Dear Maggie

by Brenda Novak

  Let me know how things are going with your Dr. Dan stories. I’m worried about your safety. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.

  Love, John

  “Jeez! He doesn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to you? Are you sure this isn’t turning into a fatal attraction? He barely knows you,” Darla complained.

  “He doesn’t barely know me. He knows me better than most people. We’ve been writing each other and instant messaging for weeks. I’ve told him things about me I haven’t told anyone else.”

  Darla looked wounded. “Even me?”

  Maggie laughed. “Not you, silly.”

  “Still, he’s never met you, but he’s sure talking like he has.”

  “He’s just a nice, sensitive guy. And I might be blowing it big-time by throwing over someone like him for someone who doesn’t even want to stay home for two hours at a time.”

  Darla glanced back at Zach, who was busy having one of his plastic figurines karate-chop another. “Nick has a second job.”

  “So he says.”

  “At least he works.”

  “I guess.”

  “Anyway, he’ll be home soon. You said he was coming to take you to work, right?” Darla was obviously trying to lift her spirits, but she sounded no more convinced of Nick’s devotion than Maggie was.

  “Yeah, but I’m starting to worry that I’m just one of many.”

  “I didn’t get that impression.”

  Maggie pulled her eyes from John’s message to stare at her best friend. “What impression?”

  “I don’t think Nick has another girlfriend.”

  An inkling of suspicion crept into Maggie’s consciousness. “How would you know?”

  “I’m just saying I don’t think he—”

  “But how would you know?” Maggie persisted.

  “Oh, all right.” Darla propped her hands on her hips. “I was going to tell you eventually. I called him, okay? I called him.”

  Maggie shoved away from her desk and swiveled to face her friend more fully. “You what? Here I am, trying not to smother him in the first few days of this thing and my best friend phones him?”

  “Well, I was worried about you. I asked him what his intentions are.”

  “You’re not my father!”

  “I know, but I had to do it. I’m all you have, out here, anyway.”

  Maggie dropped her head in her hands and rubbed her temples, determined not to let her irritation with Darla hurt her friend’s feelings. Darla meant well, but Maggie wished she hadn’t interfered. Still, after a moment, she couldn’t help asking, “So what did he say?”

  Darla looked sheepish. “He was pretty noncommittal. I didn’t feel any better after we’d hung up.”

  Great! More doubts about Nick. At least John seemed capable of making a commitment; he also seemed ready for one. “If Nick loved me, he’d say so,” Maggie said. “Wouldn’t he? I mean, what could possibly be stopping him? Have I gotten myself involved in another one-sided relationship?”

  “I have wondered if you’ve checked your phone bill lately,” Darla said with a grimace.

  “He’s not using me for that,” Maggie said. “He’s paying two thousand dollars to install an air-conditioning unit this week, he’s already given me a check for the rent and his share of all the bills, and he hasn’t been to the video store once.”

  “Then he can’t be all bad,” Darla said, sounding genuinely impressed. “A girl could do a lot worse. Nick’s good in bed—”

  “Who said he was good in bed?” Maggie interrupted.

  “Are you kidding? It’s written all over your face.”

  Maggie smiled. “Okay, I’ll have to give you that one.”

  “And he’s generous with his money,” Darla went on. “You should be happy, kiddo.”

  Maggie looked gloomily at the underwear that was still sitting on her dresser, the pair Dr. Dan had sent to Mrs. Gruber. “Oh, sure. I’m sleeping with a guy I’m madly in love with, but I don’t know where he goes most of the time. I’m writing off a kind, sensitive guy who could probably love me like Nick can’t. And I have an insane killer out to rape and stab me. I can’t imagine why I’d be having such a bad day.”

  Darla put her arm around Maggie. “Don’t worry, Mags. If anything happens to you, I’ll be sure and take care of Nick. I mean Zach,” she said with a wink, and they both laughed.

