The Anniversary Man

by R.J. Ellory

  SEEK FORGIVENESS, REPENT YOUR SINS, AND I WILL SET YOU FREE.

  And then he gave instructions that the photographs of all his victims be printed beneath his words, with the final caution:

  And if you do not do this I will send another family of sinners to Hell.

  At least six.

  Perhaps more.

  And after that it will become personal.

  The letter was not signed, there was no attention-getting alias.

  And the collected gathering of men who stood in the boardroom of The Times and looked down at that letter - among them Ray Irving and Bill Farraday, the paper′s editor, assistant editor, news-desk co-ordinator, two lawyers on contract to The Times who were permanently stationed on the premises - men who, between them, had seen and heard a great deal of life, were somehow diminished and incapacitated by the chilling simplicity and brutal frankness of the letter.

  Irving wanted to know who had touched the letter, and he called the Fourth to have someone come over to take prints for elimination purposes.

  Farraday spoke to the precinct desk sergeant, told him to call the assistant district attorney and Chief Ellmann, to find whatever homicide detectives might be within the city limits who were not actually busy at a crime scene, and bring them all together at the Fourth for eleven a.m.

  The paper′s lawyers took the situation under advisement, initially concurred with Farraday′s instruction that no such headline be printed, said they would take orders from the DA′s office on this one. This was not a situation with which they were familiar. They handled slander and libel litigation, they were experts in such matters, not in criminal law. Here, there were lives at risk. They backed out of the office and disappeared.

  Irving and Farraday left the meeting close to ten. They′d arrived in separate cars and departed the same way, Farraday carrying the letter in a clear plastic envelope, and he drove it directly to Jeff Turner who would supervise the analysis and organize a copy of it for Farraday to take to the meeting at the Fourth.

  Irving and Farraday met again in the incident room at quarter of eleven. Homicide Detectives Ron Hudson and Vernon Gifford were present, and within moments Irving heard Assistant DA Paul Sonnenburg making his way up the stairs, cellphone in hand, arguing with someone about ′the unalterable fact that they have nothing more than circumstantial evidence, for God′s sake.′ He ended the call with a dismissive grunt as he stepped into the room, and after nodding an acknowledgement to those present he asked who else was due.

  ′Just the Chief,′ Farraday said, and indicated where he should sit.

  Ellmann arrived four minutes late. He made no excuses, took his chair and read the copy letter. He handed it back to Farraday, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  ′How many have you got that can work on this?′ he asked.

  ′Right now three,′ Farraday replied. ′Irving here. You′ve read his reports. He′s been at this since the beginning. Hudson and Gifford can be reassigned.′

  ′Who′s on the original letter?′

  ′Jeff Turner.′

  ′Isn′t he doing the tunnel girl?′

  ′Done already,′ Irving interjected. ′Autopsy and crime scene reports are on their way.′

  ′Your take?′ Ellmann asked Irving.

  Irving shook his head. ′I don′t doubt that he′ll do what he says. It′s simply a matter of how long before it happens.′

  ′And is there anything in this letter that you think can help us?′

  ′Maybe,′ he replied. ′I think everything he does is done for a reason. I think every word of that has been chosen—′

  Ellmann cut across him. ′What do we have to do to get it out of think and into know?′

  ′Give me a little time . . . ? ′ Irving said, a questioning tone in his voice.

  Ellmann looked at his watch. ′I have meetings,′ he said, and started to rise from his chair. ′Back here at two, and I need answers by then. Nothing goes in the papers, nothing at all.′ He indicated that Farraday should follow him from the room. Words were exchanged at the top of the stairwell before Ellmann left.

  Farraday stepped back into the room. ′So?′ he asked Irving.

  ′Let me deal with the letter,′ Irving said. ′I need a little time with this.′

  ′To do what?′

  Irving rose from his chair. ′To figure out what it really means.′

  ′You think it means something other than what it says? Seems pretty damned simple to me. Print this bullshit or he kills another six.′

  ′That′s what I′m going to find out.′

  ′Don′t disappear, do not switch your phone off,′ Farraday said. ′Back here by one. And I need some progress, okay?′

  Irving was already dialing Karen Langley′s number as he left the room; it was ringing before he reached the top of the stairs.

