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“I don’t think the police are on my side. They could twist this around on me.”
“You’ve got to trust someone.”
She looked at him through moist, blue eyes. “I trust you.”
That look got to him. He could feel every protective fiber in his body come alive. “I’ll call Tatum. No, I should call Driscoll. Don’t want to antagonize the man any further by going around him.”
“Why did he send them? What does it mean? And why write so many?”
“Whoever it is, is making their play. You’ve got a stalker, Elizabeth, and that person is ratcheting up, growing bolder. More dangerous.”
Her bones seemed to melt as she sank farther into the chair. “You think he killed all those people? Officer Unfriendly and GoodGuy and maybe Court? Mazie? I don’t know.”
“This guy’s MO reminds me of John Hinckley Jr. The nut case who shot President Reagan to impress Jodie Foster.”
Her face turned ashen. “Oh, God. No . . . no . . . he killed Detective Thronson, too. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Who says it has to make sense? You’re talking about a psycho. And this note . . . where is it? Here we go.” He read, “Did you see, Elizabeth? Have you been watching? He got what he deserved and now he abides in whatever special hell is reserved for scum like Channing Renfro. I know there are others working against you. I’ve heard them, seen them, sensed them. But don’t worry, we’ll take them out together, one by one. I’m right behind you, love. Your savior, your soldier.
You don’t see me yet, but you will when I’m ready.
All for you, my love . . . all for you.”
Rex stopped reading and said, “This is a confession. Whoever wrote these notes is behind the deaths. We have to go to the police.”
Elizabeth seemed about to acquiesce when his doorbell rang. She started.
“Stay here,” he ordered, then walked to the front door and peered through the window for a view of the front porch.
Staring back at him was Ravinia.
Dressed in her uniform of dark jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, a jacket and backpack slung over her shoulder, she motioned that she didn’t have her key. She’d taken off on foot this morning to re-up her minutes, but it looked as if that hadn’t worked.
Rex hesitated. Did he really want her to see the letters? Did he want her involved in Elizabeth’s case?
She glared at him. Her expression said it without words. Well, are you going to let me in or what?
Chapter 33
Ravinia sent Rex a speaking look as she walked past him into the kitchen. She knew he was trying to freeze her out in the homicide investigation surrounding Elizabeth and it irked her. Add to that, she’d failed to find a place near Rex’s house in order to get her phone up and running again. And she’d realized he’d set up a rendezvous with Elizabeth while she was gone.
She would have gone on being piqued if Elizabeth hadn’t given her a watery smile, turned her palm to the pile of envelopes on the counter, and said, “Looks like I have a stalker.”
Ravinia dropped her backpack with a thunk and reached for one of the letters.
“Be careful. We’re turning them over to the police, see if we can find any DNA that isn’t ours after we manhandled them,” Rex said.
Her hand froze midair and instead she leaned over one of the nearest letters. They were all laid out, so she could see them without touching them. She read them one by one, and felt the hair lift on her arms at their fervent tone. She read them a second time and frowned. Something about them struck a chord in her. What was it? Something she should recognize, something just out of reach. “They’re weird.”
“Obsessive,” Rex said.
The phrases burned in her brain. “This person feels they can communicate with you mentally. Can they?” She gave Elizabeth a look, wondering if she’d been holding back on her.
“No,” Elizabeth assured her.
“You sure?” Ravinia asked.
“I’m positive. I know these notes say that the writer’s sending messages, but I’m not getting them. Maybe it’s all a lie anyway, designed to make me feel like I’m going crazy. If so, they’re succeeding.”
