by Rick Mofina
“Okay,” Harding told Tanner and Knox, “we kept the letter on Allison’s desk, right over here where she was opening the mail.”
“We’ll need to talk to everyone who’s handled it,” Knox said.
“Excuse me,” Magda interrupted as she emerged from her office. The sight of the investigators, some wearing sidearms and T-shirts saying FBI Evidence Response Team, and carrying equipment cases, made her jittery. “I’m Magdalena Pierce. I’m in charge of this bureau. What’re you doing?”
“They need to process the letter,” Harding told her after quick introductions and displays of IDs.
“Not without a warrant. That letter is ANPA property,” Magda said.
“Ma’am, if I may,” Knox said. “You’re correct. It is your property and we can get a warrant. But we’re hoping you’ll volunteer it to us. It would speed up the process for everyone. Otherwise, getting a warrant will just keep us here that much longer.”
She hesitated for a moment.
“Let me call our headquarters in New York.”
Magda left and Harding caught up with her in her office.
“If we volunteer the letter we can make a case for exclusivity,” he said.
“I want to get a story out ASAP.”
“So do I, but do you want to be first, or do you want to be right?”
She stared at him and then glanced at the investigators waiting down the hall.
“We already own this story,” he said. “We have to play this right.”
“Let me call New York.”
Harding returned to the group and took Tanner aside. From down the hall they watched Magda through the office glass walls while she spoke to the ANPA’s world headquarters.
“You used us with that first story, didn’t you?” Harding said to Tanner.
“We gave you an exclusive, Mark.”
“You never once believed the killer was dead. You used our story to goad him to reveal himself. You know more about him.”
Tanner remained silent. His face betrayed nothing.
“Look, Joe, I’m trying to get you the letter now. Work with me. How about you give us a copy of the message the killer left you?”
“I can’t.” He glanced over his shoulder. “See Agent Knox and my partner there, on the phone? They’re working on the warrant. We’re going to get that letter, Mark.”
Magda stepped from her office and waved Knox, Tanner and Harding inside and pressed a button to activate her speakerphone.
“I’ve got Sebastian Strother, ANPA executive news editor, on speaker with Herschel Abramowitz, ANPA legal. Gentlemen,” Magda said. “And joining us in my office, we have Agent Brad Knox of the L.A. FBI and Detective Joe Tanner, L.A. County Sheriff’s office, with Mark Harding.”
“Thank you,” Strother said. “Magdalena’s briefed us and we have a few questions. We’re aware that with a warrant that is likely forthcoming, you’ll obtain the letter, so the ANPA turning it over to you for analysis is a foregone conclusion.”
“That’s correct,” Knox said.
“Have you received any other calls from any other news outlets indicating receipt of communication from the alleged killer, in the wake of our first report on the case?”
Knox and Tanner exchanged glances.
“None,” Tanner said.
“All right” Strother said. “You will not need a warrant. The AllNews Press Agency will provide you the letter on the condition we have copies of its contents and with the understanding that the task force will alert us to the surfacing of any other communication from the killer in time for us to produce a story. We’ll give you five hours for analysis.”
“We’ll need forty-eight to confirm its authenticity and process it fully.”
Strother muted his line for several seconds.
“We’ll agree to those terms provided you maintain cooperation with the ANPA for the duration of the analysis and the duration of the investigation.”
“Agreed,” Tanner said.
The FBI specialists set to work. Allison Porter was questioned about receipt of the letter. Had she made any new folds or notes on it? Had she marked it? Where did she touch it? Was she the only person in the office to touch it directly? Would she volunteer a set of elimination fingerprints?
The investigators also questioned the people who managed the building about mail delivery and who would have handled the letter. They alerted the U.S. Postal Inspection Service. The FBI people photographed and provided copies of the letter to Tanner and the ANPA as promised. Finally, they collected the original envelope and its contents in protective cellophane bags so they could be taken to the lab for further analysis.
It took a few hours.
“We’ll be in touch,” Tanner told Harding before leaving.
In the car, on their return trip to their homicide bureau in Commerce, Tanner studied his color copies of the letter. The quality was so good they looked original.
“What do you think, Joe?” Zurn asked him. “Is it our guy?”
“I don’t know for sure.”
“If it is, it’s going to scare a lot of people.”
“If it is, this could be our only shot at him.”
28
San Marino, California
The piercing whine of the high-speed table saw filled Robert Bowen’s garage as he carefully moved a sheet of three-quarter-inch plywood along the pencil line.
Another perfect piece.
Bowen enjoyed the smell of fresh-cut lumber as he brushed away sawdust. He was pleased his work was proceeding well. Since returning home a few days ago from the cabin, then a trip flying executives to Dallas, Denver and Phoenix, he had a number of tasks to take care of, in addition to the several chores he’d promised to do for Claire.
Maybe when he completed them it would change her frame of mind. She’d become a bit cooler toward him over the past few weeks, a little standoffish. At times it was if she were looking at him differently while trying to mask it. Maybe her moodiness was a side effect of her new treatment? Whatever it was, he was too busy to give it much thought.
