Mitchell.“

Mia turned toward Kristen, ignoring him. „If Owen’s has meat, I’m in.“

Kristen smiled. „Owen’s is the diner where I eat. You want to try his fried chicken?“

Mia sighed. „Best offer I’ve had all day.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:15 p.m.

Zoe snapped her cell phone closed. „Bingo.“

Scott yawned. „I have a date tonight, Richardson.“