“We could report minimal information,” Will said. “Unidentified body found in Spring Grove Cemetery. Cheryl Beth said Smith didn’t have any relatives. So no relatives are going to be interviewed on television. We can order the gardener to shut up. This killer wants to be famous. He wants everybody peeing in their pants wondering where his next ‘art show’ will be. Notice how he types and prints out this note, then puts it in a plastic cover, in case it rains. He wants attention. We could take it even further and say we don’t know whether it’s a suicide or a homicide, or even the cause of death. That’d mind-fuck this master criminal back.”
“I like it,” Dodds said. “The only problem is, he might be tempted to send the note to the newspaper. Hell, he might be tempted to try another killing.”
“So?” Will said. “He addressed the note to me. Who do you think his next victim would be?”
Dodds studied him and raised his eyebrows. “I hope to god you sleep with Cheryl Beth before he cuts your dick off.”
Cheryl Beth was finishing up the post-shift conferences with her students when she saw Will walking down the hall. He looked handsome, but he was holding one shoulder too high, and his face looked exhausted. She complimented him on how he looked in his suit.
“Can we go somewhere?”
“Yes.” She steered him into a family waiting room that was remarkably empty and they sat down.
“What happened?” She took his hands. They were well-shaped and warm, but had fresh abrasions.
“I fell last night.” He smiled. “You swept me off my feet.”
“Are you hurting?”
He shook his head. “Cheryl Beth, Noah Smith is dead.”
Somewhere deep inside she had somehow been expecting this news. Still, it felt as if the end of a baseball bat had been driven into her stomach. “Oh, no. Suicide?”
“No. He was killed like the others.”
“What?”
As he gave her the details, she was first slightly nauseous, then frightened. She was good at controlling herself, but she knew this showed all over her face. She could hear her mother’s voice: “You’re an open book, Cheryl Beth.”
“And he left you a note?”
“It was addressed specifically to me,” he said. “Otherwise, they were going to take me off the case. Goddamned cripple.” His face was a mask of disgust.
“Stop that. You’re not a cripple. You only walk with a cane. It adds character. I think you’re very attractive.”
He let himself smile. “That’s funny, because I think you are, too.” After a pause: “I used to be good at flirting, but I’m way out of practice.”
She patted his arm. “You’re doing well, detective. I don’t understand how this could happen. I saw Noah in the bookstore yesterday. He actually tracked me down. Kind of surprised me, but he seemed desperate for someone to believe him. He thought Hank Brooks was following him.”