Ch 1-10

Summary

New York Homicide Lieutenant Jack Head received a mysterious coded letter in the post, the 3rd of its type. He knows he has 48 hours to break the cipher, or just like the previous two letters, there will be a third murder victim on his conscience. But Jack quickly learns that murder victims will be the least of his problems.

Chapter 1

It was only mid-afternoon but Lieutenant Jack Head, affectionately known as “Jobs” to his colleagues, had slumped forward onto his desk and drifted off. With his forearm cradling his head, he was barely visible among the towering files and records that occupied any available desk space.

Jack’s right hand still held the single page, typed letter on lemon yellow paper, he was reading before he nodded off. A letter of similar contents, also on lemon yellow paper, sat on the desk beside his resting head.

Hours of reviewing and revisiting evidence, countless nights lying awake replaying everything over and over in his mind, continually wondering what he had missed, had finally caught up with him and he unknowingly drifted off into a much-needed power nap.

The venetian blind on the back of Jack’s office door rattled when the door was aggressively swung open. A distressed voice alerted, ‘Jobs…you’re not going to believe it… You’ve just got another one.’

Jack’s head snapped up from his slumber. His wide eyes held a vague stare. ‘Huh…?’ he said. His senses slowly awoke, but were still numbed.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as he scanned the office, trying to recall where he was.

‘We just got another fucking letter Jobs… Same as the others – from this “CK”,’ Doug Spencer said.

Jack’s partner had just delivered the disturbing news Jack did not want to hear.

Spence slid two clear plastic evidence bags onto Jack’s cluttered desk. Jack eyes fell heavily to the evidence bags.

A single page letter on lemon yellow colored paper was visible inside one of the bags. Jack’s bloodshot eyes lifted to Spence. Spence’s usual jovial expression, normally presenting a rosy red hue, was now ashen and etched with genuine concern.

‘I’ve only just opened it now. It arrived with the day’s mail,’ Spence announced.

Jack rolled his eyes as he fell back into his chair, causing it recline back at forty-five degrees. He exhaled long and hard.

Although the events of recent times suggested to him this letter, the 3rd of its type, was probably imminent, it was certainly not something he wanted to receive.

‘You’re fucking kidding me,’ Jack said. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, while he processed this latest news. ‘The time between letters is reducing.’ Jack interlocked his fingers behind his head.

‘What is it with this guy and these letters…?’ Spence asked, somewhat rhetorically. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Jobs…He’s a twisted fuck who’s playing games with people’s lives.’

Jack sat forward and lifted the evidence bag with the letter. ‘OK…’ he scanned the contents. ‘Appears to be same as the others…’ Jack said. ‘Crossword clues and a heap of numbers and shit…’

‘Yep, exactly,’ Spence said.

Jack shook his head as he scanned the letter. Like the letters before this one, he had no idea what they meant.

‘We’ll get him Jack… He’ll fuck up, and when he does…we’ll pounce.’

Jack admired his partner’s glass-half-full confidence, but it was not an emotion he readily shared.

‘Yeah, but how many more have to die in the meantime, Spence?’

His eyes flicked to the whiteboard standing to his left. The smiling faces of two young white females stared back at him. Their eyes appeared to meet his helpless gaze from the ten-by-eight-inch photographs; enlargements from photos taken during much happier times.

The girls, both prostitutes, were found murdered five weeks apart. Considerable force had been used to snap their necks at the C2–C3 cervical vertebrae. Below each photograph was a graphic crime scene photograph, as well as known details of their murders.

Positioned below all that was a copy of a typed letter on lemon yellow paper, addressed to him and containing some sort of cryptic message, or clues. Both letters were like the one he just received.

Jack received the first mysterious cryptic letter eight weeks ago, but he had no clue as to what the letter meant, or why he received it. Forty-eight hours later, the body of the first victim, a young female prostitute from the Lower East Side, was found under the Williamsburg Bridge.

At this early stage, Jack had no reason to link his receipt of the first random letter to this brutal murder. He had no idea it was a warning that someone would die. And he certainly had no idea the letter contained a clue to where the victim’s body would be dumped.

When Jack received a second puzzling cryptic letter addressed to him, five weeks after the first, followed forty-eight hours later by the murder of another prostitute, he was able to associate the murders to the mystery letters he received from someone who signed each letter with -“CK”. But he had no idea as to the killer’s motive, or why the killer involved him.

He knew all too well from the last two murders that the time of death for each girl was estimated at around forty-eight hours after he received a letter containing cryptic clues on lemon yellow paper. The clock was ticking.

Jack’s focus returned to the letter and envelope in the evidence bag. ‘Anything on the envelope…?’ Jack said.

‘Haven’t checked, but I doubt it. It is the same as the others. Sealed with Sellotape…So there won’t be any saliva DNA,’ Spence said.

‘Every man and his dog from the mail sorting center to the postal delivery person would have handled the envelope by now,’ Jack said. ’What about the letter…? You said you opened it?’

Spence slid into the visitor’s chair opposite Jack. He exhaled as he reclined back. ‘I did. It was on my desk with all the other mail…’ Spence said. ‘When I opened the envelope and saw the lemon-yellow paper inside, I gotta tell ya Jack, my heart sank. I used the tweezers to remove it from the envelope and placed it straight into the evidence bag.’

Jack studied the envelope. ‘The envelope postage franking is the same as the others…’ he noted. ‘Dated two days ago. Sent via Central Post Office.’ Jack’s eyes lifted to Spence. ‘What time do we get the mail here?’

‘Usually around 3 to 3.30.’

‘OK,’ Jack said. He reclined back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, as he stared at the ceiling. ‘So, today is the 14th…’ His focus shifted to his partner. ‘That gives us until sometime in the evening of the 16th to work this shit out, or…’ He gestured to his left. ‘We’ll be adding another photograph to this white board.’ Jack straightened his chair. ‘You got a working copy of the letter for me?’

Spence pointed to the copy on the desk. ‘There with the evidence bags.’

Jack lifted the photocopy of the latest letter from his desk and slipped on his reading glasses. ‘This is bullshit isn’t it?’ Jack said. ‘I can read the date on a nickel from a hundred paces, but I can’t read the print on a letter right under my nose without these things. Fuck old age Spence,’ Jack said.

A wry grin emerged at the side of his younger colleague’s face.

Jack commenced to read the letter.

‘What do you think he’s trying to prove Jobs… I mean, by sending you all these coded letters, before he kills his victim?’

Jack failed to respond. He was too focused on the letter to register Spence’s question. He began to read out aloud the opening line of the letter,

“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius.”

He removed his glasses and held them in his hand. ‘What the fuck does that mean…?’ Jack blurted. ’Are we the ‘mediocre’ he refers to…? Or are we supposed to be able recognize and acknowledge him, or her as a genius…?’

‘I don’t know Jobs. But he’s got us standing around with our thumbs up our asses at the moment.’

Jack slipped his glasses back on and jiggled the mouse from his desktop computer to awaken it from its sleep mode.

He sat hunched over his computer keyboard as he tapped the quote from the latest letter into the Google web browser.

Jack drummed his fingers on the desk watching, waiting for the results.

‘OK…’ Jack scanned the search results. ‘So, he’s quoting Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to us, for some reason.’

‘Why does that name sound familiar…’ Spence said. ‘Wasn’t he a writer, or something…?’

‘Yeah… he was. He’s the one who wrote those Sherlock Holmes detective stories…’

‘Ah right. That’s why the name was familiar,’ Spence scoffed. ‘Literature was never my strong point… I think I slept though most of those classes…’ A smirk filed his face.

‘It says here…’ Jack paused to read from the computer screen. ‘Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle was a Scottish physician and writer, most noted for his stories about the detective Sherlock Holmes…’ Jack extended a knowing upturned palm. ‘That much we knew…’ He continued reading. ‘Generally considered a milestone in the field of crime fiction, and for the adventures of Professor Challenger…. Says he died July 1930.’

Jack lifted the copy letter and glanced at it. ‘So our letter writer is quoting literature from murder stories,’ he said. ‘We’re not dealing with an average intelligence here, Spence.’

‘Does it say what book the quote is from…?’

Jack dropped the letter and returned his focus back to his computer screen. ‘Ah…OK, according to this…’ he guided his finger over the screen, ‘it’s from his book titled, “The Valley of Fear”.’

Spence’s eye brows dipped. ‘The Valley of Fear…’ he repeated. ‘Maybe he chose that title because that is what he is trying to turn New York City into,’ Spence said.

Jack shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ Jack gestured to the evidence bags on the desk. ‘Anyway… Clock’s running,’ he said. ’Run these for prints. They’ll be clean, but run ‘em anyway, in case he’s fucked up this time. Check on the grade and quality of paper in this letter and compare it to these two letters.’ Jack jabbed his thumb at the white board.

