‘I never saw him in the flesh, but -‘

‘But it’s like a younger version of –‘

‘Gleason, yes.’

Josh walked over to the model, compelled by a horrific fascination for the man who had destroyed so many lives – even after death. He reached out and touched the maquette, the wet clay leaving a sticky imprint on his finger.

Both of them were thinking the same thing, but neither of them wanted to articulate their fears. Finally, Kate broke the silence.

‘I never met him, but it can only be him, right?’

‘Seems that way. Fuck, why didn’t we think about it?’

‘I know. But there’s no use punishing yourself. If someone is declared dead then obviously –‘

Josh’s cell rang. It was Lansing.

‘We’ve just got the DNA analysis back from Reeves.’

‘And?’

‘We’ve run a check with the national database. There were no direct hits, meaning that the guy has never been convicted of a serious crime, but the strange thing is that he –‘

‘Let me guess. Shares a significant amount of yDNA with none other than Robert Gleason.’

‘Yeah. How did you know?’

‘I can’t go into it now,’ said Josh. ‘But I want you to bring Roberta Gleason in for questioning. And I need you to pull out the report on the death of Ryan Gleason. He died in a car accident in April 2004. Body found in a canyon between Moreno Valley and Banning. Also – can you find out the names of men aged between 20 and 45 who were reported missing around the same date.’

‘What’s the deal?’

‘I’ll explain everything when I get back,’ said Josh, cutting the line.

51

He drafted the letters carefully, shaping each phrase with the skill of a professional, choosing each word as if every expression were a matter of life and death. Which was entirely appropriate.

He started with the parents of little Sara-Jane.

Dear Mr and Mrs Gable,

I am sorry to have to write this letter when you are still in the process of grieving. But I have recently come across a piece of information that I think you should know. The subject which I am referring to is the passing of your darling daughter, Sara-Jane.

I realise how precious she was to you. Each human life is something magical, something sacred. But your daughter was like a pearl beyond price. For her to be taken away from you in such a sudden and cruel way must be painful beyond belief.

I cannot imagine your suffering. They say it lessens with time, but I’m not so sure about that. In some circumstances, the pain increases until it consumes your whole life. I don’t know how you are coping, but if this is how you feel I can totally sympathise with you.

Often the best way to try and ease the suffering is to address it honestly. There is no point trying to bury it away for it to fester and distort. That can be destructive to one’s self and one’s nearest and dearest. Of course I cannot direct you – each of us is, after all, the sum of our genetic inheritance, parental influences, infantile perceptions, and psychological profile – but I would advise you to try and express your grief. To let it flow out of you just as an old-fashioned medic would use a leech to draw out the poison from your blood.

The information that has come into my possession relates to the person who took Sara-Jane from you. In short, I know who her killer was. I don’t want anything for this information. No money. No payback. Nothing at all from you. I only ask you to use the information as you see fit.

Whether you want to go to the cops with the name of the individual concerned is up to you. I would not caution you against it, but I do have one caveat in this respect. Of course, the law authorities would do their job. No doubt they would hunt down the killer and it is likely the murderer would go to prison. Even though this state has the death penalty, you know the length of the appeals procedure, and how some killers die from natural causes while on death row rather than from the injection. As a result, the man who killed your daughter would most likely spend the rest of his life in San Quentin. Although he would be locked up, still he would be free to savour and enjoy each day, something your little daughter is unable to do. She does not have that privilege. Her killer took that right from her. He robbed her of her life.

I don’t want to get all philosophical about it, but all I want to say is that personally I would not blame you if you took the law into your own hands. Your actions would be interpreted as a simple case of lex talionis, an appropriate punishment for such a barbaric act as that suffered by poor Sara-Jane and you, her parents, who continue to suffer every waking moment of every day.

Your other concern may be whether I am playing some kind of cruel hoax. Such an action would be unforgivable. But of course the thought will no doubt cross your minds. That is completely natural. But I can reassure you I am telling the truth in this respect. How do I know this information, you may well ask yourselves. And why do I not go to the police with it? Two good questions. To the first, I can only tell you that I came across the information during the course of my job. And to the second? Well, let’s just say that I no longer believe in the moral accountability of our state’s correctional facilities.

As I said the information is here for you to do with it what you will. I hope it might help you gain some respite from your sufferings. God bless you.

Yours,

A well-wisher.

Information on the killer of Sara-Jane Gable

Name: Carl Reckard

Age: 36

Address: 20941 Itasca St, Chatsworth, 91311, LA.

Appearance: Dark hair, thinning. Brown/black eyes. Square-jaw. High forehead. Photograph attached

He re-read the letter, pressed the print button on the keyboard and waited for the paper to spool of the printer. He clipped the photograph to the sheet, sealed it and addressed the envelope to Joe and Susan Gable. He then made himself a fresh carrot and apple juice, adding a few sprigs of celery for an additional spot of internal cleansing, and then drafted the other letters. There was one to Paul Taylor, the boyfriend of Alison Lowrie, the girl found on the dunes near Guerrero Negro. And one to Jackson Weeks, the man whose tongue had been ripped from his mouth who was now living in some hostel for the homeless. He didn’t know whether Weeks could read or not and so he kept that one short and to the point. There was no point getting all philosophical with him.

He didn’t know what response he might have. Maybe nothing would happen. But it was worth a try. What was the phrase? Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. Galatians 6:7, if he wasn’t mistaken.