Chapter 59

THE NEXT DAY HELD two very nasty surprises for me, as surprises so often are. The first was news that Kyle Craig had murdered his mother out in Colorado. And he had left a Hallmark greeting card-unsigned-for us to find. That meant either he was getting confidential information from a source inside the MPD or somehow he was communicating with the killer, with DCAK. Was that possible? And if it was, what the hell was the relationship between the two of them?

This wasn’t the first time Kyle had communicated with other killers, I knew. There had been Casanova and the Gentleman Caller, possibly Mr. Smith. And now DCAK? Maybe even the lawyer in Colorado had been a killer. Or was he just a follower? A devotee?

Late in the day, I received the second jolt, and it came from Brian Kitzmiller, who called and asked me to check out something on the Internet. He directed me to the site in question. Great news-somebody had set up a blog for me. I began to read and felt a little sick as I did.

You call yourself the Dragon Slayer? What’s that about? Fantasy role-playing games? Are you a gamer, Cross? What excites you? Moves you? You’ve piqued my curiosity. After all, you are the one who caught the great Kyle Craig.

Let’s say I’m watching you and your family a great deal these days. And I notice you’re spending a lot of “alone time” in little Ali’s bedroom late at night. Am I wrong about that? I don’t think so, but feel free to defend yourself from all accusations and rumors.

And Bree Stone-what are we to make of her? Who was the last female you managed to see for any length of time?

You’re an insomniac, right? Of course I’m right. Well, wait until you see what’s coming soon. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Sweet dreams, Dr. Detective Cross.

And then there were photographs.

Of the house on Fifth Street.

The cars in the driveway.

Nana Mama leaving the house with Ali.

Bree, Sampson, and I at FedExField after we were called over there.

He was watching us-we were the ones under surveillance.

Chapter 60

NO ONE EXACTLY GETS why Sampson and I like Zinny’s, not even us, which is probably one of the reasons we’re attracted to it. It’s a long black box of a joint in Southeast, just a bar and some booths, with a floor that’s never even close to being clean. Sampson, Bree, and I brought Brian Kitzmiller there late that night for a little Southeast initiation, but mostly because none of us could stop working this case.

Things were crazier than ever. There was the possibility that Kyle Craig was involved in some strange way, and maybe DCAK was watching us. Maybe even tonight?

Some pieces were starting to come together. Tess Olsen had been writing a book about Craig called The Mastermind. Was Kyle behind any of this? Or all of it? It fit his pattern. He had contacted killers before-and used them. If he was the brain, then what were the roles of DCAK and the lawyer Mason Wainwright? And were there any others in on the game?

Bree brought over the first round of drinks. “This one’s on me, guys. Thanks for everything so far. I owe you. You especially,” she said, and kissed the side of my head. I have no idea why, but just that got me horny for Bree. I wished the two of us were alone now. At her place, in my car, anywhere at all would be just fine.

She sat down beside me and lifted her glass high. “Here’s to a really shitty couple of days. I’d have gone home, but I know Mr. Ramirez would still be in my dreams. And his dead daughter too-and her three sisters. And Mrs. Olsen.”

“There’s a madman running around out there. Couple of them, maybe. It happens,” Sampson said. “Not your fault, Bree. I feel for the man, but Ramirez was out of line.”

“Listen,” Kitz said, “here’s an idea. Maybe a little crazy. So it must be good, right? Have you guys ever heard of the Unhinged Tour?”

I lowered my beer. “I’ve seen a few mentions online. What about it? Speaking of crazies…”

“It’s one of the touring shows about serial killers. But the point is it’s in Baltimore in a couple of days.”

“Show?” Sampson asked. “Like onstage?”

“More like a convention,” Kitz said. “They call it a ‘gathering for people with an interest in forensic psychology.’ ”

“Meaning serial-killer freaks. And, let me guess, comic-book geeks too?” Sampson said.

Kitz nodded, smiled, sipped his beer. “You got it right. That’s the demo.” He went on, “We’d have to scramble a little, but I don’t think they’d say no to a groundbreaking lecture on an open serial case, especially this one. Dr. Alex Cross could probably headline if he wanted to. At a minimum, it would draw a roomful of ideal field witnesses. That alone would get us a broader-based investigation. Maybe open up a few new channels.”

Bree started to laugh. “You are crazy, Kitz. Couldn’t hurt, though. And if we’re lucky, really fortunate, we’ll draw in DCAK himself. He says he likes to watch us, after all.”

Kitz nodded, then grinned mischievously. “Who the hell knows how his mind works? Something like this could be irresistible to someone like him. Or his copycat. So what do you say?”

We looked at one another, trying to think of a good reason why we shouldn’t go ahead with Kitz’s idea.

“This isn’t really a Cyber thing, is it?” Bree finally said. “How do you know so much?”

“Oh, you know. Word gets around.” Kitz sounded almost breezy.

Sampson’s face lit up. He slapped the table and pointed at Kitzmiller. “You go to these freaky things, don’t you? On your own time.”

“No, no.” Kitz picked up his drink again, then added quietly, “Not anymore.”

The three of us started to laugh, which was a good thing, real good, a necessary release.

Bree leaned into him and purred, “Ohh, Kitzy, you’re a full-blown geek, aren’t you?”

“And he cleans up so nice,” I said.

“What about you guys?” Kitz asked. “Anyone remind you lately what you do for a living? Just because you don’t go to the public shows doesn’t mean you aren’t cut from the same cloth as the people who do.”

We gave him about five seconds of respectful silence before we laughed in his face again.

But then I added, “Folks, I do believe we have an op to run.”

“But not tonight,” Bree said, hooking her arm into mine, then escorting me out of Zinny’s. “All this freaking talk,” she whispered to me, “it’s got me going. Besides, like I said-I owe you.”

“And I plan to collect.”

“With interest, I hope.”

We lasted all the way over to her place, but just barely, and not to the bedroom.