‘Check the CCTV footage from the post office mail boxes from two days ago,’ he continued. ‘Let’s see if we can find our guy mailing these death letters in the post office security videos.’

‘You realize it was probably mailed from the suburbs and just cleared through Central, Jack.’

‘I’d say that’s exactly what happened, Spence. But until we check it out, we can’t tick it off. OK?’ Jack said.

‘Gotcha.’ Spence retrieved the evidence bags from the cluttered desk and exited the office to attend to his assigned mission.

‘I’ll let the Gnome know about this latest letter,’ Jack said to a departing Spence.

Chapter 2

Jack’s boss was Captain Johnson. He and Jack worked NYC Homicide together for many years before Johnson was promoted.

Nicknamed ‘the Gnome’ because he stood just on, some say just under, five feet tall, Captain Johnson was of slight build with a severe Napoleon Complex to overcompensate for his obvious lack of physique.

Despite being vertically challenged however. he was once tough and relentless, and like Jack, he was head strong and stubborn. The trouble was, Johnson was promoted, and as if overnight, he became strictly by the book. The swearing ceased, the drinking on duty stopped and all crooks were strictly hands off.

Jack often commented how it was like the Gnome had found religion or something. His boss had become a completely different person. As far as Jack was concerned, the new Johnson was only a façade to further his own career, and for that reason, Jack did not trust him.

Jack stared at the copy of the latest letter. He flicked the stubble up the side of his face as he studied the content. He looked for the slightest hint to jump out from the page at him. What are you telling me…?

His broad shoulders slumped slightly. He dropped the letter onto his desk. He had nothing. His eyes flicked to the desk telephone. The last thing he wanted was to report another possible victim to the Gnome.

Jack exhaled deeply then lifted the receiver and dialed the Gnome’s extension. The voice on the other end answered after one ring.

‘Chief, Jack. We just received another coded letter…Yep…No. Today’s mail… Exactly the same… Yeah, clues and numbers… Right, I’ll bring it now.’

Jack replaced the handset. He pushed himself from his chair and stood. He paused to eye the contents of the white board. Why these girls…? Why these letters and risk getting caught…? Why me…?

He scooped up the photocopy of the latest letter from his desk and made his way to the Captain’s office on the 4th floor.

---

Jack never enjoyed visiting the Gnome’s office, mainly because he usually did so when called to answer some complaint against him, of which there were many, or to receive a grilling over the way he handled a particular matter – never for anything positive.

The elevator dinged then jerked to a stop on the 4th floor. After exiting the elevator Jack made his way towards the Gnome’s office. His eyes scanned the empty hall as he walked.

Everything on the 4th floor seemed bigger and brighter up here. The halls were wider. The temperature was more comfortable and the air even seemed fresher.

The Captain’s office door was open when Jack arrived. Johnson sat at his desk unaware of Jack’s presence until Jack rapped on the door frame. The Gnome looked up from his reading and beckoned Jack to enter.

Jack briefly glanced around as he entered the office. Nothing intimidated Jack, especially not the Gnome, but that still didn’t stop him from feeling uneasy every time he entered this office.

Bathed in an abundance of natural light from a large window, the office was three times the size of Jack’s office. An impressive library of books lined the entire western wall of the office, complete with various legal journals, legislation, case laws and other impressive leather-bound books. Jack was certain eighty percent of the books were for show.

The Gnome’s desk, oversized like the office, was positioned in front of the large window, where he sat with his back to the limited view available from the 4th floor.

His chair was intentionally elevated to a height that enabled him to look down on anyone seated opposite him at the desk. Jack often quipped the Gnome was over compensating for something.

The Captain indicated the chair in front of his desk. ‘Sit,’ he grunted in his usual curt manner. ‘What do we know?’

Jack handed the Gnome the copy of the letter then slid into the visitor’s seat. ‘Same as the other two…’ Jack began. ‘At this stage, if the other two letters are any indication, we’ve got forty-eight hours.’

‘Prints?’ Johnson grunted while his eyes passed over the letter.

’Running ‘em.’ Jack crossed his legs and reclined back in the chair.

Johnson continued to scan the contents of the letter and its cryptic contents. ‘What do we know about this perp? What’s his profile?’ Johnson asked.

‘Not a lot. We know he’s educated. If the ciphers are any indication, he’s more than likely highly intelligent. The opening sentence there…’ He flicked a finger at the Gnome. ’Is a literary quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Do you know who he is?’ Jack asked. He suspected the Gnome had no idea.

‘If my memory serves me correctly from my high school years…. He is an author, isn’t he?’

’He’s the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories. So our guy might be well-read, particularly crime stories. Might even be where he gets his ideas for the murders.’

‘Do we know what relevance this quote has?’

’Not at this stage.’ Jack’s frustration was evident in his tone.

‘Do we know what book the quote is from?’

‘We do,’ Jack said. ‘The Valley of Fear.’

‘Have we looked at the book yet to see if there are any similarities in the book to our murders…?’ The Gnome asked. ‘There may be some clues right there in print.’

‘Not as yet…’ Jack’s response was abrupt and defensive. ‘But we will. We only received the letter ten minutes ago.’

‘What else do we know?’

’He’s arrogant. He signs his letters “CK”. We don’t know what these initials refer to, but we call him the Cryptic Killer…as a reference to the cryptic clues in the letters.

‘He kills his victim around forty-eight hours after we receive the letter. All letters are printed on standard lemon-yellow writing paper. The letters all have coded messages, which we haven’t been able to decipher yet. He kills young white prostitutes. He’s probably male and probably fit and athletic because he snaps their necks.’

The Captain eyes remained fixed on the letter while Jack continued with the update.

‘Both of the previous crime scenes were clean,’ Jack continued. ’We don’t know if they were the primary crime scenes, or if the victims were transported and dumped there afterwards. No DNA or trace on the bodies, or at the scenes.

‘No witnesses to the murders, or the dumping of the bodies. Toxicology reports were clean, so the victims were not drugged. No defensive wounds on the girls, which suggested surprise attacks… Lack of bruising suggested they were not abducted, but went willingly with the perp.’

‘They were hookers,’ Johnson grunted, without lifting his eyes from reading the letter. ‘Of course they went willingly.’

Jack ignored the interruption. ’All our inquiries to date have got squat. No-one has seen anything. The hookers don’t know anything – or if they do, they’re not talking. We don’t know how the bodies were transported, but we presume a vehicle must have been used, even though there was no sign of tracks at either of the dumpsites.

‘This guy’s a ghost. He’s too clean. It makes me wonder…’ Jack said, ‘if this guy has a strong knowledge of law enforcement.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well everything’s too clean. No DNA, no witnesses, no transfer – perfectly clean crime scenes. Someone with knowledge of the type of evidence we look for, and where we find it, would know how to avoid leaving anything.’

‘Surely you’re not suggesting our perp’s a cop…?’

Jack shrugged. ‘Not necessarily…But we can’t rule anything out yet.’

‘What about our boys from Intelligence …? They been able to come up with anything on these clues?’

‘Police Intelligence…’ Jack scoffed. ‘Oxy Moron,’ he mumbled under his breath. He slid to the front of his seat and leaned his elbows onto the desk. ’They’ve been able to answer most of the crossword clues,’ Jack said. ‘But they’re yet to relate them to all the rows of numbers in the letter. They’ve tried various combinations but –’

‘Right. Where to now?’ The Captain asked.

‘We have to keep trying to break this cipher. We’ve got no choice at this stage. We need to know the connection to the murders…’

‘What about calling in the Feds? Maybe they could help break these codes?’ Johnson said.

‘Not at this time…’ Jack was emphatic. ’This is my case,’ Jack said, sounding more like a spoiled child who did not want to share his toys, rather than a Homicide detective.

Jack was a strong, competitive man and the thought of passing the case over to the Feds would be to him like an admission of failure. He had worked too hard and was too personally involved to just hand the case off and move on to something else.

‘We don’t call them unless we absolutely have to,’ Jack said. Although deep down he knew all too well that if there was a 3rd murder, his decision not to involve the Feds may no longer be his to make.

Johnson removed his reading glasses and gently placed them on the desk in front of himself. He carefully clasped his hands together on the desk. He intentionally paused, probably for effect, before speaking.

‘We go back a long way Jack…’ He said with what was most likely feigned sincerity in his voice. ‘I’m happy to delay as long as I can, but you’re going to have to give me something — and soon, otherwise I won’t have any choice.’ Johnson held up the latest letter. ’If this letter is a prelude to another body — the 3rd in a series — we’re going to have the media screaming “serial killer” and I’m going to have the Mayor all over me like white on rice, wanting to know what we are doing about it.’