  FIFTY-TWO

  ′The only question,′ John Costello said, ′is whether he′s in fact a T religious nut, which I seriously doubt, or is all this simply a misdirector? ′

  ′And the second thing,′ Karen Langley said, ′is who does he mean when he says that after this it′s going to get personal?′

  The three of them - Irving, Costello and Karen Langley - were seated in Langley′s office. By the time Irving had arrived it was already eleven-forty.

  Costello reached for the letter again, read through it once more, closed his eyes for a moment.

  ′The Shawcross letter, the one in the Zodiac cipher, was simply a transcription of an already extant letter. The Henry Lee Lucas letter, the one with the word missing, was exactly as Lucas wrote it but with the girl′s name removed. This one—′

  ′Is all his own work?′ Irving asked.

  ′I′m certainly not familiar with anything that looks or sounds like this,′ Costello said, ′but that doesn′t mean that someone else who knows more about letters and written testimonials of serial killers wouldn′t recognize it. Someone like Leonard Beck, maybe.′

  ′The letter collector, yes. Maybe he would know,′ Irving said.

  ′And I tell you who else might be able to shed some light on this,′ Costello went on. ′If only from the viewpoint that there could be any number of hidden meanings in it.′

  ′Who is that?′

  ′The people from the Winterbourne meetings,′ Costello said.

  ′You think—? ′

  Costello got up from his chair and walked to the door. ′You call your guy,′ he said. ′I′ll call mine.′

  Leonard Beck was pleased to assist, though he was on the far side of the city and had a meeting to attend. He remembered his discussion with Irving in September, was somewhat concerned to hear that Irving was still investigating the same case.

  ′They don′t go away,′ Irving said. ′Not until you actually find the truth.′

  ′So I don′t know how I can help you,′ Beck said.

  ′I have a letter,′ Irving explained. ′It has Bible references and references to earlier murders, and there′s a threat at the end of it that says if we don′t do a certain thing that the author requires then there will be further killings.′

  ′Well, well, standard egotistical shit,′ Beck said sarcastically. ′And what do you want from me?′

  ′I would like you to take a look at it, see if it reminds you of any earlier letter you might have come across.′

  ′Don′t you guys have entire units that deal with this sort of thing? Doesn′t the FBI have profilers and document analysts and—′

  ′They do,′ Irving said, ′but this isn′t a federal case. The only line they could come in on is the kidnapping angle, and right now we have nothing more than circumstantial evidence to suggest that any victims were kidnapped.′

  ′You have access to a computer and a scanner?′

  ′I can get one.′

  ′So scan it and e-mail it to me . . . I′ll take a look.′

  ′You′d need to do it now, Doctor Beck . . . before your meeting.′

&nb
sp; ′So send it now. You got a pen?′

  ′Sure.′

  Beck gave Irving his e-mail address. Irving hung up, gave the document to Karen who scanned it, attached it, sent it to Beck.

  ′And if your captain finds out that you did this?′ she asked as she watched the e-mail go.

  ′Then I don′t have a job,′ Irving said, ′and you′ll have to take me in.′

  Moments later Costello appeared in the doorway. ′You′ve got five of them,′ he said breathlessly. ′One of the women is out of town, but the others are willing to help . . . not here, though, and not at a police station. There′s a hotel on 45th near the Stevens Tower. They′ll meet us there at quarter of one.′

  Irving was shaking his head. ′I′m supposed to be back at the Fourth by one.′

  ′So you′ll be late,′ Costello said.

  Irving glanced at his watch. ′We need to leave in the next ten minutes,′ he said, and then his cell rang.

  ′Detective Irving?′

  ′Doctor Beck. You got it?′

  ′Got it, looked at it . . . doesn′t seem familiar to me. Truth is that there are thousands of letters with Bible references, but as far as it being the same as any letter I′ve seen . . .′ He left the sentence incomplete. He didn′t need to say anything further.