He set the new piece aside and prepared to cut another. When that was done, he measured and cut two more pieces, this time using the pine. He positioned them all with others on his worktable, reached for his power drill and fastened the sections in place with screws.
Soon the wooden sections evolved into a sturdy oblong box with latticework between the ribbing. He stretched his measuring tape to check its dimensions: two feet wide, six feet long and two feet deep.
It would do nicely.
The rattle of aluminum at the approach to the open door of his garage distracted him from his work.
“Gosh, Bob, what’re you building there, a coffin?”
Gabe Taylor, the Bowens’ neighbor, had Bowen’s metal extension ladder on his shoulder. Taylor was a retired lawyer. He and his wife, Margie, sang in their church choir.
“I saw your gate open and garage door up and thought, Bob’s home,” Taylor grunted as he and Bowen successfully replaced the ladder on the wall hooks. “Thanks again for rushing over with your ladder to help me last week with that window problem. Good neighbors are such a blessing. Margie’s making you one of her blue-ribbon apple pies.”
“She doesn’t have to go to all that trouble, Gabe.”
“She’s happy to do it.”
The older, heavier man padded his brow with the back of his arm and exhaled as he looked over the box.
“She enjoys it, and now that you’re our famous local hero, it gives her bragging rights with the alto section. So, what’s this you’re making?”
“It’s a planter box. I’ve been catching up on a few chores for Claire. She wanted two for the patio.”
“I see. It looks like a fine job. I won’t keep you from your important work. Thanks again.” Gabe extended his hand and shook Bowen’s. As he left he said, “Margie will be by later with the pie.”
“Tell her thanks, Gabe.”
Bowen got him
self a glass of cold lemonade from the kitchen before he resumed measuring and cutting, which took him into the late afternoon. He was still working when Claire’s Toyota rolled into the driveway.
He was putting the finishing touches on the second planter box when she kissed his cheek. She looked good in her cream suit, he thought.
“I see you finally got around to my planter boxes,” she observed, running her hand over the sanded parts of the fragrant wood.
“Just have to stain them. I’m thinking of making a few extras.”
“I’m impressed. I can’t wait to load them up with flowers.”
“How did your day go?” he asked.
“Fine. Very busy.”
The cordless house phone started ringing. It was on the bench next to Claire and she answered. Bowen only heard her side of the short conversation.
“Hello?… Yes… Yes, it is… Well, of course, Mr. Montero, I remember you from the hospital. Yes… My goodness, how thoughtful.” Claire threw a glance to him. “Thursday? At seven-thirty? I’ll check with Robert… Really? How wonderful. Yes, I’ll check with him and we’ll get back to you…. Yes, yes, thanks again.”
Claire hung up.
“That was Ruben Montero, the husband of the woman and baby from the car.”
“So I gathered.”
“His community association is having its annual banquet Thursday. They want us to come.”
“Why?”
“When the crash happened, Ruben’s wife, Maria, had been doing work for the association.”
“I recall something about that.”
“Well, the association board voted unanimously to make you the guest of honor and give you an award for your bravery.”
He gave a little half smile. “I don’t know, Claire.”
“Don’t be modest, Robert. Besides, Ruben sounds like a nice man and he said it would mean a lot to him, his family and friends. It’ll be easy. We go to the dinner, you stand up and say thanks and everyone’s happy.”
He didn’t respond. He was clearly thinking it over.
“What harm could it do, Robert? All part of being a local hero.”
“All right. If you want to, sure.”
Claire nodded, then shifted the subject.
“I’ve got a lot of work backed up that I want to get at after dinner. I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “What do you say about ordering a pizza tonight?”
“Sure.”
She went into the house, leaving him in the garage thinking, there it is again-that ever-so-subtle coolness.
He didn’t have time to dwell on that.
He glanced under his work table. Hidden behind the small piles of scrap wood, concealed under the tarp, was a third oblong box.
This one had a sealable lid at the halfway point, creating a false bottom.
Whatever he was going to put under that lid would never escape.
29
San Marino, California
Claire stood in her bathrobe and stared into the mirror for nearly two minutes after her shower, brushing her hair while fighting tears.
She and Robert had made love last night but it was passionless and clinical, bordering on awful.
Something’s wrong between us. Robert’s changed. Something’s different. Or is it me? Maybe I’m reacting to the new injections?
I have to stop this. It’s nuts.
Look at the positives, she told herself while dressing. I love Robert and I know he loves me. We’re closer than ever to starting a family. Maybe I’m pregnant now. Why am I so uneasy about Robert?
What has he done? Seriously, what has he done?
I have no proof he’s done anything wrong. So I overheard a bit of a phone conversation out of context, found an old photo, so what? Maybe I misread his post-traumatic stress as something else? My qualms about him having feelings for his ex-wife are based on nothing concrete. I should push them aside.