‘Understood,’ Jack said. It was hard enough for Jack to accept he had failed to date. He didn’t need the Gnome shoving his failure into his face.

‘What about the media? Anything they could do to help?’

‘I doubt it,’ Jack said. ‘They’ll just create a panic. We’ve got two in the morgue and a possible 3rd threatening. We’re just lucky they haven’t linked these first two together yet.’

‘What about the hookers? How are they reacting to two of their own being killed?’

’They’re not letting on. We’ve been down to most of the red light areas spreading the word. Telling ’em to keep an eye out for one another and to take care with their Johns.

‘Understandably we weren’t well received. Hopefully someone remembers seeing something or someone unusual.’

‘Keep me posted…That’ll be all.’ Johnson arrogantly waved the back of his hand at Jack.

Jack held his disapproving glower at Johnson as he pushed himself from his seat. In a sweeping motion, he collected the letter off the desk and left the office without uttering another word.

He knew things were looking hopeless and it was not a feeling he was familiar with.

When the doors sprung open at the ground floor, Jack exited the elevator making his way back to his office. His stride was long and determined. He glanced into the small kitchen as he walked by the open doorway. He noticed Spence inside making himself a coffee, so he back-tracked to the kitchen door.

’Got anything for me Spence? Jack asked, as he entered the kitchen.

Spence checked over a shoulder. ‘Jobs. Hey. Coffee…?’

‘Nah I need something much stronger than that.’

‘You and me both, Jobs. You and me both.’

Jack watched Spence add milk and four tea spoons of sugar to his cup then take a sip from his freshly prepared brew. ‘Argh… this is shit,’ he said, while examining his cup. Why do they call this coffee?’ He asked rhetorically.

A rare half smirk briefly appeared on the side of Jack’s face, then disappeared just as quick. ‘Maybe your question should be… Why do you keep drinking it?’ Jack said.

Spence conceded with a nod.

‘Ya got anything for me?’ Jack repeated.

Spence shook his head. ‘Nothing Jobs… As expected, the letter is clean, and nada on the video footage. The letter paper is a generic quality available in over 2500 outlets across the country.’

Jack’s eyes lowered to the floor in contemplation. He flicked the stubble on his chin.

‘The boys in intelligence are looking at all three letters now, so there is not much more we can do at this stage, Jack,’ Spence said.

Jack leaned against the wall with his hands supporting his butt. ‘The gnome suggested bringing in the media… What do you think?’ Jack said.

‘Not a good idea, Jobs.’ Spence said, then sipped his coffee.

‘But what if someone recognized the type of code used, or the quotes. Or maybe someone knows someone who did this cryptic letter shit, for fun?’ Jack said.

‘Yeah, but what about the panic it could cause. Two dead, a third now threatened… Doesn’t matter that he’s killing hookers… Everyone will be worried, in case they’re next.’

‘Yeah, I know… That’s what I told the Gnome,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t want them involved either… I’m just running out of ideas.’

Both men were a little disheartened as they exited the kitchen on their way back to Jack’s office to consider their next options.

Chapter 3

Two weeks earlier….

Resplendent in elegant golden tones, the magnificent Grand Ballroom of the Marriott Hotel was the host venue for the inaugural Cryptic Crossword Puzzle Tournament presentation dinner. It was the culmination of three days of fierce competition of the minds.

The capacity crowd had gathered for the last opportunity to mix and dine with fellow contestants, friends and acquaintances, ahead of the crowning of the 2012 Cryptic Crossword Puzzle Champion.

Flames from the candles positioned on each of the oval tables that occupied the 1500 guests, flickered throughout the darkened room.

The Emcee introduced the President of the American Cryptic Crossword Association to the stage. The President was a tall, lean man with snow-white hair and glasses. He strolled on to the stage with a pronounced stoop, wearing a dark dinner-suit jacket that appeared two sizes too big.

Following his short speech, the President lifted the winner’s envelope. ‘Let’s get down to the reason why we are all here…’ he said.

All eyes in the room were on the President as he carefully peeled open the envelope.

‘The winner of the inaugural Cryptic Crossword Puzzle Tournament for 2012 is…’ The President paused, obviously for dramatic effect, as he read the envelope. To many in the room, it was a pause he held for way too long.

Seated in the crowd anxiously awaiting the announcement of the tournament winner was Matthew Curry, a quiet, unassuming twenty-six-year-old, who only entered the competition after succumbing to the continual insistence and encouragement from the colleagues in his office building.

Matt worked in the mail room of a New York City Midtown office building, where he was responsible for the delivery and collection of the daily mail for hundreds of offices, spread across the building’s sixty floors.

He was well known and respected and was considered amongst many in the building as a crossword guru. Anyone who was stuck on a difficult clue, invariably asked Matt.

Matthew’s passion was cryptic crosswords, which usually took him between two to five minutes to complete. He was also an avid reader of crime novels, and was a natural at breaking ciphers; the more challenging the better.

He proudly boasted that he hadn’t found a puzzle he couldn’t solve, or a code he couldn’t break, with the exception of Kryptos, the 12-foot-high sculpture located at CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

It was considered to be one of the most famous unsolved codes in the world. Matt says that remained a work in progress.

The President raised his voice in excitement as he announced of the tournament winner. ’Matthew Curry, with a total score of 13,875 points.’

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause at the announcement of the winner. The room lighting illuminated to uncover a sea of heads across the room, turning and twisting as they searched to see who the winner was, and where he was located.

Matt’s mouth fell open. He slumped back into his seat. He was momentarily stunned by the announcement. His office colleagues, who had formed a table at the dinner, in support of his quest, leapt to their feet cheering, fist pumping, applauding and high fiving each other.

Congratulatory hugs and cheek kisses were received from his female colleagues, while the male colleagues were back slapping Matthew and offering him ‘Bro’ hugs.

---

Two weeks had passed since Matthew won the title of National Cryptic Crossword Champion. He was still coming to terms with his increased popularity from his colleagues around the various offices.

Those in the building who previously hardly knew him, now knew his name. He was inundated with praise, congratulatory handshakes, as well as offers for lunch, or coffees following his achievement.

Humble as ever, he continued his daily, mundane task of delivering the mail. With degrees in Economics and Business, he one day aspired to work his way into Finance or Stock Broking, maybe even Wall Street, he often mused. But for now, he was happy to be employed in a job where he was able to foster relationships and build a network with workers and prospective employers in these fields.

Matt’s mailroom was located within the bowels of his Midtown office building ground floor. As far as Matthew was concerned, it was an uninspiring office in which to work.

Devoid of windows offering any natural light, the bland color of its dreary walls failed to motivate him. He looked forward to collecting his sorted mail and getting out into the real world, mingling and associating with the office workers during his daily rounds.

---

It was the end of a long day sorting, delivering and collecting the hundreds of envelopes and packages throughout the building. Matthew clocked off and made his way towards the building exit, about to seamlessly meld into the thousands of homeward bound commuters.

As he strolled across the building’s massive tiled foyer, Matthew heard a welcoming voice from his left.

‘Matty…’ the voice beckoned.

Matthew turned to the voice. It was Stan, the building’s middle-aged, affable Security Guard standing behind his security Station. He rested his forearms on the high wall at the front, smiling towards Matthew. His brilliant white teeth were displayed in a huge enthusiastic grin.

‘You in a hurry, son…?’ There was obvious anticipation in his voice.

‘No. I’ve always got time for you Stan. What’s up?’ Matthew moved towards Stan.

Stan held up a folded over newspaper. ‘This is what’s up’, he said.

Matthew nodded knowingly. He grinned as he approached the Security Station. ‘What’s the clue you’re stuck on?’

Stan smiled as he read from his newspaper. “It turns into a different story.” I have no letters for you though.’

Matthew grinned. ’Try, Spiral Staircase, Stan,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find it will fit.’

Stan’s eyes dropped to the crossword. A huge grin filled his face. ‘You amazing, son,’ he grinned. ‘You didn’t even have to think. It was just there,’ he said. ‘What…ah, what about one more?’ he asked. ‘You got time?’

‘Sure Stan. What you got?’ Matthew smiled.

Smiling his beaming white teeth at Matt he again read from his newspaper. “The Godfather — major piece of art or utter tedium?” No letters for this one either, son.’

Matthew nodded. ’That’s a little bit harder Stan. Try… Donkey Work,’ he said with a proud grin.

Stan spelled out the words in the spaces provided. His eyes flicked back to Matthew before his face illuminated with an impressed grin. ’Thank you very much. I would never have got those two and I hate not finishing my crosswords.’

