If you're accepting commissions, I'd very much like to discuss this project further. I'm available to meet at your convenience, though I understand the need for discretion given the specialized nature of the work.
Please let me know if this type of commission interests you.
Best regards,
Dr. Lila North
Forensic Psychology Consultant
I read the email three times before the full implications settle into my mind like ice water in my veins. Every word has been chosen with surgical precision, each phrase carrying multiple layers of meaning that would be invisible to casual observers but scream significance to anyone who understands the context.
"Particular expertise." "Hidden compartments." "Proper methodology." "Understanding of underlying structure." "The way you position elements."
This isn't a furniture inquiry. This is coded communication from someone who knows exactly who I am and what I've done.
I run a quick background search on Dr. Lila North's financial history, looking for any evidence that she's previously commissioned custom furniture or shown interest in antique restoration. Nothing. Her credit history shows purchases consistent with someone who shops at conventional retail outlets—department stores, online retailers, chain furniture stores. No previous contact with craftsmen or artisans, no pattern of investing in custom pieces.
The forensic psychology consultant has no legitimate reason to contact a furniture restorer about hidden compartments and precise methodology.
But the sixteen-year-old who helped me position her father's body nine years ago might have very good reasons to make contact now, when someone is using my signature to kill innocent people.
I analyze each sentence again, looking for additional layers of meaning. "Sensitive documents" could refer to our correspondence, the letters we exchanged for months after her father's death. "External examination" versus "spaces accessible only to someone who understands the proper methodology" speaks directly to crime scene analysis—the difference between what investigators see and what someone with intimate knowledge of my work would recognize.
"I've seen examples of your restoration work" could mean she's studied my historical cases, knows the positioning patterns that define my signature. "The way you position elements within a piece" is almost certainly reference to how I arranged the bodies, the careful attention to angles and spacing that made my work distinctive.
The offer to meet "at your convenience" with "understanding the need for discretion" suggests she knows I'm operating under assumed identity, that direct contact carries risks for both of us.
But it's the phrase "specialized nature of the work" that confirms what I've suspected since the email arrived. This isn't really about furniture at all. It's about work that's specialized in ways most people can't comprehend, work that requires understanding of psychology and anatomy and the careful application of violence toward specific ends.
I lean back in the hotel room's uncomfortable chair, processing the implications. Dr. Lila North knows who Kent Shepherd really is. And she's reached out using carefully coded language that acknowledges our shared history without explicitly incriminating either of us.
The question is how long she's known.
Her professional website lists three years at her current practice, but that doesn't tell me when she started putting the pieces together. Did she recognize my methods immediately when the Marcus Chen case crossed her desk? Has she been tracking my activities for months or years, building a profile while maintaining her professional obligations?
Or did the similarities to my work trigger memories she's carried for nine years, forcing her to confront the possibility that the Carver has returned to active operation?
Either way, she's taken the initiative to make contact. She's gambling that our connection transcends the intervening years, that whatever understanding we shared in her father's kitchen remains strong enough to bridge the gap between who we were then and who we've become now.
It's a calculated risk that could destroy both our carefully constructed lives if anyone intercepts this communication or if I've changed in ways that make me a threat rather than an ally.
But she's taken the risk anyway. Which suggests either desperation or trust, possibly both.
I draft seventeen different responses before settling on something that matches her tone and careful ambiguity:
Dr. North,
Thank you for your inquiry. I appreciate your interest in my work, and I believe I understand the type of piece you're describing.
Custom projects requiring specialized compartments and attention to underlying structure are indeed within my area of expertise. I have experience with pieces that need to appear conventional while serving more complex purposes.
I'd be happy to discuss the specifications in person. Given the sensitive nature of such work, I prefer to meet in neutral locations where we can speak freely about methodology and design requirements.
I'm currently working in the city and could meet as early as tomorrow evening. Please let me know if this timeline works for your schedule.
Best regards,K. Shepherd
I reread my response, checking for anything that might incriminate us if the wrong person sees it. Like her original message, it maintains the furniture restoration cover while acknowledging deeper layers of meaning. "Sensitive nature of such work" and "speak freely about methodology" should confirm that I understand we're not really discussing cabinetry.