  ′Doctor Beck?′

  ′Yes.′

  ′I need you to do something for me.′

  ′You need me to delete the e-mail from the computer, and this conversation never happened, right?′

  ′Right,′ Irving said.

  ′Consider it done, Detective, and good luck with this thing.′

  ′Appreciated, Doctor Beck, really appreciated.′

  Irving ended the call and looked up at Costello. ′We′re out of here then,′ he said, to which Karen Langley responded by reaching for her jacket.

  Irving raised his eyebrows.

  ′You don′t think I′m gonna sit here and wait while you pair run around the city do you?′

  ′Karen—′

  She raised her hand, a clear and emphatic gesture. ′Not another word, Ray. I′m coming.′

  Irving looked at Costello, who smiled, shrugged his shoulders. ′Not my war,′ he said. ′You fight your own battles.′

  FIFTY-THREE

  The five available members of the Winterbourne group arrived punctually, no more than a handful of minutes between the first and the last. Irving hadn′t known what to expect - anxious and subdued individuals showing an abundance of nervous traits perhaps, but that was not what he got. The people who entered the room one after the other appeared no different from the thousands of professionals who travelled daily on the subway, or drove to work, who raised families all over the city. John Costello introduced them and each one shook hands with Irving, with Langley, and then took a seat around the semi-circular meeting table in the center of the room.

  Three women - Alison Cotten, early thirties, an attractive brunette not dissimilar in appearance to Karen Langley; Barbara Floyd, half a dozen years older than Alison, short hair almost too severe for her face, but a relaxed and natural manner that gave her the appearance of one accustomed to listening; lastly, Rebecca Holzman, mid- to late twenties, blonde hair, green eyes, a little too much make-up disguising a rash of acne that covered the lower half of her face and much of her neck. Of the two men present, the first - George Curtis - was in his early to mid-fifties, with a shock of grey hair that gave him the look of a math professor or somesuch. Beside him sat Eugene Baumann, immaculately dressed in a midnight blue three-piece suit, white shirt and pale blue tie - the kind of man who would manage a bank, or make senior partner in a substantial city law firm. Nevertheless, Irving imagined that how they appeared and who they really were was more than likely worlds apart. If nothing else, John Costello was testament to the fact that appearances belied reality.

  Costello sat to Irving′s right, and it was he who spoke first.

  ′This is Detective Ray Irving of the Fourth Precinct Homicide Division. And this,′ he added, indicating Karen Langley to Irving′s left, ′is Karen Langley, the senior crime correspondent for the City Herald . . . and as I said when I called you all, we need your help with something.′

  Baumann leaned forward, cleared his throat, and addressed Irving. ′I′m willing to do whatever I can, Detective, but I can only give you half an hour of my time at the moment.′ He glanced at his watch. ′Obviously, if this is a longer term thing then I′m sure—′

  Irving smiled. ′Frankly, Mr Baumann, I have less time than you today. This is something very straightforward, and you′ll either be able to shed some light on it or not, but before I explain the situation, I want to make it very clear that there must be an understanding here. Whatever we discuss stays inside this room—′

  ′I don′t think you should have any concern whatever about that,′ Alison Cotten said. ′Because of our personal circumstances, we′re precisely the kind of people who do not, and would not, want to draw attention to ourselves.′ She smiled patiently, as if she knew things that Irving could never begin to comprehend.

  ′I didn′t mean to imply that—′

  ′Let′s cut to the chase, eh, Detective?′ Curtis said. ′How do you think we might be able to help you?′

  Irving started talking. He went back to Mia Grant, right back to the beginning as he knew it, and summarized the nature of the case. He spoke of the replica killings, the Shawcross letter, the use of the Zodiac code, and then he produced the latest letter that had been mailed to The Times and held it up for them to see. After a moment or two he passed it to Costello, who gave it to Barbara Floyd. Each of them studied the letter in turn, read back through it, consulted with one another. Irving let them be, watched as they asked and answered questions of each other, as suggestions were made, and it was only when Eugene Baumann slid the letter back toward him that he realized they had come to some sort of conclusive viewpoint.

