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My eyes locked on the headline blaring in bold type: LETTER FROM A KILLER. At that same moment, my phone started to ring. I knew there had to be a connection.
The entire front page of the New York Daily News was a letter from the person claiming to be our killer.
To the Women of New York:
Now that you see what I can do, you are right to be afraid. Respect the fear.
I know how to watch. I know how to kill. I know how to evade the police.
Your arrogance has been your downfall. I am the one in control, not you.
Think of the one who has killed the most. I am better than him.
And I’m about to prove it. Again. And again. And again. And again.
Bobby Fisher
The NYPD hadn’t gotten any heads-up about the publication of this letter. My phone kept ringing and ringing. I was getting multiple calls from management.
The only one I answered was from Harry Grissom.
Chapter 42
Daniel Ott walked the streets of Manhattan. He had to get to work in Queens, but that could wait.
Now that his letter was finally out there, he sensed people were acting differently, and he wanted to experience how it felt to walk among them. As he walked, he noticed that the crowds still bustled about, bumping and pushing, but their overall energy felt more tentative. He also noticed more people reading actual newspapers. Ott realized he was starting to get quite a kick out of seeing how others reacted to his hobby.
How scared they seemed.
He couldn’t suppress his smile. I did this.
Ott pulled a copy of the New York Daily News out of his bag. He’d already read the article that accompanied his letter to the paper. He’d read it six times. Every time, he’d gotten even more excited. He loved that the reporter called him a “maestro of death” who played “a genius game of cat and mouse with the police.”
Ott contemplated sending another letter, maybe to a national newspaper, like USA Today. He wondered if he should mention the other cities he’d visited, then he hesitated, concerned that someone might piece together his travel itinerary. It was a long shot but one he’d rather not risk. Maybe he’d just point out how clever he was in arranging his counting messages. He couldn’t deny the thrill he got from boldly taunting the police.
His phone rang. It was too early in the morning for his usual call with his wife and daughters, but Lena said she needed to talk to him. After Ott spoke to his two daughters for a few minutes, and listened to their stories about the neighbor’s dog and how they were learning to use computers almost as well as their dad, they gave the phone back to his wife.
Lena seemed upset. She told him that this morning an older woman had bullied her at the grocery store.
“I was standing in the meat aisle when she reached over and pulled a package of pork chops right out of my hand. She looked at me, then walked away with the pork chops in her basket.”
“What did you do?”
“I let it go. I decided it wasn’t worth arguing over pork chops. Plus, she was old.”
Ott said, “That’s what makes you so special. You’re not an arrogant bully like so many American women. You stay exactly the way you are. I hope we can raise our daughters to be just like you.”
“Aren’t you sweet,” Lena said. “Do you know yet when you’ll be home?”
“I have a couple more things to do here in New York City. I’ll head back probably sometime late next week.”
“The girls and I can’t wait to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see all of you.”
After he finished the call, Ott contemplated his next move.
Helping his wife through a trying experience made him feel that he was repaying part of the debt he owed her. He owed her at least as much as he did his former employers, and that bothered him a little bit.
