Seth shook his index finger in the direction of Claire.
“You’re right,” Seth said. “There was a kind of journal. She kept names and special recipes there.”
Seth nodded.
“It was . . . precious,” Seth said. “She told me once that she guarded that thing with her life. Let’s see . . .”
Seth stared off into the distance and thought.
“‘Guard this thing with my life,’” Seth said. He squinted and looked at Claire. “She said that a lot. I didn’t have the attention span to think about why she would say that. Do you know?”
Claire shook her head.
“It’s long gone,” Seth said. “It’s probably in the garbage somewhere.”
“No,” Bernice said. “My mother looked for it after Di died. She never found it. She told me before she died that I needed to find that book, but I . . . I mean, Di and Bud could be so weird about stuff — secretive. It was like they were spies.”
“Were they?” Seth asked.
His eyes flicked to Bernice and then to R.J., who shook his head and shrugged.
“We should find that out before we go any further,” Seth said. “It’s possible that whatever was in this book relates to our government’s secrets.”
“You think Di kept government secrets in the same book she kept track of her girls and their dates?” Claire asked.
Seth turned to look at her.
“I do,” Seth said. “You?”
Claire nodded.
“I think she would have prioritized keeping a single object private and safe, rather than having multiple things to keep track of,” Seth said. “Plus, who would pay attention to some woman’s calendar?”
Seth nodded.
“We thought we’d go look for it,” Claire said. “Di kept track of who her girls’ dates were. We thought that we might be able to figure out who Delilah had a date with on the night she was killed.”
“That’s good thinking,” Seth said. “What do we need to do?”
“You need a shower,” Claire said with a sniff. Seth smiled. “Did you eat?”
“They fed me something,” Seth said. “I don’t remember what.”
“That’s why you have a headache,” Claire said.
“Probably,” Seth said.
“I’ll make a sandwich,” Claire said. “You go shower. Change into something less formal.”
“Less formal,” Seth said. “I wear this all the time.”
“Jeans,” R.J. said.
Shrugging, Seth turned in place and walked out of the apartment. He was standing in his bedroom finishing getting dressed when R.J., Bernice, and Claire came to get him. Claire gave him a sandwich thick with turkey, cheese, and lettuce. He ate it down in three bites. She handed him a glass of water, which he drank down. He smiled and thanked Claire.
“I need to make a call before we go,” Seth said. He held up an index finger. “Just one minute.”
He blinked for a moment. Claire pointed to the phone on the table next to the couch. Seth smiled in thanks and went to the phone. He dialed a number.
“O’Malley,” he said when the phone connected. He waited as the phone clicked and buzzed.
Finally, an electronic voice said, “Leave your message,” and then there was a tone.
“I need to know if Art, who went by ‘Bud,’ and, or, his wife Dinah, who went by ‘Di’ . . .” Seth gave their address and the dates of their births. “I need to know if they were involved in the intelligence community in any way. You know where I am. Thanks.”
Seth looked at his friends and nodded. He started toward the door.
“Who did you call?” Bernice asked.
“It’s best not to ask,” Claire said.
Bernice nodded. They left Seth’s apartment and started out into the late afternoon. Seth waved down a taxi, and the women and Seth sat in the back. R.J. got into the passenger seat. The taxi pulled up to the Bethune Towers. They waited for Seth as he paid the taxi driver. Together, they went into the building.
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Eighteen
Ava rubbed her eyes and yawned. She leaned back. Her office chair slid to the reclining position, and she put her feet on the desk in front of her. She’d been reading copies of Seurat’s letters for the last four hours. After making copies of them, the original letters were being analyzed by the Colorado Bureau of Investigations lab.
They were boring.
Ava and a group of five other forensic investigators were relegated to reading the letters. They were sitting around a round table in an executive meeting room. Ava was sitting next to Nelson, who had been assigned to the team to analyze the wording. So far, they’d found three letters that made specific references to a Cigarette Killer murder.
Seurat said in the first letter that he wanted to engage in a dialog with the great detective who’d found him after all those years. He believed that Seth was speaking to him through the newspaper articles. Each newspaper article asked a question, to which Seurat gave long, convoluted explanations. This particular letter was in response to a piece about Seth’s childhood. Seurat was answering with details of his own life.
Ava turned over the page and sat up straight.
“What is it?” Nelson asked.
“This letter is about Seurat’s childhood,” Ava said.
The other investigators looked up.
“Nelson, can you confirm for me the bird name Delilah used?” Ava asked. “Not from memory. Check the record.”
“Sure,” Nelson said. He clicked around through the keys. “Raven.”
“I watched a raven beaten by the man I called ‘Father,’” Ava read from the letter. “Four years old — I’d never felt that kind of excitement. I stood to the side, open mouthed — breathing in the violence, passion, and blood. I wanted more, just a little more, so when she was sleeping I sliced and sliced. When she breathed her last, I had the most powerful experience of pure joy. I wanted that experience again, so I did the raven’s brother. From that moment on, I was hooked.”
No one said anything for a moment. Ava blinked.