  WHEN NICK WENT to pick Maggie up for work, his reception was cool. He tried to draw her into conversation a few times, but she seemed reluctant to talk, and he was too exhausted to push her. At this point, he was so deeply immersed in the investigation, that ensuring her safety was all he felt capable of doing. Which meant their relationship would have to be sorted out later.

  They both said hello to Ed, the security guard behind the reception desk, as they entered the Trib’s lobby and started up the escalator. At the top, Maggie thanked him for the ride and turned resolutely toward her desk.

  Nick watched her go, tempted to confront her about whatever was bothering her, but he knew that if he did, they’d probably end up in an argument. His nerves were so taut, he couldn’t spin the kind of convincing lies it would take to calm her down. She knew something was up; she just didn’t know what.

  He went to his desk and sat down to rest his burning eyes and think. He’d be able to explain everything to Maggie soon, he told himself. Not that the thought of coming clean brought him any comfort. He’d be able to reassure her that there was no one else in his life—like his mysterious nonexistent girlfriend. But he’d made love to Maggie while she thought he was someone he wasn’t—a photographer, not a cop. That wouldn’t go down easily.

  On the positive side, he’d made progress in his profile on Dr. Dan. After placing numerous calls to the lab, the coroner and FBI headquarters, some things were becoming apparent. The women in Boston and Missouri were killed on Friday nights. The two victims in Colorado were murdered on Saturday nights. Because of the timing, Nick had originally guessed that Dr. Dan had a job that kept him busy all week and left him free only on weekends.

  But then the killing pattern had changed. Lola Fillmore was killed on a Monday, and the victims in Sacramento were killed on two different days, Friday and Sunday. Suddenly Dr. Dan seemed to be rambling from city to city, striking at will, regardless of day, which suggested he was now unemployed. However, after speaking to Lalee Wong, the profiler who’d prepared Dr. Dan’s original report, Nick was again convinced that Dr. Dan needed a paycheck in order to survive. He wasn’t someone who lived on the street. He wasn’t independently wealthy. He probably worked off-hours, nights and weekends, and his employment was flexible and blue-collar enough to make finding work easy. Which meant he wasn’t a surgeon or a doctor, even though he was skilled with a knife. A cop wanna-be wouldn’t go through eight years of med school. No, Dr. Dan was a hunter or a survivalist or a trained soldier or…what? What else could he be?

  Nick thought back to the last letter Dr. Dan had sent Maggie, which had started out “To the Public” and blasted the press for disseminating erroneous information fed to them by the police. Dr. Dan tried to set the record straight according to his own twisted mind, insisting that the women he’d killed had deserved to die. Then he ranted about his own brand of justice, boasting several times about his superior intellect compared to everyone else, especially Mendez and Hurley. Soon after the opening, however, the letter became almost incoherent. Dr. Dan’s sentence structure deteriorated until he was using mostly fragments that didn’t make sense. His letter sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, which meant, according to Lalee Wong, that Dr. Dan was growing angry and irrational. Maggie hadn’t cooperated the way he’d wanted her to. In his mind, she’d turned on him, just like Lola. And now that there was a squad car parked in front of her house, he couldn’t act on his desire for revenge, which increased his level of frustration.

  He’d make a move soon, Nick thought. Dr. Dan’s emotions were running too high for him to hid
e out for long—

  Nick’s cell phone rang. Taking a deep breath, he sent a fleeting glance at Maggie, who was busy on her computer half a room away, and answered. “Sorenson here.”

  “This is Detective Jenson. I’ve got something for you.”

  Nick sat up straight, his fatigue miraculously gone. “What is it?”

  “The Boulder police pulled over a blue Geo Metro the day after the murder. The driver matches Dr. Dan’s basic description, at least for height and weight. Name’s Daniel Murrill.”

  Yes! He’d been right. The name, if not the car, confirmed it. Dr. Dan had exaggerated. “And?”

  “He’s originally from Boston.”

  The place of the first murder. “Does he have a record?”

  “Served eight years in the state pen for kidnapping and rape. Got out three years ago.”