Matthew smiled as he turned to walk toward the revolving doors leading to the street. ‘Anytime… You have a great night Stan,’ he said.

‘You too Matty,’ Stan said. ‘See you tomorrow. I’ll probably have some more for you by then,’ Stan shouted. His pearly white teeth beamed through his huge smile.

Matthew waved back over his shoulder to Stan. ‘I look forward to it.’

---

Almost twenty-nine hours had passed since Jack received the third cryptic letter. Much to his ever-growing frustrations, he was no closer to finding the killer, or understanding the contents of the letters, or why he received them.

Jack surveyed the overflowing boxes and files littering his desk and office floor space. He rubbed his temples in a feeble attempt to relieve the pounding headache and pressure built up behind his eyes.

He glanced at his watch. It was 7.30pm. He considered it was probably time to call it quits for the day and head to Rosie’s Bar. Maybe a Wild Turkey, or two, will numb this throbbing in my head.

Jack’s thoughts were quickly broken by distressed calls from outside his office.

‘Jobs… Quick… Get out here…now!’ There was considerable urgency in Spence’s voice when he summoned Jack to the bull pen, located immediately outside his office.

The Homicide squad’s Bull Pen was an open plan rectangular office. Eight desks, all arranged into four work stations, evenly spaced down each side of the room, complete with a bulky, old-school computer monitor on each, occupied most of the floor space within the room.

Jack responded to the desperate calls to find out what all the urgency was about. ‘Where’s the fire…?’

The team of Detectives had huddled together around the wall-mounted television located outside Jack’s office. Spence gestured to the television. ‘They’re running the last letter on the news.’

‘What?’ The prominent furrows in Jack’s brow collapsed down onto his eyebrows. His questioning eyes lifted to the TV screen.

‘The last letter…’ Spence said. ’They’ve just run a news item on it and they even showed a close up of it… You could read, every word,’ Spence said, barely containing his raging anger. ‘They said we haven’t been able to crack the code. How the fuck do they know that?’ Spence blurted.

Jack threw his arms into the air. ‘FUCK!’ he exploded. He dragged his hand over his short cropped hair. ‘How the fuck did they hear about the letter?’

‘The newsreader identified the letter was sent to you at Homicide yesterday. They announced how it contained information about a possible murder,’ Spence said. ‘The worst part is… They said the letter could possibly be linked to two other recent murders.’

Jack’s eyes fell to the floor. His shoulders slumped as he allowed several beats to pass. He shook his head. ‘Useless – What news channel was it?’

‘CBS. It was a 7.30pm cross to a news break,’ Spence said.

Jack glared at Spence. ‘My office – Now.’ He jabbed his thumb towards his office door.

When Spence entered the office, Jack slammed the door behind him. The venetian blind rattled and shook. Jack jabbed a finger towards the Bull Pen. ‘Someone from this crew must have sent a copy to the news,’ Jack said. ‘And I wanna know who it was…’

‘Come on Jack…’ Spence began. ‘I very much doubt it… Think about it… Who would do that and why would they? Who would risk their job for something as stupid as that?’ Spence said.

Jack rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Get me the evidence log.’

While Spence left to retrieve the evidence register as ordered, Jack stood at his office window. He glared past the infuriated reflection staring back at him, out to his team of Detectives outside, wondering if one of them, sold him out to the news media.

Spence was quick. He returned and handed the evidence register to Jack. ‘The last entry in the log was the one I wrote when I logged the letter into evidence yesterday,’ Spence said. ‘There are no other entries since. And as you know Jobs, no-one can access the property without signing that register… Not even to view it,’ Spence said. ‘The only copy was the one I made for you, Jobs, and nobody had access to the original letter, before it was logged into evidence.’

Jack scanned the entries in the evidence register, while Spence reinstated the credibility of his fellow Detectives.

‘OK. Then how did the media get a copy of the letter?’

‘Who knows Jobs? Could the killer have sent it to them?’ Spence said. ‘I think he’d be arrogant enough.’

Jack slammed the register shut between his hands. ‘They’ve crossed a line by running it on the news.’ Jack spoke through gritted teeth.

Jack’s cell phone rang. He rolled his eyes. ‘Bet that’s the Gnome.’ Jack removed his cell and glanced at the display screen. He nodded to Spence while he answered the call.

’Yeah Chief… Yeah. I did. Just saw it…I- Uh Huh… I have no idea… None of our- I know, but it wasn’t one of my guys… Definitely not…. Coz I just checked the evidence log… None of them has had access to it, that’s how… Maybe our perp sent it to them. I’m aware how serious it is… I’ll handle it…I SAID… I’LL HANDLE IT, OK… I’ll call ‘em and arrange it now alright…right.’

Jack disconnected the call and dropped the cell onto his desk. ’Fucking ass ‘ole!’ he blurted.

While Jack was on the phone to the Gnome, Spence had already looked up the telephone number for CBS and began to dial. ‘I’m ringing CBS now, Jobs,’ he said. ‘Do you want to talk to them?’

Jack flicked his hand at Spence. ’Tell ‘em we want to speak to their Executive Producer,’ Jack said.

After a brief conversation Spence cupped his hand over the telephone mouth piece, ‘He’s not available until 9.30am tomorrow morning… Do you want to make an appointment?’

Jack nodded once.

Spence returned the handset to its cradle after his call. ‘Done. We see him tomorrow at 9.30am,’ Spence said. ‘You know what she said Jobs…?’ He asked rhetorically. ‘We were expecting your call… Do you believe that shit?’ Spence shook his head. ‘They were expecting our call. They knew they would piss us off and they still ran it.’

Jack also shook his head. ‘Who we seein’?’

Spence checked his note. ‘Ahh… Murdoch… Duncan Murdoch… 9.30am at his office.’

‘Is he the Executive Producer?’

‘Yep. Top dog apparently.’

‘How could they be so stupid…?’ Jack mumbled to himself.

‘It’s all about ratings to them Jobs…. And being the first to break the news.’

‘That shit shouldn’t be out there, Spence. Not yet. It’s too early. People will panic.’

Spence silently regarded his boss before offering a more appealing suggestion. ‘Rosie’s…?’ Spence said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we can do too much more tonight.’

A half grin emerged out the side of Jack’s face. ‘Why not.’

Chapter 4

Rosie’s Bar was conveniently located about one block from their police station, and was ideal for post-shift debriefings. The bar’s owner, Rosie was a single, attractive forty-something year old woman with an effervescent, quick witted and confident personality, ideal for coping with intoxicated males in the bar environment.

Shoulder length, blonde hair framed the natural beauty of Rosie’s face and her low-waist skin-tight jeans intentionally showed off her fit figure and shapely butt. Her trademark low cut singlet tops displayed generous bulging cleavage, as it tightly defined her ample breasts, which she proudly boasted were all natural.

The male patrons enjoyed some eye candy when they visited her bar and she was happy to provide it for them – she said it was good for business.

Loud music and muffled patron chatter, followed closely by the unmistakable smell of stale beer, greeted Jack and Spence when they entered the crowded bar. Jack made eye contact with Rosie through the low hovering cigarette smoke. He smiled with a welcoming nod towards her.

Rosie broke away from a customer and moved along the bar, closer to the door. ‘Gentlemen, welcome,’ she shouted over the background music and boisterous patrons.

Jack scanned the bar room. It was quite full this evening, mainly patronized by twenty- to thirty-year-olds.

Rosie gestured to her left. ‘I’ve saved your usual spot down the end boys,’ Rosie said.

After inheriting the bar from her retiring father, Rosie worked hard to modernize the tired décor. She transformed it into a modish lounge and bar, suited to the expectations of her demographic of mostly ‘Gen-Y’ patrons.

Contemporary music videos thumped from two fifty-five-inch, wall-mounted televisions. Horse-shoe shaped booths were positioned down one side of the room, below a mirror-lined wall that strategically presented the illusion of a much wider room.

Elevated leaning tables were located at intervals throughout the center of the room, to accommodate patrons more interested in standing and socializing.

Low-wattage spot lights positioned over the polished solid mahogany bar complimented the ambiance of the softly lit room, while still providing sufficient light for the bar girls to work.

Typical of a cop, Jack had heightened self-awareness. He never sat with his back to a door, especially not in a bar. He wanted to see who was coming and going, and who was approaching. For that reason, Rosie reserved a spot down the end of the bar, in a corner where the bar turned at right angles back to the bar’s rear wall. It was a small area of bar of about five feet.

Rosie approached Jack and Spence after they slid onto their bar stools. With a welcoming smile she collected a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon – Jack’s poison, from the rear shelf and moved towards the boys. Without breaking stride she collected two glasses in the palm of her hand as she walked.