“Sick fucker, isn’t he?” A man across from her said. “In this one, he talks about being sexually assaulted in the showers of the prison by a guy they called ‘The Goon.’ Seurat seems to have enjoyed getting beaten and assaulted as much as he enjoyed giving it out.”
“Wait,” a woman from the side of the table said. She pointed at Nelson. “I work at the CBI. We got a case of a prisoner with the nickname of ‘Goon.’ He was viciously killed — beaten to death with a pipe in the loading bay. No one saw anything. The guard said he turned away from the dock to unlock a door. He was gone less than five minutes. Came back to find the Goon dead. Funny thing was that the video backed up the guard. He was standing on the dock while the prisoners were unloading. They’d closed up the truck, and they were bringing loads into the prison. He was watching the prisoners unload the goods onto the shelves. The guard was gone a total of three minutes and some change. The attack was fast, frenzied. Brutal. Savage. The killer would have had to be covered in blood. Yet, no one, including Seurat, had blood on them.”
The woman nodded. No one said anything for a moment.
“What if we’re not looking at this correctly?” Ava asked. “What if these ‘conversations with Seth’ aren’t actually about his actions?”
No one said anything, so Ava continued.
“Now this is just an idea but what if Seurat started a conversation with O’Malley when O’Malley and Mitch entered the interrogation room?” Ava said. She looked up expectantly and everyone scowled at her. She waved her letter in the air. “These are not individual conversations, but part of that original conversation.”
No one said anything for a moment.
“You’re saying that these letters are some kind of convoluted confession?” a woman to Ava’s left asked.
“Filling in the details of cases already known, discussing the murders not
attributed to the Cigarette Killer,” Ava said with a nod.
They looked at each other in a kind of shocked recognition of truth.
“One hundred and eleven murders?” a man asked.
Ava shrugged.
“That means that the only letter that really matters is the last one,” Nelson said. “The last one would tell us why we are all sitting here right now — why he filed the appeal.”
Everyone gave a slow nod.
“Should we tell Spammy?” the man across from Ava asked.
No one said anything for a moment.
“I’ll go,” the woman from the CBI said. “He’s my team leader. He’ll make my life a living hell if I don’t tell him as soon as I know.”
She got up and left the room.
“How are you with cyphers?” Nelson asked.
Everyone shrugged and nodded.
“While we wait for Cyclone Spammy, why don’t I give you each a paragraph of the last letter?” Nelson asked. “We can look at each paragraph individually to see if there’s something here that the computer isn’t picking up on. When you’re done, we’ll trade them. See if we can come up with anything.”
Nelson printed off sheets of paper, shuffled the paper, and slid them across the table to each person. By the time Special Agent Lithus arrived, they had already uncovered the code. Every paragraph had at least one word italicized for emphasis. It was easy to miss because Seurat regularly italicized words. In this letter, the italic words created some kind of manifesto or statement. They had collected the words, and Nelson was working with the order to see if they could come up with something that meant something. They were waiting in anxious anticipation.
“I am coming for you and your missus this time. One last before hell. You’ll never see me coming,” Nelson read from the computer as Special Agent Lithus walked into the room. “He wrote on the envelope, ‘The others were practice.’”
Everyone sat in stunned silence.
“What’s this?” Special Agent Lithus asked. “What is going on?”
“Seth and Ava are going to be the Cigarette Killers next and last victims,” Nelson said.
Ava looked up at Special Agent Lithus.
“Seth’s out there on his own,” Ava whispered.
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Nineteen
Seth held open the front door to the Bethune Towers for Bernice and Claire, who were involved in a loud conversation about . . . Seth wasn’t quite sure. He sighed. He was pretty sure he’d never in his life spent this much time around people. As if he could hear what Seth was thinking, R.J. patted Seth’s shoulder, and they went into the building together.
“What?” Claire asked R.J. She shot a look of concern to Seth. “What’s going on?”
“Seth’s missing his piano,” R.J. said as he pressed the button for the elevator.
Bernice laughed, and Claire scowled at Seth.
“Playing for five hours in front of a captive and adoring audience wasn’t enough for you?” Claire asked. Her eyes scanned his face.
“Just worried about my cat,” Seth said.
They burst out laughing. Seth smirked at his joke. They got onto the elevator. Bernice pointed to the buttons.
“Five,” Bernice said.
Bernice requested the button as if she were in a manned elevator. She had lived all of her life as Queen to Big Daddy’s King. She carried that air with her to this day. Grinning at Bernice, R.J. pressed the button. The elevator took a jerky ride up to the fifth floor. They went down a long hallway to the end apartment, with a balcony. They silently argued with each other until Bernice stepped forward to knock on the door.
A middle-aged African-American man opened the door. He was wearing work pants and a tank top, which showed off his thick-muscled arms and big round, shoulders. He was holding a dishtowel in his large, callused hands.
“Mrs. Bernice,” the man said. His eyes flicked from Claire to R.J. and finally rested on Seth. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s crazy really,” Bernice said. “Would you mind if I came in?”
The man’s eyes flicked from Claire to R.J. and then to Seth before making the rounds again.