  “Any friends or family?”

  “I haven’t been able to gather that information yet, but I’ve got a detective in Boston, the guy who investigated the first murder, helping me out. He’s going to ask a few questions and get back to me tomorrow.”

  “Perfect. Let me know what you turn up.”

  Nick punched the end button and sat back in his chair, feeling a measure of relief for the first time in days. He was getting close. Dr. Dan—Daniel Murrill—might feel invincible. He might think he could taunt Maggie and punish whomever he wanted to, but it wouldn’t be long now before Nick brought him in.

  MONDAY MORNING the HVAC company arrived to install the air-conditioning unit Nick had promised. It took two men working most of the day, but by late afternoon, the house was several degrees cooler.

  At first Maggie swung Zach around in the kitchen, marveling at the difference. But her elation didn’t last. Air conditioning was only air conditioning, after all, and Maggie was worried about something bigger. Nick hadn’t slept in her bed when they returned from work. He’d driven her home, crashed on the couch for a few hours—then he’d left.

  Finally surrendering to the despondency that hovered over her, Maggie cursed herself for falling in love with him, for letting him move in, for wanting him so badly. In an effort to make herself feel better, she exchanged e-mails with John, who commiserated with her and told her if she ever got fed up with Nick, he’d be willing to take his place. But that wasn’t enough. Maggie doubted anyone could take Nick’s place. She picked up the phone to call Darla at work, thinking she’d use the announcement of her new air conditioner as an opener, when the doorbell rang.

  Zach dashed from the lunch table to answer it, but Maggie called him back before he could reach the front room.

  Rambo beat her to the door and stood there, stiff-legged and barking at whoever waited on the other side. Maggie could see a squad car parked across the street but still wasn’t going to open the door without checking the peephole. Stretching up on tiptoe, she saw Detectives Mendez and Hurley.

  She released the bolt, and threw open the door. “Tell me you’ve caught him,” she said.

  A regretful expression appeared on Mendez’s face. “Uh, no, not yet. But we think we know who he is now. Can we come in?”

  Maggie stepped back to admit them, then waved them to the couch. “So who is he?” she asked, sinking onto the loveseat.

  “He’s an ex-con—”

  The door opened again and they all looked up as Nick walked in.

  Maggie blinked at him in surprise. He’d left a check for the air-conditioning company; she hadn’t expected him back before dinner. “What are you doing home?” she asked.

  Zach skirted around her and reached for him, demanding to be held, and Rambo wagged his tail so hard his whole back end moved. They were all crazy about him, Maggie thought.

  “I had a few minutes, so I decided to stop by and see how it went with the air conditioning. Feels good.” Nick lifted Zach into his arms as his eyes flicked over Mendez and Hurley, then returned to Maggie. “What’s going on?”

  “These are the detectives heading up the Dr. Dan case. They think they know who he is.”

  Carrying Zach, Nick crossed the room and sat next to Maggie, holding her son on his lap and simultaneously giving Rambo the attention he craved. “Who is he?” he asked.

  “Daniel Murrill,” Mendez said. “He served eight years in Massachusetts for rape. Released three years ago. Comes from a broken home. Has a background of abuse. We believe his rage against women stems from his relationship with his mother, who sent him to summer camp when he was twelve and—if you can believe it—moved away while he was gone. As far as we know, she hasn’t contacted him since. He went into foster care at that time, but never lasted long in any one household. He was out on his own by the time he was sixteen.”

  “How old is he now?” Maggie asked.

  “Thirty-four.”

  On a personal level, Maggie tried to digest this information, to create a more complete mental picture of the man who wanted her dead, hoping to see him as human and fallible. On a professional level, she sought the details she’d need to write her next article for the paper. “Does he have a wife, kids?”

  “He’s never been married, but he has a son who’s being raised by a woman named Roxanne Rodinsky, who had a brief relationship with him. Evidently there’ve been problems there, too. She moved away without telling anyone where she was going, and she took their son. Her co-workers say she did it to escape Murrill, that he was abusive. He went a little crazy when she up and disappeared, just like his mother.”