She placed the two empty glasses onto the bar and smiled her best come fuck me eyes at Jack. ‘I was hoping you’d come in tonight.’ She poured a generous shot of bourbon into each glass.

‘Yeah…why’s that?’ Jack grinned, as he lifted his glass.

Rosie placed the bottle on the bar then leaned onto her elbows and supported her chin on the back of her hands. She smiled at Jack. ‘Just that I haven’t seen you for a while… And let’s face it, some of the riff-raff we get in here… Well, they’re not worth a second look. We need someone in here to make the place more… handsome and…you two boys walked in.’ She smiled as she stood back upright. ‘Excuse me boys…’ she said, then returned to the mid-bar area to help serve awaiting patrons.

Jack watched Rosie as she moved away. She had an incredibly seductive ass-wiggling gait that he couldn’t take his eyes off. As she walked Rosie glanced back over her shoulder to Jack, probably to check if he was watching – which of course, he was. So too was Spence.

‘She is one hot broad, Jobs,’ Spence said, then took a sip.

Without responding, Jack sipped his drink. His eyes remained firmly fixed on Rosie’s butt, as she walked away from him.

‘What are we missing Spence?’ Jack asked.

‘What… With Rosie?’ Spence said, while he continued to check out Rosie’s form.

Jack’s face distorted. ‘What…? No, ya dick. This fuckin’ letter,’ Jack said. ‘What do we know?’

‘Oh… right.’ Spence continued to watch Rosie. With a wry grin, he said, ‘Wouldn’t you rather talk about Rosie?’ Jack wasn’t amused, not when it came to these letters. Spence must’ve picked up on the vibe. His grin wiped and he snapped back into business mode. ‘OK… Both victims were white female – late 20’s. Both were prostitutes. Both died from broken necks – snapped like a twig…’

Jack nodded as he listened to Spence summarizing the known facts.

Spence continued. ’Ah… No DNA or trace evidence on either of the two victims… Nothing at the murder scenes… No witnesses at the dump sites… No evidence of sexual assault. No defensive wounds on the victims.

’A letter containing cryptic clues and cyphers was received about forty-eight hours before each girl was killed… Each cryptic letter was sent through the post, addressed to you at Homicide…

‘We cross checked your old case files for offenders who may have a vendetta against you – whoa… long list…’ Jack ignored Spence’s flippancy. Spence continued. ‘But nothing to indicate any probable suspects… We haven’t been able to crack the code on the letters to understand their significance.’

Jack slowly shook a disapproving head. The last point was still particularly raw.

‘Ah…’ Spence continued. ‘It appears a vehicle may have been used – at least to dump the bodies, but possibly to pick the hookers up from the street – you know, gutter crawling… We got nuthin’ on any vehicle involved though… We suspect the killer may be male because of the force required to snap a neck, and because he is picking up ‘straight’ hookers…

‘Nobody saw, or could ID the John each of these girls went with before they died… The letter paper is a standard quality, sold everywhere in the country… No prints or DNA on any of the letters… Ah… What else…?’ Spence paused briefly to gather his thoughts.

‘We received a 3rd letter yesterday and we probably have less than twenty-four hours left to work it out.’

Jack flicked the stubble on side of his face. His eyes fell to the mahogany bar, as he listened to Spence. He contemplated the challenge ahead of him.

‘And…’ Spence continued. ‘The last letter is now all over the news.’

‘And what’s worse…’ Jack added. ’It’s looking more like the perp sent ‘em the letter.’

‘Oh yeah, and we are meeting with the guy from CBS in the morning. What’s his name?’ Spence’s eyes lifted to the roof. ‘Murdoch… Duncan Murdoch. Probably some pompous ass.’

Spence’s last comment however triggered a rare, albeit brief grin to emerge across Jack’s face, before he quickly emptied the contents of his glass in one gulp.

---

It was a bright fresh March morning. Matthew felt unusually invigorated this morning and ready to tackle another day delivering mail and solving the occasional difficult crossword.

His daily commute from Jersey meant he woke at 5.30am each day and by the time he was ready to deliver his morning mail, he usually looked forward to his 3rd coffee, to help keep him awake. But not this morning.

After exiting the elevator at the 6th floor, Matt walked with an obvious energy as he routinely made his way along his mail route.

‘Hey Matthew.’ A voice called out when he entered the open plan office.

Matthew glanced in the direction of the voice. It was Dave, an over confident, but genial guy leaning on the partition wall that surrounded his work station. ‘Been waiting for you buddy… Done the cops a favor yet and solved the puzzle for them?’ He asked.

Matthew frowned, as he moved over towards Dave.

‘We all thought you would’ve had the code cracked for the cops by now. You slippin’ a bit buddy?’ Dave teased.

Matt’s mouth inverted. He shook a puzzled head. ‘Code…? What code?’ Matt said.

‘Didn’t you see the news last night…?’

‘No…?’ Matthew’s interest level increased. ‘I missed it last night. What did I miss…?’

‘Cops got a letter… They presume from a killer. It had a heap of clues on it, supposedly about some murders. Apparently, the cops are having trouble deciphering it. We all thought you would have rocked in here this morning with a big grin on your face, bragging how you cracked the code,’ Dave said. ‘Given codes are your thing and all…’

‘Nah… I didn’t see it.’ Matt’s shoulders rounded at the opportunity lost.

‘The news report showed a copy of the letter… You could actually read it quite clearly,’ Dave said.

‘What…?’ Matthew snapped back. ’You could read what was in the letter?

‘Quite clearly too,’ Dave added.

‘Do you know what it said?’

‘Shit Matty…’ Dave began. ‘There was a whole page of clues and numbers… May as well have been in Italian, as far as I am concerned… Means nothing to me. But it was only on the screen for a few seconds.’

Matthew ’s eye fell heavily to the floor. He rued the missed opportunity, until Jen Foster called out to Matthew from her workstation located behind Dave’s.

‘Here you are Matty… Come have a look at this,’ Jen said. ‘The CBS website posted the video of last night’s news report about the letter.’

Matthew raced over to Jen’s workstation, where he was joined by several other workers from the office. They huddled around Jen’s computer while the news report was replayed.

Matthew watched with great interest. ‘Do you think I would be able to print a copy of the letter from that video?’

‘I doubt it…’ Jen said. She scrolled down the web page ‘Oh, look here. They have a thumbnail of the letter. When I clicked on it, it opened as a larger image.’ Jen said. ‘You could print that.’

Matthew hunched closer to Jen’s computer screen to see if he could read the text of the letter. ‘Gee, it’s clear isn’t it?’ he said. He read the first line out aloud. ’That first line is a quote by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,’ Matt said.

‘How do you know that?’ Dave asked.

Matt grinned at Dave. ‘See. I love crime stories, particularly Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was the author of the Sherlock Holmes series. I’ve got every Sherlock Holmes story he wrote,’ Matthew said.

‘What? And you can remember every quote from every book this guy’s written?’ Dave said. His tone dripping with cynicism.

‘Of course not,’ Matt blurted. ’But I remember that one. It’s a quote from one of his last Sherlock Holmes novels – The Valley of Fear,’ Matthew said. ’Interestingly, that is a story about a letter written in numeric code sent to Holmes and Watson,’ Matthew said with the irony of the situation not escaping him. ‘Can you print the image of the letter out for me Jen?’

‘Of course.’ Jen gestured to her right. ‘You can pick it up from the printer next to the kitchen. You know where it is.’

‘Great. Thanks for that Jen.’ Matt eagerly made his way to the printer.

‘We expect you to have it solved by this afternoon now Matt,’ Dave shouted.

Matthew grinned at Dave. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you, Dave.’

His excitement was verged on palpable at the thought of a real-life coded letter – just like in Sherlock Holmes.

Matt hovered over the printer, anxiously waiting its delivery of the printed page. He pounced on the page when it slid from the printer. His eyes quickly scanned over the entire document.

It was a typed letter addressed to Lieutenant Jack at Head New York City Homicide. The first line was the quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, he recognized.

Listed below the quote were fifteen clues— one under the other— like those found in a cryptic crossword. Below that there were seven rows of continuous and varied numbers. The initials, “CK” was at the bottom left of the page.

Matt’s focus fixed onto the first cryptic clue, which he read out aloud to himself.

“Wimbledon champion, not male”. He smiled. ’ASHE,’ he answered to himself then recorded his answer beside the clue. That was easy.

Matt read the next clue to himself. A cipher; nothing; naught. ’ZERO,’ he said to nobody, as he scribbled down the answer.

Moving down to the 3rd clue, he read to himself, One from Gemini. Matthew thought for a moment. POLLUX.