“This is my friend, Claire,” Bernice said. “She and Seth — that’s him there, Seth O’Malley; you’ve probably heard of him — met us a long time ago. Seth used to take piano lessons from Bud. You know R.J. What you might not know is that Di and Bud used to live in this apartment.”
“I did know that,” the man said.
“We think they might have left something here,” Bernice said.
“What’s in it for me?” the man asked. “I’m just home from work for lunch. I have to go back in fifteen minutes. Tell me what’s in it for me, and I might just let you stay and look for it.”
His words took Bernice by surprise. As Big Daddy’s wife, she’d always been granted everything the moment she’d ever asked for. No one questioned her requests. People simply stepped aside while she got whatever she desired. She was a joy to be around most of the time, so no one minded. This was simply the first time in her entire life that anyone had questioned her request. Bernice stammered. She felt a well of sorrow at the loss of her husband and her life.
Seth stepped forward. Placing a steadying hand on Bernice’s shoulder, he pressed between her and the man at the door.
“Five hundred dollars,” Seth said.
Seth held up five $100 bills. The man gave Seth a curt nod and stepped back. Bernice and Claire went into the apartment. R.J. and the man did a complicated handshake and hug before R.J. entered. The man stopped Seth.
“You okay, man?” the man asked in a low tone. “They’re looking to kill you.”
“I’m kind of hard to kill, I guess,” Seth said.
“Like Stephen Segal,” the man said.
His head tipped back in a laugh and Seth grinned.
“Carl,” the man said. “Robinson.”
“Seth,” he said. “Everyone calls me ‘O’Malley.’”
“Well, everyone just calls me ‘Carl.’” The man gave Seth a toothy smile. “Panteli Jr. isn’t going to give you any more trouble.”
Seth jerked with surprise and then scowled.
“Your handiwork?” Seth asked.
The man turned over his right hand to show a cut that had likely been made by an incisor tooth.
“Maybe,” Carl said. “I work for the subway. Was working up at the old Worth Street Station the other day. Maintaining the air conditioning. Would you believe that even these closed stations have to be air conditioned?”
Seth nodded. The man’s eyes flicked to where R.J., Bernice, and Claire were exploring the kitchen.
“He said he was supposed to kill you,” Carl said, in a low voice. “Something about Smoking Killer. Tried to convince me to join him.”
Carl sucked on an incisor to express his opinion on the offer.
“And?” Seth asked.
“When Di and Bud died, Big Daddy gave me this apartment as a reward for loyalty,” Carl said. “My mother lived here — safe, sound, and secure — until the day she died. You can’t replace that kind of thing. I just asked for what I’d get because . . . I don’t know — times have changed. Big Daddy’s gone, and no one cares about loyalty anymore. I figured I’d . . .”
Seth reached into his pocket and took out five $100 bills. He pressed them to the man.
“Thank you,” Seth said. “I am known for my loyalty to my friends.”
“You walk around with a wad of money around here, and you’re likely to get mugged,” Carl said with a grin.
“Please take it,” Seth said. “I’m sure you could use it; clearly, I need a friend.”
“Who you can buy off,” Carl said with a snort.
“I can thank him when he’s done something like saving my life,” Seth said.
Something in Seth’s words moved the man. He sniffed and stepped away.
“Listen, we’re going to take up some
of the boards in the kitchen,” Seth said. “We’ll try not to leave a mess.”
“I’ll call the wife and let her know,” Carl said. He nodded to the money. “I wanted to take her to the Caribbean for our fortieth. She’s always wanted to go. I’d never take it if . . .”
“You saved my life,” Seth said. “This is just the start of me thanking you. My agent’s father has a house in the Caribbean — very slick.”
“I couldn’t . . .” Carl started.
“He died recently, and I control his estate,” Seth said. “The man had ten wives, maybe eleven or twelve. We’re still sorting out the paperwork. Loved only one. A bunch of kids . . .”
“Loved only one of them?” Carl asked with a raised eyebrow.
“It was surprising to me, too,” Seth said. “I had always thought that the only thing he loved was his penis.”
Carl burst out laughing.
“Stop entertaining the man, and come and help!” Claire yelled from the kitchen.
“Girlfriend?” Carl asked.
“More like bossy older sister,” Seth said.
Carl nodded.
“Anyway, my agent’s dad’s estate is a mess,” Seth said. “You could stay at his Caribbean house for a month, and no one would know the difference. I’ll tell his son and only named heir. He won’t care.”
“You sure?” Carl asked. His eyes were instantly red with emotion.
“Thank you for being the kind of man who wants to help a drugged and bound man,” Seth said.
“You see the cat?” Carl asked. “Panteli Jr. freaked out about his missing cat. I looked for it after he . . . uh . . .” Carl cleared his throat, “ . . . left, but I couldn’t find it.”
“I have it,” Seth said.
“Panteli Jr. said it was pregnant,” Carl said.
“She’s very sick,” Seth said. “If she survives, she should have four kittens, we think.”
Carl didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Would you like a kitten?” Seth asked.
The Cigarette Killer Page 14