Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“It’s about Star-Crossed.”

“And?” Alvarez said, leaning forward slightly.

“Seems he’s decided to make me his pen pal.”

Grayson thought he hadn’t heard right. “What?”

368

Lisa Jackson

Manny was already reaching into his jacket. He withdrew a large manila envelope, the front of which was addressed to him in the same block letters that were used in all of the notes left at the crime scene.

Manny tipped up the envelope and the contents spilled out—pages of white paper. Each page was slightly different, the notes shorter or longer. With the notes were pictures, colored photographs of all of the victims bound to the trees where they had died.

“Jesus,” Alvarez whispered.

Grayson felt his throat tighten. “Where did you get this?”

“Compliments of the U.S. mail.”

“Is Pescoli—?” Alvarez whispered.

“No.” Manny was firm. “These are the originals I received, but I’ve kept copies of the notes and the pictures. Most of the women I’ve identified, and I’ve figured out their initials are part of the killer’s note. But the last ones must be still out in the woods somewhere.”

Grayson stared down at the longest note and felt only a little relief that the letters R and P for Regan Pescoli weren’t a part of the message—at least, not yet.

“Last ones?” Alvarez repeated. Then, “Brandy Hooper,” as, looking pale, she stared at the new message:

B E W A R

T H E S C

I O N ’

H

“We’re going to press with a special edition,”

Manny said.

“You can’t print this!” Grayson declared.

CHOSEN TO DIE

369

The reporter shot back with, “The public has a right to know!”

“I’ll decide what the public is allowed to know. First we need to locate these women, try to save them, if possible, notify next of kin, and we can’t let out all the details of these notes.” Grayson wanted to throttle the little weasel.

“This is my story, Grayson, and I’m going to run with it.”

“Not without my say-so. I’ll get a court order to see that this is kept under wraps until the appropriate time.” Grayson was beyond angry now. He felt a tic throbbing at his temples and it was all he could do not to throw the smug little bastard into jail for the rest of his rotten life.

But Douglas wasn’t intimidated. “Then, Sheriff, I want an exclusive.”

“You can’t have it.”