  “When was that?” Maggie asked.

  “A little over a year ago.”

  “You think that incident might have been what triggered the murders?”

  Hurley spoke for the first time. “Probably. But Murrill went to prison for rape, remember? He has a history of violence.”

  How could she forget? Dr. Dan now saw her as a betrayer like his mother and girlfriend. Only he knew where she lived.

  “Why didn’t he go after this Rodinsky person or his mother? Why is he taking his anger out on complete strangers?” she asked.

  “Some murderers are completely cowed by the very people they deeply hate,” Mendez said. “In any case, Murrill’s problems started way back in grade school. He fought regularly, was expelled again and again—one time for sending his teacher a drawing he’d made of a man stabbing a woman—and was teased or avoided by the other children. Generally there isn’t a single event that defines a person like Murrill. His psyche grows out of a combination of factors and experiences.”

  “So he’s crazy?”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s crazy. I’ll leave that for the defense attorneys and psychiatrists to argue about.”

  “What kind of work does he do?”

  “He’s a diener.”

  “A what?”

  “A diener. It’s a German word for servant but it’s actually a person who assists in performing autopsies.”

  Autopsies? Maggie was beginning to feel a little queasy imagining Dr. Dan cutting up dead bodies. Nick must have sensed her unease because he took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “So that would explain his talent with a knife,” she said.

  “You bet.”

  “Is he a doctor of some sort, then?”

  “No. The Dr. Dan bit was probably his attempt to feel as powerful as those who exercise authority over him. Dieners generally have no formal training. But many have some background in the funeral industry. It seems that one of Dr. Dan’s foster families owned a funeral home, so that’s probably where he got his start.”

  “What is the life of a diener like?” she asked.

  “It’s not pretty,” Mendez said. “They do a lot of the dirty work, load the body onto the table, open the chest cavity, that sort of thing.”

  Maggie made a face. “What would make anyone accept such a job? Are they well paid?”

  “Not especially, but management tends to leave them alone, so they have more autonomy than other workers at their pay-grade and level of education. We actually found the hospit
al where Dr. Dan’s been working here in Sacramento, but he had an argument with one of the pathologists three days ago and was fired.”

  Maggie’s heart sank. They’d come that close and missed him? “He’s been working at a hospital here in town? Why didn’t anyone recognize him and call in?”

  Mendez shrugged. “Why don’t we find more perps through composites? They grow a beard or wear a wig or dye their hair, and they no longer resemble the two-dimensional picture. And it’s not like the whole hospital staff ever saw him. Being a diener is pretty solitary. Murrill went in late at night and spent the majority of his time with one, maybe two, pathologists, who were concentrating on the job at hand. They may not have seen the paper or paid attention to the story if they did. There’re a lot of possible reasons.”

  “But can’t the hospital give you his address? It should be on his application for employment.”

  “It was a bogus address. No one bothered to check.”

  “So what did his co-workers say he was like?”

  “Strange, secretive, quiet,” Hurley said.

  “Maybe he’ll be moving on now that he’s lost his job. Maybe he already has,” Maggie said, wishing she didn’t sound so hopeful.

  Mendez exchanged a look with Nick that Maggie didn’t quite understand. “We don’t think so. He called you after he was fired. We don’t think he’ll go away until he comes for you.”

  Until he came for her? Maggie knew Dr. Dan wanted to hurt her, but hearing Detective Mendez say something like that just seemed so fatalistic. She tightened her grip on Nick’s hand. “What are you saying? We sit back and wait?”

  Mendez glanced at Nick again. “Actually, we have an idea we’d like to put into action, something we think will draw him out.”

  A tremor of foreboding skittered up Maggie’s spine. Drawing an animal out of its den required some sort of bait; humans weren’t much different. And she knew perfectly well whom Mendez wanted to use as bait. “What’s your idea?” she asked.