He quickly scanned the remaining clues. They don’t appear that difficult, he thought. There must be more to this letter, otherwise why couldn’t the cops solve it.

Matthew suddenly remembered he still had his mail run to complete. He placed the folded copy of the letter in his pocket and continued with his rounds. All the while though, his mind was on the letter in his pocket.

The suspense was too much for him to contain. At various intervals during his rounds, Matthew removed the letter for some more cryptic fixes and read a couple of more clues, as he walked.

’Clue four,’ he announced to no one. ′Fibbed half-heartedly, with lies perhaps generating this response.’ Matt shrugged at how easy these clues were. ‘DISBELIEF,’ he muttered to himself

’Clue five,’ he read as he walked. ’Way said to be problematic for lame dog…’ Matt thought for a moment. He nodded. STYLE he thought, grinning confidently. Maybe I can help the cops.

Unfortunately for Matt, the continued attention he gave to the letter affected the efficacy of his mail delivery. Not only were his rounds taking longer than normal, they were a distraction to what he really wanted to do – sit and read the letter in its entirety.

Matthew inadvertently missed mail drop offs, and in some instances, forgot to collect mail that was ready to go out, because his concentration was solely on the letter; everything else ran on auto pilot.

Matt eventually realized the letter caused him to lose time. Like a chocoholic with a fresh box of chocolates, he reassured himself, one more and I’ll put it away.

He pulled out the letter and unfolded it with increased anticipation. He quickly read the next clue. “Some ideas associated with Quantum.” THEORY. He scoffed as he wrote his answer beside the 6th clue.

Last one, he justified. He read the 7th clue to himself as he walked. “Tailpiece – recollect Custos, so sadly missed.” Matt repeated the clue to himself. ‘SCUT,’ he muttered out loud. He recorded the answer then folded up the letter and returned it to his pocket. His sense of accomplishment increased within his own mind. Seven down, eight to go, he confidently thought to himself.

Chapter 5

Jack alighted from his vehicle and stood on the curb outside the CBS Broadcast Center on the northern edge of Hell’s Kitchen. His eyes ran up the outside of the towering building. He glanced at his watch. It was 9.25am. ‘Let’s do this,’ Jack said. Both men made their way to the building foyer.

The pleasantly smiling receptionist greeted them as they approached. ‘Good morning. Can I help you Gentlemen?’ She asked.

Jack held up his badge to the receptionist. ‘I’m Lieutenant Jack Head from Homicide… And this is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer. We are here to see a Mr. Murdoch.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’ she typed some details into her computer.

‘9.30,’ Jack replied.

‘Just one moment please.’ The receptionist dialed a number and spoke into her headset. ‘Yes, I have Mr. Murdoch’s 9.30 here… OK, thank you.’ After hanging up the phone she gestured towards a waiting area. ‘Kindly take a seat over there please, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Mr. Murdoch will see you shortly,’ she smiled.

Jack glanced at his watch, then moved towards the sofas, as instructed. After a short, wait they watched a lean built, suited male, approach from the vicinity of the lift lobby. Spence lifted his chin towards the approaching male. ’Ya reckon this pompous looking ass ‘ole is him?’ he whispered to Jack.

Jack wasn’t sure. He monitored the approaching male.

The man made his way directly towards them. His long strides and upright posture oozed self-confidence. ‘Detective Head…?’ The man’s questioning eyes flicked back and forth between Jack and Spence.

‘Lieutenant…’ Jack said. He offered his hand. ‘Lieutenant Jack Head, and this is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer.’

The CBS gentleman responded with a firm, vice like single handshake. ‘Pleased to meet you both. Mr. Murdoch has asked me to escort you to his office for your meeting. Kindly follow me please gentlemen.’ The man turned and made his way towards the lift lobby.

Once inside the elevator, the escort swiped a security card across a proximity reader, then selecting the number eight on the panel of elevator floor buttons. The lift activated upwards.

Standing forward of Jack and Spence, their escort briefly glanced over a shoulder at Spence. He smiled at Spence before turning back towards the door. Spence slowly looked to Jack and raised a single eyebrow. Jack returned a rare smile.

Murdoch greeted the Detectives when they entered the over-sized corner office. He directed both men towards the luxurious crimson leather lounge suites located adjacent to large ceiling to floor picture windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline.

Jack and Spence briefly took in the magnificent view of the Hudson River, before moving to sit in the soft leather lounge chairs.

’Now Gentlemen… Can I offer you a beverage… Coffee… Juice… Soda… Water? He paused in anticipation of their response.

Murdoch was a short man who reminded Jack of the actor, Danny DeVito, both in height and appearance.

‘Water will be great thanks,’ Jack said.

Murdoch looked to Spence.

‘Water for me too, thanks,’ Spence added.

Both men watched Murdoch stroll over to his desk intercom and order two waters and a coffee before returning to the Detectives. He clapped his hands together as he approached. ’Now…What can I do for you gentlemen today? Am I right to assume you are here because of the news report we ran last night on that letter.’

‘You assumed Correct,’ Jack said. He slid his butt closer to the front of the chair. He leaned his elbows on his knees.

‘We received the letter at CBS, via the US postal service,’ Murdoch began. ‘A separate explanatory letter accompanied the cryptic letter we received.’

‘Can I see the letter?’ Jack asked.

Murdoch returned to his desk and lifted the letter.

Jack slowly shook his head. He removed a single latex glove from his jacket inner pocket and used it to take hold of the letter from Murdoch. ‘How many people have handled this letter?’ Jack asked.

Murdoch held Jack’s glare. His mouth fell open. ‘Um… Too many to count, I would say Detective,’ Murdoch said.

Jack commenced to read the separate letter received at CBS. It outlined that the Homicide squad had already received two letters and because they were too stupid to decipher the letters, two people have died.

He read the letter.

“I have sent a third letter to the homicide police and if they fail to decipher this one, a third person will die. The world needs to know how incompetent these police are. They are supposed to be protecting us. The attached letter is the same as the one I sent to the cops on the 14th of this month.”

Jack handed the glove and letter to Spence for him to read. ‘Certainly appears like the perp wrote this second letter,’ Jack said.

A quiet knock at the door briefly interrupted the conversation. All men looked to the office door as Murdoch’s young attractive Executive Assistant entered carrying the requested beverages on a tray. She placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the men, smiled then left.

‘Thank you, Melissa,’ Murdoch said. ‘Now… Where were we?’

’Where’s the envelope? Jack said.

‘Ah…yes.’ Murdoch thought briefly. ‘That would have been discarded.’

Jack again shook his head. He didn’t try to mask his obvious disappointment.

‘Look,’ Murdoch began. ‘There were a lot of derogatory comments in the letter about your Division that we considered were inappropriate to report, so we didn’t include those,’ Murdoch explained. ‘But news is news and the public have a right to know, and it is our job to tell it straight.’

‘Did you consider speaking with us first?’ Jack blurted.

‘We did, but it was my decision not to.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we considered it would be of no benefit to us… You would only try and stop us running the story.’

‘You got that right.’

’News is our game, Detective, and that is news.’ He gestured to the letter in Spence’s hand. ‘We have not broken any laws gentlemen,’ Murdoch said.

‘No, I’m not suggesting you have,’ Jack said. ’But what about the public? What about the panic your report will cause?’

‘Public awareness is a good thing. People should be aware if there is a serial killer out there.’

’Is there a serial killer out there…? Do you know that for a fact…? Those are your words, not mine. What if the letter was a hoax and we never actually received this letter? Did you think about verifying it with us first – to see if we did in fact receive the letter before you told the world?’

’Isn’t that question redundant Detective? You did receive the letter, didn’t you?’ Murdoch was becoming less amiable. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’

‘I don’t think that is the point here?’ Jack said.

‘I think it is.’

Jack shook his head. ‘You are too narrow focused on getting your ratings. The issue is not whether we did, or did not receive the letter… Obviously, we did. The issue is not to cause a panic in the community while we try and investigate this case further.’

’According to that letter…’ Murdoch flicked a finger at Spence. ‘This is the third one of its kind and you haven’t been able to solve the previous two. The news must be reported at some time Detective. We certainly can’t wait in the hope that you will do your job and catch this offender…one day…’

Jack rolled his eyes. That stung. ‘What about prints on the letter you received?’ Jack said. ’Our copy was clean, but what if the perp wasn’t as careful with your letter because you aren’t the police…?’

Murdoch’s expression tightened. ‘We didn’t think of that,’ Murdoch conceded. ‘But in all fairness, our job is to break the news and the more serious the circumstances, the more impact the story has.’