  ′It means nothing,′ Baumann said. ′It makes no real sense. The only hookers were the Carol-Anne girl you spoke of, and the other girl in Central Park. The teenage girls weren′t prostitutes, right?′

  ′Right,′ Irving replied.

  ′Seems that the only significant element here is the threat itself, that he will kill six more people if you don′t get this printed in the newspaper, and in my opinion . . .′ Baumann paused and looked at the other members of the Winterbourne group.

  ′It makes sense,′ Rebecca Holzman said. ′As far as the date is concerned, you know?′ She smiled. ′Richard Segretti could be a help to us right now. He knew everything there was to know about this.′

  Irving frowned.

  ′He was a member of the group some while ago,′ Baumann said, ′but as far as I know he moved out of New York.′

  ′It′s DeFeo, isn′t it?′ Costello suddenly interjected.

  Baumann smiled. ′You didn′t need us here, did you?′ he said. ′You have Costello.′ He started to rise from his chair.

  ′What?′ Irving said, the sense of agitation evident in his voice. ′What do you mean, DeFeo?′

  ′Tell him,′ Costello said to Curtis.

  ′The DeFeo killings,′ Curtis said. ′November 13th, 1974, the anniversary of which is just over a week from now.′

  Costello turned and looked at Irving. ′You ever hear of a movie called The Amityville Horror?′

  ′Sure,′ Irving said. ′I′ve seen it.′

  ′That was based on a book written in the seventies,′ George Curtis said. ′Supposed to be about paranormal phenomena witnessed by the family who moved into one-twelve Ocean Drive after the DeFeo killings. The parents were murdered, Ronald and Louise DeFeo, and four of their kids. Dawn, Allison, Marc and John. Ronald junior was the eldest, and he was . . . well, he was convicted of their murders.′

  ′You sound uncertain,′ Irving said.

  ′There were inconsistencies,′ Curtis said. ′The eldest girl, Dawn, was eighteen years old. Firearm discharge residue was found on her night-gown, whi
ch indicated she might have held and fired a gun herself, and there were other things too . . . but Ronald DeFeo was convicted of six counts of second-degree. He was given six consecutive twenty-five-to-life terms. He′s up in Green Haven, right, John?′

  Costello nodded. ′Yes, Green Haven Correctional in Beekman.′

  ′Family was all killed with a 35-caliber Marlin rifle,′ Baumann said. ′Speed with which it was done, the fact that the weapon wasn′t silenced, and the way the bodies were found . . . all face down, none of them tied up, none of them sedated, and right to the last one it looked like the sound of the gun going off didn′t wake any of them . . . all these things were inconsistencies in the original case.′

  ′Yet DeFeo was convicted,′ Costello said. ′He′s made numerous pleas for parole but all of them have been declined.′

  ′So is that what we′re dealing with here?′ Irving asked.

  ′Only thing that rings true,′ Curtis said. ′He rants about hookers, but his victims have primarily been teenagers, boys and girls. Only two of the ten have actually been prostitutes.′

  Irving looked at the letter once again, unable to ignore a sense of impending horror at what was happening. And it was his case, ultimately his responsibility alone, to direct, decide, delegate and act.

  The Anniversary Man had promised another six killings and, if past experience was anything to go by, he seemed to have no great difficulty in keeping his word.

  Fifteen minutes later the meeting disbanded.

  Irving and Langley, Costello beside them, thanked each of the five as they left.

  The last one to leave was Eugene Baumann, who paused for a moment and leaned close to Irving.

  ′I was attacked in 1989,′ he said. ′I spent four months in a coma, and while I was getting ready to die my wife had an affair with a much younger man. Last week I had a medical check. Doctor said I was healthier than I′ve ever been. My wife, however, has a very serious heart condition and might not make Christmas. What I went through taught me something very valuable. Taught me that the only real failure was to give up fighting. Cliched sure, but what the hell eh?′ He smiled warmly, gripped Irving′s hand. ′You call me if there′s anything I can do. John knows how to reach me. I might be a little crazy, but what the hell, if there′s something I can do I′ll do it.′