The police, the FBI or anyone else for that matter will never be able to search my house. Before I die, I’ll set the timer for the bomb I’ve constructed.

The only solace I take in this scenario is that Sarah will join me in death. Together, we’ll travel through the next world – and there is a next world. I’m not a religious man, but I do know that the love we share is something that survives death. Only a monster would believe otherwise.

I could drive back home and do it now. Head downstairs to the basement and then come back up and spare us both what’s coming down the road.

No, that won’t work. There’s no way Sarah won’t see the rifle. I don’t want to scare her. Better to wait until she’s asleep. It’ll be more peaceful that way. Humane.

There’s another option: set the bomb, then crawl into bed and make love to her one last time before the blast rips us apart and scatters our remains for miles. The bomb’s construction is simple but crudely effective: a timer connected to five sticks of dynamite, with blasting caps stolen from a locked storage facility at a construction site.

Then my thoughts shift to the picture tucked into my coat pocket. All that work I put into researching Angela Blake and the others, and now I can’t take her or Tricia Lamont or anyone else, all because of that red-headed bitch the FBI sent here.

In my mind’s eye I see my father’s steamer trunk. It sits in a corner of the basement, near my Springfield. The magazines are long gone – my whore of a mother saw to that, burning them in our backyard fire pit – but I still have my father’s uniform and belt, which, while snug, do fit me. In addition to the dynamite and blasting caps, the trunk houses a few other treasures I’ve collected over the years. I pull over to the side of the road, complete a U-turn and drive home.

23

After the briefing, Darby and Hoder went to Police Chief Robinson’s office, a cramped, windowless space with a pair of well-worn chairs placed in front of a well-worn desk that looked like it had been picked up at a garage sale. All the furniture had the same discarded feel. The only brightness in the room came from the scattered framed photographs hanging on the wall – pictures of the police chief hunting and fly-fishing with friends and his grandson, a small boy with a thick mop of brown hair that covered his ears.

Hoder took a chair in front of the police chief’s desk. Robinson sat on the other side, the receiver for his office phone pressed against an ear, one hand massaging his forehead. Darby was too wired to sit, but she didn’t want to pace around the room and have Hoder and Robinson think the texts had rattled her. Instead, she leaned against a filing cabinet, her arm propped on the top.

The man who had photographed her last night had sent copies of the pictures to every Red Hill cop. Ray Williams had signed out a squad car and gone to meet the four men who were out on patrol this morning, to make sure they deleted the pictures from their cell phones. Deputy Sheriff Lancaster had received copies as well.

Coop had tried to call her on her cell, but the signal had dropped. She’d phoned back from a land-line but had been connected straight to voicemail. She’d left a message explaining what had happened.

Robinson was saying something to her.

‘Sorry, could you repeat that?’

‘I said I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share anything with Teddy Lancaster until these cases are pulled from us.’

‘Is Lancaster a part of the investigation now?’

‘Right now, I’d say he’s more like an overseer, you know, making sure our people do their jobs. But it’s only a matter of time until the powers that be yank this from us. Thing is, and it pains me to admit this, Teddy’s got the manpower. We don’t.’

Robinson leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his stomach. ‘Ray told me about your little run-in with Teddy last night. Nelson’s version is that Teddy bullied his way into the house. Told him to keep his yap shut. Nelson said he went along with it because he didn’t want to be out of a job. When the incorporation goes through, Teddy’s gonna have the power to hire and fire.’

‘Shit always rises to the top.’

Robinson laughed softly. Then his face turned serious. ‘Nelson’s suspended for two weeks, without pay. After that, he goes in front of a conduct review board comprised of Brewster cops. Want to guess which way that’s gonna turn out?’

There was no anger in the police chief’s voice, just a matter-of-fact weariness. He turned to Hoder and said, ‘We’ve got a website like everyone else on the planet. Our office emails and phone numbers are listed on it, but not our cells, so I have no idea how this guy got access to those. What about you? You advertise?’

‘I’m not listed on the Bureau’s website,’ Hoder said.

‘Miss McCormick?’

‘I don’t have a website and I’m not on Facebook, Twitter or any of those things,’ she said. ‘He got our phone numbers some other way.’

Robinson scratched his chin thoughtfully, his fingernails scraping across his whiskers. ‘Here’s what I don’t get,’ he said. ‘The Ripper hasn’t made contact with anyone associated with the case before. Then you arrive and he decides to come out of the woodwork. Why?’

‘Calling me last night and sending out those pictures within the space of twelve hours – the whole thing smacks of desperation. He’s afraid we’ll find out something.’

‘Not we. You. Why’d he call you and not Hoder? He’s got the higher profile.’

‘Hoder’s not a woman,’ Darby said. ‘Our guy’s thinking he can rattle my cage. That I’m going to, I dunno, break down and cry, pack my bags and skedaddle.

‘I think he made a mistake at the Downes house – that clean-up job in the corner of the bedroom. Now he’s trying to scare me off with the pictures. Were you told that I was coming here to assist Agents Hoder and Cooper?’

Robinson nodded. ‘They both told me. And Williams.’

‘What about the rest of your men? Was some sort of email sent out? Announcement made?’

‘No and no. Why?’

‘Agent Hoder told me this morning that a reporter tried to interview him for a piece that ran in yesterday’s paper. After the meeting, I used the computer in Williams’s office to read the story. My name wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the article. I arrive yesterday to find that another family has been killed. Then it’s like you just said – within the space of twelve hours I receive a phone call and then skin pics of me are sent out. What’s that say to you?’

Robinson looked like he had swallowed a jar of thumbtacks. ‘You’re suggesting the Red Hill Ripper might be a cop?’

‘I’m saying someone has access to restricted information – in this case, all the cell numbers of your people. Could be a cop or it could be a civilian who works for you or in another department. Your people’s contact info is stored on a computer database, right?’

‘Sure. All your details are in here. I added them myself.’

‘What about the place where I’m staying? Is that listed?’

‘Everyone in town knows where you’re staying. It’s the only hotel left in town.’

‘But how did he know which room to watch?’

Robinson didn’t answer. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Miss McCormick, I’m not trying to cause you any further embarrassment, but I’d like to be frank, get my thoughts –’

‘Ask your questions.’

‘It’s fair to say the Ripper gets his rocks off strangling women. We know for a fact that someone watched you undressing in your hotel room last night, called and threatened you, and then sent out the pictures.’

‘You’re wondering if he’s targeted me as a potential victim?’

‘I’m inclined to take this threat seriously. Aren’t you?’

‘Has he contacted any of his previous victims?’

‘Nothing we’ve found indicates he did.’

‘Then why would he suddenly break the pattern with me? Why bother putting himself on our radar screen? If he really views me as a potential victim, he wouldn’t announce himself that way. He’d stay in the shadows and wait. The only reason for calling me and sending out those pictures was to embarrass me. To get me to leave.’