Midnight Rambler_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [29]
“Why is Skell different?”
Linderman paused to give me a probing stare.
“That's a good question. You believe that Skell is a pedophile who evolved into a serial killer. I think he's evolved even further. He's used his superior intellect to become organized and ruthlessly efficient. A killing machine, if you like. Only he can't do any killing from behind bars, so he's now orchestrating his own release from prison.”
“You think he's behind this smear campaign against me?”
“Absolutely.”
“What do Leonard Snook and Lorna Sue Mutter stand to gain, besides seeing themselves on TV?”
“A million-dollar movie deal.”
“But that's illegal.”
“Skell can't profit from his crimes, but his wife can, and she's signed a contract with a Hollywood studio,” Linderman said. “According to the FBI's sources, she's cut Snook in on the deal. He's getting a 20 percent cut and is executive producer.”
“Did you tell the police and the DA?”
“I briefed Bobby Russo and the district attorney yesterday,” Linderman said. “They both felt that unless more evidence was found linking Skell to his victims, he'll be released from Starke.”
Linderman was describing my worst nightmare, and I slowly came out of my chair.
“What can I do?”
“Keep digging for evidence,” Linderman said. “You should also be thinking about what you're going to do if Skell is released.”
His words were slow to register.
“Do?” I asked.
“If Skell walks, he'll come after you. You're the person he's most afraid of, as evidenced by the campaign he's waging against you. In order for him to continue to survive and practice his rituals, he'll have to take you out of the picture.”
My office grew deathly still. The silence was so complete that I felt as if I were underwater.
“What about Melinda Peters?” I asked. “Will Skell go after her, too?”
“That would be a logical assumption. Melinda is the object of Skell's murderous fantasies and is responsible for him going to jail. More than likely, she will be his first target.”
“What do you suggest she do?”
“Run.”
That was easy for Linderman to say. Melinda had left home as a teenager, and like so many runaways, she had no place to run to.
Linderman looked at his watch. Then he stood up.
“I'm sorry, but I need to go.”
“Of course,” I said.
Linderman took out his business card and placed it on my desk. He thanked me for the coffee and urged me to stay in touch. Then he walked out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bob Dylan said, “You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”
I sat at my desk and stared into space. Although Linderman had left an hour ago, his presence hung like an odorless cloud. I thought about the timing of his appearance and the fact that our meeting had ended with a warning about my safety. It could mean only one thing: he knew something I didn't.
But what? Before paying me a visit, Linderman had met with Bobby Russo and the DA and shared the same information that he gave me. I had worked with the FBI enough times to know that this sharing didn't come without a price. Linderman got something in return, and I spent the next twenty minutes trying to determine what it was.
Buster crawled out from beneath my desk and stuck his head in my crotch, a cue that he wanted his ears scratched. I obliged him, and when I was done, he wagged his butt, then went to the door and whined. It was the same routine every day. Nap, scratch, pee. If only my own life were so simple.
I put my elbows on my desk and rested my head in my hands. I'd never been good for sitting in one place for very long pondering life's impossibilities. I was better on my feet and moving around. But this situation deserved serious thought, and I played back Linderman's warning.
If Skell walks, he'll come after you.
It wasn't the kind of thing someone in law enforcement would say to a brother-in-arms. Skell was in prison for first-degree murder, and for him to be set free, certain legal steps had to