Karen Rose: I’m Watching You

Abe sifted through the pictures. „Here’s a close-up of his head. Bullet was probably a twenty-two.“ He looked up at Kristen. „Anything bigger wouldn’t have left much face.“

Jack was back to the envelope contents. „Four Polaroids and… one map with a nice little ‘x.’ Looks like it’s down by the Arboretum.“

Spinnelli’s mustache bent down. „That’s where we picked Ramey up.“

Jack set the map on the table, leaving one piece of paper in his hand. He went still, only his eyes moving, back and forth as they scanned the page. He looked up uncertainly. „And one letter that starts ‘My dearest Kristen.’“

Kristen’s eyes widened. „Me?“

She was alarmed, Abe thought, as well she should be. Their killer had just gotten a little more personal. „Read the letter, Jack,“ Abe commanded softly. „Out loud.“

Wednesday, February 18,

10:00 p.m.

Jacob Conti didn’t glance sideways when the door to the club was opened for him. He was rich beyond most people’s ability to count. Everybody held the door open for Jacob Conti. He had almost forgotten a time when he would have been surprised at the gesture of respect. He scanned the throng of bodies gyrating on the dance floor, his eyes narrowing as he located Angelo. His son was easy to spot. He’d be the one with a whore on each knee and a bottle in his hand. You’d think after narrowly escaping prison his son would toe the line for at least an evening. But no, there he was. Celebrating his innocence, no doubt.

Angelo’s celebrations were legendary. And they would soon stop.

Jacob stood in front of Angelo for a full minute before his son realized he was there.

„Hello, Father,“ Angelo slurred, lifting the mostly empty bottle in salute.

„Get up,“ Jacob gritted. „Get up before I pull you out of here.“

Angelo stared a moment, then slowly ambled to his feet. „What’s wrong?“

„What’s wrong is you being seen here getting drunk.“

Angelo grinned. „So? I was acquitted.“ He ran his tongue over his teeth as if surprised he could even say the word. „I can’t be tried again. Double jeopardy, you know.“

Jacob grabbed Angelo’s lapels and hauled him on his toes. „You idiot. You weren’t acquitted. You got a hung jury. That means they get another shot at you. That means Mayhew is watching you like a hawk. That means one wrong step and you’re back in jail.“

Angelo pulled away, flattening his lapels with damp palms, his courage mostly bravado and booze. „I wouldn’t mind seeing Miss Mayhew again. She hid a really nice ass under that black suit.“ He raised a surly brow. „But I won’t be going back to jail.“

Jacob clenched his fists at his sides. He’d hit Angelo here and now, but Elaine didn’t like him to raise his hand to their boy. Their „boy“ was twenty-one years old and headed for trouble, but Jacob held his temper. „And what makes you so sure, Angelo?“

Angelo sneered. „Because you’ll always be there to bail me out.“

Jacob watched his only son weave through the gyrating bodies and knew Angelo was right. He loved his son and he’d do anything to keep him safe.

Wednesday, February 18,

10:00 p.m.

„That’s it,“ Jack said after he’d read the last word of the letter.

Kristen stared at it, glad it was in Jack’s steady hands, because hers were anything but. Knowing the others were waiting for her to say something, she tugged at the latex gloves that encased her sweaty palms and reached for the letter, willing her hands not to shake.

„May I?“

Jack handed it over with a shrug. „You’re the celebrity, Counselor.“

She shot him a sharp look. „That’s not funny, Jack.“

„I didn’t mean it to be,“ Jack replied. „What does he mean, blue stripes?“

Her heart pounding against her rib cage, she scanned the page, hoping Jack had left something out. He hadn’t. She turned the page over and stared at the back, hoping there would be something to alert her to the writer’s identity. There was nothing. Just a plain piece of paper from a generic printer, just like thousands of printers in the city. No name, no mark, no nothing. Just three paragraphs of the most elegant, chilling words she’d ever read.

„I take it you’ve never received a similar letter?“ Mia asked, gently pushing at Kristen’s wrist until the letter lay flat on the table where she could see it, too.

Kristen shook her head. „No, not like this.“ She drummed her fingertips on the table. „Never like this.“ She lifted her eyes and found Abe Reagan’s blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity she found more disconcerting now than when he’d gripped her wrist in front of the elevator. „What?“ she asked, and he frowned.

„Read it again,“ he said.

„Fine.“ Kristen made herself utter the first line. „‘My dearest Kristen.’“

„He knows you,“ Spinnelli murmured, sending a new set of chills down her spine.

„Or thinks he does,“ Abe mused, then gestured with his hand. „Go on.“

She splayed her gloved hands flat on the tabletop on either side of the simply printed page to keep her fingers from drumming. „‘My dearest Kristen, There comes a time in a man’s life when he must take a stand for his beliefs and acknowledge a law higher than the law of man. This is that time. For too long have I watched the innocent suffer and the guilty go free. I can watch no longer. I know you of all people can appreciate this. For years you have worked to avenge the innocent, to make the guilty pay for their crimes. But even you cannot win them all. Anthony Ramey preyed on innocent women, battered their bodies, stole their confidence and their trust, and though they bravely confronted their attacker in your courtroom, they found no justice. Today they have their justice, as do you. Tonight you can sleep well, knowing Anthony Ramey has met his final judge.’“ She drew a deep breath. „It’s signed ‘Your Humble Servant.’“ Her fingers drummed, just once and she splayed her hands flat again. „Then there’s the P.S.“ She opened her mouth, but no more words came out.

Perplexed, Mia read the last line for her. „ ‘And if for some reason you can’t sleep well, I recommend the blue stripes.’“

There was silence in the room until Reagan tapped the table. She looked up to find the same frown on his face. „What does that mean, Kristen, ‘the blue stripes’?“

Kristen fought back a bubble of what would most certainly be hysterical laughter. „What do you do when you can’t sleep, Detective Reagan?“

Reagan studied her thoughtfully. „I usually get up and watch TV or read.“

„Mia?“

Mia looked at her strangely. „Sometimes TV. Sometimes the treadmill. Why?“

Kristen pushed back from the table and peeled off the gloves that were sticky with her sweat. She grabbed a paper towel and dried her hands. „I do home improvements.“

Mia’s blond brows jumped to the top of her forehead. „Excuse me?“

Kristen’s lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. „I work on my house. I’ve painted walls, refinished hardwood floors and put in a new bathroom. Last month I wallpapered my living room. I hung samples on the walls for a week, trying to decide which pattern to go with. Pink roses, green ivy, or…“ Exhaling, she threw the paper towel away. „Or blue stripes.“ She turned to look at the group who looked collectively troubled. „I see you understand.“

„He’s a vigilante murdering peeping Tom,“ Mia said, disbelief in her voice and this time Kristen couldn’t control her laugh, which thankfully didn’t sound too hysterical.

„Jack, I need another pair of gloves. Let’s see what else he left in the crate.“