The doorbell rang. Claire heard Robert pay the pizza delivery kid. She savored the aroma as she went to the kitchen.
They passed the time eating and making small talk about her garden plans, while avoiding prickly subjects like the nursery or selling the cabin. They both had things to do that evening. Claire needed to review files. Robert had to go to the Van Nuys airport for a pilots’ meeting about a new plane the company was acquiring.
“I might be out quite late,” he said as they cleared the table.
Afterward, when Claire heard the side door open and close, Robert’s departure left her with a pang of regret. He was a good-hearted man, who would risk his life for strangers. He’d always been kind and protective. Rather than analyzing him, Claire needed to focus on her patients.
After tidying up in the kitchen, she went to work in her home office, reviewing and updating her patient notes. All of her patients had worrisome cases, but the patient Claire felt the most concern for was Amber.
It had been about two weeks since Amber’s estranged husband, Eric, had assaulted her and threatened Claire in the office parking lot. Amber had since resumed living alone in the house in Alhambra. But Claire was still wary of Eric, having experienced his wrath firsthand that day. As Claire reread Amber’s file, she slid her small silver cross back and forth on her necklace chain.
Claire did not like the fact that after the attack Eric had violated the court’s no-contact order by writing to Amber and pleading for reconciliation; something Amber had considered, despite Claire’s advice to the contrary. Claire was concerned. Eric was a dangerous, manipulative man and Amber seemed to be weakening. Claire consulted the calendar. Amber’s next session was coming up soon. Good, Claire thought, there were a number of areas they needed to address.
Claire’s cell phone rang. The caller’s number was blocked.
“Hey, Claire.”
She’d recognized Julie’s voice.
“Hey, there.”
“Sorry, it’s been ages,” Julie said. “We’ve been swamped. So how are you?”
“Oh, you know, the same old-except I’ve just started the treatment.”
“I see.”
The silence that passed underscored where they’d left matters-with the understanding that Claire was going to wait on her treatment until Julie had taken care of Claire’s request she check out Robert’s phone history.
“I couldn’t put it off,” Claire said. “It’s timed to my cycle and my doctor would’ve had questions, then there’s the cost.”
“It’s okay, I know,” Julie said. “Congratulations. My fingers are crossed for you. I called to let you know that I did not forget my assignment. I looked into the phone numbers like you asked.”
“And?”
“I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. All pretty innocuous stuff, nothing tied to Cynthia that I could see.”
A tiny wave of relief rippled through Claire.
“I guess this confirms that I was being silly.”
“I did discover something.”
“What do you mean?”
“In trying to find Cynthia’s surname, I had a search done of California’s divorce records. Nothing surfaced for her, nothing at all. In fact, there’s no record of Robert Bowen’s divorce in the State.”
“Oh, well, that’s not surprising. I think he was married in Montana, or someplace like that. Before we met he’d lived in a lot of different places.”
“Yeah, I remembered you telling me. So, seeing this as a challenge I had a search done nationwide of all court records, thinking surely we’d find Robert and Cynthia’s papers.”
“And?”
“Nothing. It’s quite the mystery, very odd. I was thinking that if you might be able to somehow get a bit more info, like where they were living at the time of the divorce, or where they were married then I could…”
Claire went deaf to what Julie was saying. She felt the earth shift under her, resurrecting her doubts. How could this be? How could I be married to him and not know something so basic?
“Claire? Did y
ou hear me?”
“Sorry.”
“You and Robert were married in Mexico, so you both had to supply divorce decrees, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll work with our contacts in Mexico and see if I can get information on Cynthia from the documentation Robert would’ve provided the Mexican authorities, okay?”
Silence passed.
“Hello? Claire?”
“Yes, sorry.”
“So, do you want me to keep looking into this?”
Claire’s mouth had gone dry and she licked her lips and swallowed.
“Yes.”
30
San Marino, California
Arriving at work the next morning, Claire saw two San Marino police cars in her parking lot.
Their revolving emergency lights were splashing red and blue throughout the neighborhood. Claire spotted a third police vehicle in the lot, an SUV with a caged rear interior. A ribbon of yellow tape stretched around the building. Uniformed officers were talking on the front sidewalk with staff from the offices of the dermatologist, optometrist and dentist that were also in her building.
Claire parked, grabbed her bags and got out.
Alice, her assistant, materialized and went to her at the same time as barking echoed from the rear of the building. An officer in tactical clothing hurried behind the taut clinking leash of a dog with its snout to the ground, tracking a scent leading away from the building and deep into the neighborhood.
Alice’s face was creased with worry. “Someone broke into the office last night!”
“Oh, no!”
“I got here first thing this morning and saw broken glass on the floor at the back. The door frame was all splintered. They went through all the offices, trying to pry open filing cabinets and going through desks.”
Police radio transmissions crackled. The women turned and Claire recognized Deena Freeman, one of the officers who’d responded when Amber’s husband assaulted her in the parking lot.