“And I don’t have ti
me for any bull.”
“Oh, I know it.” He was nodding as he unzipped his jacket and reached into a deceptively large pocket to withdraw a wide ziplock bag. Through the clear plastic were two items: a manila envelope addressed in block letters to Manny Douglas, c/o the Mountain Reporter with the newspaper’s post office address included, and a picture.
Pescoli’s stomach dropped when she realized the 5x7 was a photo of Judge Samuels-Piquard, a head shot that she’d used in her latest campaign to be reelected to the bench. When she flipped the picture over, she saw, scrawled across in the back in black ink, a simple message:
WHO’S NEXT?
“This is evidence,” Pescoli told him flatly. “You have to leave it here.”
“I know.”
“It came today, in the envelope?”
“That’s right.”
“Who touched it?”
“In our office, just the mail clerk and me, I think. You’ve got my prints on file and I told Gary, he’s the clerk, that if he wasn’t in the system, he needed to come down here and be printed so you can compare and eliminate him.”
“It’s a long shot anyway,” she thought, but figured there might be a partial print and possibly DNA in the seal of the envelope from the killer’s saliva.
This was their first big break.
“Kinda obvious the killer isn’t finished yet. He has more victims planned.”
She felt sick inside. He was right. Why else the note on the back of the photo? “So why do you think the killer decided to send this to you?” she asked.
Palms out, his hands spread wide, he said, “I’m the best.”
“Oh, right. I guess I forgot for a second.”
“So what do you say?” Manny asked, eyebrows raising in anticipation, arching over the rims of his glasses.
“Okay, fine. You’re up to bat first, but no exclusive.”
“And you should know, we’re running with the story that the picture came in to us and we’re working closely with the department. You have anything else I can add?”
“Nothing you can’t get from the public information officer.”
He sighed theatrically. “Darla Vale isn’t all that forthcoming.”
“You mean she denied you an exclusive too.”
“Something like that.”
“I guess you’d better get used to it.”
“Come on, Pescoli. A little tit for tat here, okay. At least give me first call?”
She glanced down at the photograph and felt a shiver slide down her spine. Who the hell were they dealing with? What kind of psycho had decided to taunt them, and the question he asked, Who’s next? was a warning that he wasn’t yet done. She felt, in negotiating with Manny Douglas as if she were bargaining with the devil. Well, so be it. He was just ambitious to a fault. “Just don’t get in the way of the investigation,” she warned.
He held up both palms in surrender.
“Good.”
“But I’m going to hold you to this deal, that you call me first if there’s a break in the case.”