‘Yeah, and ours is to investigate crime and we need every piece of evidence we can get to help us. You could have contaminated a piece of vital evidence by not bringing it to our attention,’ Jack said.

’That is of course if there were prints on the letters.’

‘We will never know now, will we?’ Jack’s tone was acid.

‘No we will not,’ Murdoch said, equally as curt in his response.

Jack realized this was going nowhere, so he opted to end the meeting. He was satisfied that there was no longer any usable evidence in relation to the letters received at CBS. Jack stood and nodded to Spence.

‘We have always had a great working relationship with the news media,’ Jack said. ’There is an unwritten quid pro quo arrangement where we mutually help one another out…’

‘That is correct.’ Murdoch said. He also rose to his feet. ‘And we appreciate that relationship Detective. We are able to help each other at various times and I would like to think that hasn’t changed.’

Jack extended his hand to Murdoch. ‘I’m not so sure your news report hasn’t changed the trust associated with this arrangement. Thank you for your time, Sir.’

‘I don’t think it has Detective,’ Murdoch shook Jack’s hand, followed by Spence’s.

Both men were escorted from the building to the street. Once outside the building Jack only uttered two words to Spence, as they walked to their vehicle. ‘Fucking unbelievable.’

Spence smiled in agreement as they walked.

During the entire car ride back to the office Jack contemplated that today was D-day, as far as the third letter was concerned. Unless he was able to break this case, the harsh reality was, they could have another victim, and this troubled the successful detective greatly.

Back in the familiar surrounds of the precinct, Jack made his way through the Bull Pen towards his office. He was oblivious to other Detectives in the room. He was pre-occupied on the mental checklist running through his head; a list of tasks he hoped to accomplish today, in a hope to break this case.

When Jack reached his office door, Detective Pete Unly called out. ‘Jobs… You got minute?’ Unly had his hand cupped over the telephone receiver he held.

Jack moved to Unly’s desk. ‘What’s up?’ Jack said.

Unly stood up from his desk and gestured to Jack’s office. ‘Could you hold the line please?’ he requested into the telephone handset. ‘Thanks, I won’t be long.’ He placed the telephone handset onto his desk.

‘Problem…?’ Jack asked, as both men entered Jack’s office.

‘No. No problem,’ Unly said. ‘It’s just that I’ve got this kid on the phone who says he saw the letter on the news and he thinks he can help us solve it. He’s some national crossword champion or something.’

Jack’s face distorted. ‘Kid…?’ Jack said, ‘How old?’

‘Ah… Said he was twenty-six.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He works in a mail room. You know, delivers internal mail in an office building.’

’And he thinks he can help us decipher the letter.’ Jack was skeptical. ’So is it fair to assume he hasn’t deciphered it then?

‘Correct.’

’Why does he think he can help us?’

‘Says he won some national crossword competition and is adept at solving puzzles. He sounds sharp.’

’If he is that good, he should be calling us to say he has solved it… Not thinks he can solve it,’ Jack said. He sat at his desk and placed both palms flat on the desk in front of him, while he processed this latest information.

‘Do you want to talk to him… Or, should I have him come down?’ Unly asked.

Jack considered his options. He eyes lifted to the standing Unly. He waved the back of his hand at Unly. ‘We don’t need help from a mail delivery boy who can solve fucking crosswords. This is the real world– not a competition.’

Unly glared at his boss. His brow dipped at his surprise by Jack’s dismissive reaction.

This response was out of character for Jack. He was a person who never discounted any possible lead, regardless of how minor, or irrelevant it initially appeared. That was why he was such an effective investigator.

Jack noticed Unly’s blank expression. He realized his emotion was affecting his judgement. He lifted hand to Unly. ‘Hang on… Wait…’ Jack began. ’No. Scrap that. Take down this kid’s details and tell him to give us a call when he breaks the code.’

Unly shot Jack a half grin. ‘Will do boss,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘By the way… You know he isn’t the only call we have had this morning. We’ve been inundated with so called experts.’

Jack reclined back in his chair. He clasped his fingers behind his head while Unly continued.

‘Every nut in the city has called this morning, either claiming to be the killer, or they are self-confessed experts, who claim to be able to crack the cypher… But when you talk to them Jobs,’ Unly shook his head. ‘They clearly have no idea,’ he said. ‘We have taken all their details, just in case… But this guy…’ He jabbed a thumb towards his desk. ‘He is the first one that sounded like he knew what he was talking about – the real deal.’

Let me know if this “real deal”, or anyone else actually breaks the code.’

‘Under control,’ Unly said. He returned to his phone call.

Jack followed Unly back to the Bull Pen. He stopped and leaned a shoulder on the door frame to his office. He scanned the busy room of Detectives. He waited until Unly ended his call before he addressed the team.

‘Listen up, guys…’ All eyes turned to Jack. ’If today is the day, it is more than likely we have until this evening to try and prevent this thing from happening,’ he said. ’So we have a bit of time up our sleeve. Later this afternoon I want each team to get out among the red-light districts and get the word out to the hookers to be alert for themselves and for each other.

’I want each of you to get in touch with your CI’s… Find out what they know about these murders… Find out the word on the streets. Use whatever means are at your disposal – Pay ’em, Bash ’em. Shake ‘em down to see what falls out… I don’t care what you do, or how you do it… Just get me some answers –and fast.’

Jack pointed to Spence. ’Can you chat with uniform and make sure we get extra black and whites ‘round the red-light districts tonight.’

‘Sure thing jobs.’

Chapter 6

Matthew had finally completed his rounds and was back at his desk. He was excited at what awaited him this evening; the chance to decipher the real-life code in the letter for the cops.

As the afternoon approached, he removed his copy of the letter to solve some more of the clues.

With the letter secreted inside a manila work folder, Matthew read clue number eight. First description of Manchester appearing as Guardian’s leader. ORIGINAL he nodded, then recorded the answer beside the clue.

Matt checked his supervisor was not watching, then casually checked his surrounds – all clear. He lowered his eyes to solve clue nine.

Number nine, he read to himself. Rules out going Dutch in this case, he read. After pausing he wrote the answer, “LAWSUIT” beside the clue.

Following another check to ensure all was clear, he read on. Commotion in Head Office, he read to himself. “ADO,” He said to no one, then wrote the answer beside number ten.

Matt continued to clue eleven. ’Call up soldiers, colonel wanting one to get shocking treatment,’ he read. RECOLLECT, he thought, then recorded the answer.

’Swear blind, perhaps, to incite revolution that will do its job,’ Matthew read out. He sat back in his chair, as he repeated the clue. Ah… EFFICIENT, he thought, nodding in understanding of the clue. He recorded the answer for number twelve.

He continued reading the clues. He was on a roll. ‘Worker agonizes, before dropping off final message for third rate opponents,’ Matt read to himself out loud, before lifting his eyes to check he was clear to continue.

Returning his eyes to the clues, he wrote “ANTAGONISTS” beside clue thirteen.

Two to go. Satisfied with his progress, he sat back into his chair then stretched his arms upward. He was satisfied he was making good time. He returned to his clues and read number fourteen to himself. US city’s austere characters assembled as prizewinners.

He quickly concluded the answer was “LAUREATES”, which he promptly recorded beside clue fourteen.

‘Last one’, he muttered to himself. He checked his surrounds for the last time. ’Number fifteen’, he said to himself, quietly. Go brown and turn into leather, he read. He scoffed at how easy this was. ‘TAN’ he said to no-one, then recorded the answer.

With all cryptic clues completed, Matthew lifted the manila folder containing the letter from his desk and reclined back into his chair. He was pleased with himself.

He scanned the letter. He reached for a blank sheet of paper from his desk caddy and wrote down the answers to all fifteen clues in order.

He read all the words, as if in a sentence, to see if it made any sense.

Ashe Zero Pollux Disbelief Style Theory Scut Original Lawsuit Ado Recollect Efficient Antagonists Laureates Tan, he read to himself. Well… that’s clearly not it.

Maybe the words are jumbled. He tried sorting the words into a logical sentence. Regardless of how he rearranged them however, there was no sense to any of the combinations he came up with. Matthew closed the folder.

After a brief pause, he flicked open the cover and re-ran his eyes over the clues. He carefully scanned every word. ′Hello,’ he said quietly. He lifted the copy of the letter to examine it more closely.

His discerning eye noticed a possible anomaly with clue number two. Uncertain if he was onto something, he quickly checked all the other clues to see if the anomaly was a typographical error, or intentional.

Matt noted that only clue number two and clue number ten had a small dot, or a period, after the clue. None of the other clues had a similar dot. Was this intentional, or just a printing anomaly? He studied the letter.

After running his eyes over all the clues, a possible scenario came to his analytical mind. He returned his focus to the clues.

