Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [110]
Again the pause for applause. The mayor removed a stringy strand of hair from his forehead and placed it back on this top of his head. He knew where the applause breaks were in his speech, and his audience didn’t let him down—they clapped long and hard, with a few cheers and whistles sprinkled in.
“And so,” he continued, “I am creating a special task force to oversee the apprehension of the man known as the Slasher.”
More applause. Lee looked at Chuck, standing behind the mayor, his normally impassive face grim. He shifted from one foot to the other, coughed, and looked away. He’s not enjoying this, Lee thought. It was clear that his friend did not like the mayor. He wondered if the mayor knew this. If he did, he was too professional to show it.
After introducing everyone, he stepped back and clapped a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. Lee saw Morton stiffen at the gesture. He managed to force out a stony smile, but Lee wasn’t fooled. The mayor didn’t seem to notice, though, and Lee concluded that he hadn’t gotten where he was by paying attention to every little slight. Like most successful politicians, the mayor had control over his emotions in public. He managed somehow to look both serious and hopeful.
“I am confident that Captain Morton will be successful in leading the elite task force to the successful capture of this heinous criminal.”
“Elite task force, huh?” Butts muttered under his breath. “Wait till the wife hears that one.”
“What does this mean for us?” Lee asked Chuck later, as the three of them walked uptown, passing the Chinese merchants piling empty wooden crates and bags of garbage on the narrow curb of Mott Street, the fading sun casting a golden glow over the jumble of streets and alleyways.
“Not much. More paperwork, more of City Hall breathing down my neck, but it’s really just a political gesture. He doesn’t want the FBI barging in, for one thing, and so he’s fluffing up his feathers and strutting around the yard a little.”
“Politics,” Butts said, kicking at an empty carton.
“I think I’ll leave that up to the mayor,” Chuck said.
“I just hope he does right by us,” Lee remarked.
“What I want to know is where the hell is Nelson?” Chuck fumed. “Does he do this often?” he asked Lee. “I mean, just drop out of sight like this?”
“Since the death of his wife his behavior has been pretty unpredictable,” Lee replied.
Chuck kicked at a discarded soda can on the sidewalk in front of him.
“Well, he really picked a bad time to go on a bender, if that’s what he’s doing.”
Lee looked over his shoulder at the thin trail of sunlight dipping in and out between the buildings. He was afraid something had happened to Nelson, but he didn’t want to say that to Chuck, who had enough to worry about right now. But he knew he needed to fill Morton in on what happened last night.
“The killer contacted me last night—or at least I think it was him,” he said.
Chuck stopped walking.
“What? How?”
Lee told Chuck and Butts about the instant messages of the previous night, including the threat to “strike closer to home” next time.
“Wonder what he meant by that?” Butts mused.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out. Maybe he meant closer to me?”
“But he just did Manhattan,” Butts pointed out.
“Or maybe he means his home,” Chuck suggested.
“But that wouldn’t make sense in terms of the patterns of most serial killers. His first victim would be the one closest to his residence. Besides, the message was meant for me.”
“Jeez,” said Butts, shaking his head as he stepped over a wayward garbage bag on the sidewalk.
“Can we trace him, do you think?” Lee asked Chuck.
“I’ll check with the folks in the Computer Crimes Division, but I think there