Spider - Michael Morley [70]
‘Your line of expertise?’ whispered Fernandez, a little too loudly for only Howie to hear.
‘Back to the point,’ said Jack, rescuing his buddy. ‘I buy the egotist angles, that’s certainly all over the note, but not the idea that this guy is after publicity. He’s not a headline hunter. That theory would stand up if he’d sent the heads to the press, but he didn’t, he deliberately sent them to law enforcement offices, so it’s much more like he’s throwing down a challenge to us.’
‘We all need to spend a lot more time on the note,’ added Massimo. ‘As Jack said, we will be sending a copy over to you, and I’m sure we’ll be having a much longer discussion about this.’ He turned his left wrist to check his watch and couldn’t help thinking of the saw cut across the same joint on Cristina Barbuggiani. ‘As time is moving on, let’s briefly discuss item number four, the package that contained the head that I am told is of Sarah Kearney, one of BRK’s earliest – maybe even first – victims.’
‘Okay,’ said Howie, unfastening his shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves in a businesslike manner. ‘I don’t want to get everyone too excited, but we’ve got some good news. We’ve got a healthy trail on the delivery of the package. It was shipped through Myrtle International by a company called UMail2 Anywhere. Turns out they’re a very small courier company, just local to Myrtle Beach, and we’ve found who the pick-up boy was.’
‘Did he get a good look at the customer?’ asked Massimo, trying to hold back a surge of hope. A description of the killer would be a real breakthrough.
‘We think so,’ said Howie. ‘It’s a guy called Stan Mossman. Not at work today, seems he’s got a pile of time off, days worked in-lieu, that sort of thing. He’s thought to be partying out of state with friends. We don’t know where, or we’d already have pulled him in. We’ve got someone from the local office out on his patch and hot on his heels, so hopefully we’ll interview him tomorrow when he’s due back.’
‘Where was the pick-up?’ asked Jack.
‘Out at the Days Inn,’ answered Fernandez. ‘The Grand Strand on South Ocean Boulevard. Cheap and cheerful, just a spit from the airport.’
‘That figures,’ said Jack. ‘I put my money on our killer catching a flight from Myrtle within as short a time as possible from the moment that he handed over that package to Mossman.’
‘Va bene,’ said Massimo, enthusiastically. ‘This could be the most valuable thing we have. If you get a photo-fit together then we must talk quickly about issuing it in both our countries. Dealing with the scarafaggi will be bearable if they can help save the life of his next potential victim.’
Jack was the only one not looking optimistic. Something just wasn’t right. It’s such a loose end; BRK would never leave such a loose end.
And then he realized what it was.
‘Howie, are you one hundred per cent sure your witness – this Stan guy – is out of state having fun, and he’s not already dead and buried somewhere?’
‘Shit!’ said Howie, suddenly seeing the grim possibility. ‘You’re thinking BRK whacked him before he caught his plane?’
‘That’s absolutely what I’m thinking,’ confirmed Jack. ‘When was our man Stan’s last day at work?’
Fernandez looked down at her notes. ‘July first. The date we got the package posted to us. No one’s seen him since then.’
42
San Quirico D’Orcia, Tuscany
The warm house lights and the dinner-table laughter from La Casa Strada spilled across the dark and silent hills of the Val D’Orcia as Nancy King carried out her final duties of the day. The restaurant had been full for the evening but now there were only a few guests still at their white-linen tables, drinking coffee and sipping brandy. For Nancy, this was one of the magical moments of running the restaurant.