While passing his eyes over the clues, he found himself doing a double take at clue nine. He lifted the letter to take a closer look at the printing. His brow furrowed. He noticed what appeared to be a small hyphen in front of clue nine.

Matt’s analytical mind worked overtime. Two full stops, one hyphen… Wat if it is not the actual answers to the clues… But the number of letters in the answer. Maybe they make up GPS coordinates, or something…Maybe that is where he will dump the body.

Matt quickly jotted down the corresponding number of letters from each cryptic answer. ASHE has four letters, so he quickly jotted down the number four. ZERO also has four letters, so he wrote another number four beside the first number.

POLLUX had six letters, so he recorded the number six next. He continued on in this format until he had recorded the corresponding number of letters from each clue. When he was done, Matthew stared blankly at the list of numbers he had written.

His mind started to work overtime. He inserted the dots and dash into the number equation, then checked his work. ‘Of course,’ Matthew said out loud. He quickly scribbled the number out again without spaces.

“44.695648 -73.991193”Longitude and Latitude coordinates… he considered.

He jiggled his mouse to awaken his sleeping computer, opened Google and typed “latitude and longitude coordinates.” His search located a website, “LatitudeandLongitudeFinder.com.”

Matt typed what he suspected were the coordinates he had deciphered from the letter and hit the Enter key. He sat eagerly watching his search result load on his computer screen.

His shoulders slumped. He fell back into his chair. That can’t be right. He re-checked the numbers, in case of a keying entry error, but they were all entered correctly.

Matthew stared his disappointment at the screen. He was confused at the blue marker that had pin pointed Matthew’s coordinates near a town called Plattsburgh, in Northern Vermont, up near the Canadian border.

He steepled his fingers in front of his face. He won’t be dumping a body up there. Something must be wrong. He lifted the letter and re-examined the clues.

Matt re-read the answers to himself. What am I missing? He was certain he was on the right track with the idea about the co-ordinates.

This was going to require a great deal more thought, so he reluctantly decided to put the letter away and revisit it tonight when he got home, where he could concentrate without interruption.

---

Matthew burst through his front door. His aggressive actions startled his mother, Wendy, who was seated in the lounge room of their family home.

She turned towards the sudden intrusion just in time to see Matthew standing inside the front door. With his hand resting on the wall for balance, he lazily toed off each shoe, then ran directly to his bedroom, without saying a word.

Matthew resided with his mother in their modest 1950s built, single story brick home in Montclair, New Jersey, where he shared a strong Mother-Son bond. As an only child, and despite his mother’s protestations, Matt felt a duty-bound obligation to stay with his mother, to help her out since his dad passed away three years ago. Plus, the rent was much more affordable, he often joked.

‘Everything alright Matty?’ Wendy shouted from her lounge chair. ‘Matty?’ she repeated. When there was no response, she made her way to Matthew’s room to check he was OK.

In his haste, Matthew didn’t even take the time to turn the light on in his room. His bedroom door was open and he sat in his darkened room at his desk. His shoulders were hunched over his keyboard as he logged into his desktop computer.

The silhouette of his light frame was partly illuminated by the low-level glow from his computer monitor.

Wendy casually leaned a shoulder on the door frame to Matt’s room and folded her arms. ‘Everything OK with you, Matty?’ Wendy asked.

Matt was startled by her voice. His head snapped towards his mother, standing in the doorway. ‘Mom… Sorry.’ He realized he hadn’t yet greeted her. He pushed himself away from his desk and moved to his mother and gave her his customary Hi mom, I’m home, greeting hug.

‘That’s better,’ she reassured. ‘I missed my hug and I thought something was wrong.’ She grabbed his hand. ‘Is everything OK with you?’ she asked. ‘You look a little distant.’

’Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that,’ he said. ‘Just a little distracted,’ He placed his hand over his mother’s hand.

‘Too distracted to give your ol’ Mom her greeting hug, hey?’ she grinned.

‘Nah, I was having trouble with something I was working on…’ he began. ‘And a possible solution came to me on the train on the way home. I guess I was anxious to test out my theory.’

‘OK then… Just as long as you are alright,’ she said, with motherly concern.

Wendy began retreating down the hallway back to the lounge. On her way, she yelled back to Matthew, ‘Oh, I forgot… Sex and the City movie part two is on HBO tonight, Matty. I was hoping we could watch it together, if you are not too busy.’

Matthew was already back at his desk punching away at his keyboard. He lifted his head towards his mother’s voice and shouted in response, ‘That’ll be great Mom… Let me know when.’

Matt removed the coded letter, complete with all his answers, from is backpack. He opened it out onto his desk, dragging his hands across it to flatten it out.

Having already re-accessed the Latitude and Longitude finder website, Matthew re-typed the new coordinates he had calculated, this time with a slight modification. He hit the enter button and excitedly waited for a result.

---

His evening commute home from work gave Matthew uninterrupted thinking time to revisit the clues and work out why the latitude and longitude coordinates were so far off. He was certain the clues in the letter provided coordinates, but he just had to reassess the cipher.

While sitting wedged, shoulder-to-shoulder in his overcrowded train, he stared at the answers to the clues. He was able to block out all other distractions around him. It was then that it suddenly hit him.

He considered the error in coordinates could be in clue number two. He considered the “ZERO” could be a reference to the number zero, and not represented by the number of letters in the word, like in the other answers.

The problem was he was unable to test this theory mid-transit. Instead, Matthew was forced to sit and impatiently wait until he arrived home.

‘Yes.’ Matt punched a fist into the air. The website’s marker pin indicated the new coordinates belonged to the Brooklyn Heights Library. ’That’s more like it,’ he muttered to himself.

He slumped back into his chair feeling proud of his code breaking accomplishment. He was certain he was back on the right track. A hell of a lot closer than Vermont.

Matthew wondered about the significance of the Brooklyn Heights library. He studied the lengthy line of numbers listed underneath the crossword clues. Obviously, a coded message, he realized. However his amateur experience in ciphers taught him that there was a plethora of ciphers and codes that utilized numbers to hide a message.

’OK…’ he said to himself. His mind went to work. Think… Why a Library? Why this Library? Is that where he intended to dump the body? No. He shook his head. Library would have to mean books… Something about books… He rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth.

His mind started to race. Matthew typed “Brooklyn Heights Library” into Google and hit enter. After the results loaded Matthew selected the link to the Library’s website where he searched the entire website looking for anything that may help his quest.

Things such as suggested book titles, promoted books, anything that would suggest something he could use. But nothing jumped out at him.

Matthew visited every link on the Brooklyn Heights Library website and examined them in detail, but it was all to no avail.

In desperation, Matthew painstakingly visited every link that Google spewed out relating to the Brooklyn Heights Library, all with the same frustrating result.

Matt sat with his head lowered and his hands around the nape of his neck. Then it hit him. His eyes lifted to his computer screen in sudden realization. He sat back in his chair. A book… Of course. His eyes flicked to his library of books lining his bedroom wall.

He pushed himself away from his desk and jumped to his feet. He quickly moved to his bookcase. It makes sense now. He followed his pointer finger up and down the book spines, as he moved along his extensive library.

Half way along the second shelf he paused then levered forward a novel from its tightly wedged position among his extensive collection of crime novels. ‘Got it,’ he said. He rotated the book cover to himself. A grin beamed across his face as he stared at the book.

“The Valley of Fear” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter 7

Jack and Spence were due to finish their regular day shift sometime in the evening of the 16th. They were rostered to return on the 17th for their usual 8am start. But the 17th would be too late.

With the deadline looming from the inferred threat in the recent cryptic letter, neither man wanted to go home. Instead they opted to work through the night, assisting the night shift crews by proactively displaying an increased visible police presence around the city. They particularly focused on the sleazy underbelly that emerged after dark.

Although not used to working the graveyard shifts, Jack noted the city was busy with vehicle and pedestrian traffic. Everywhere Jack drove around the bustling city, the vivid images of the first two victims were with him, burnt indelibly into his conscious mind.

To Jack, working through the night was a suitable trade-off – the lesser of two evils. By working all night, he avoided another night of interrupted sleep from the recurring night terrors he had experienced since he started receiving these cryptic letters.

Every night without exception, he woke in fright, sitting bolt upright with a terror filled wide-eyed gaze. He perspired heavily. His pulse raced and his breathing was labored. It always took several seconds to slowly come to terms with the realization that the graphic images were yet another vivid, realistic nightmare.

The convincing nightly recurring visions always involved the two girls depicted on his whiteboard, and always in terrifying life-threatening situations.

Every night it was something different. In one nightmare, one of the girls hanged precariously from a multi-story balcony, or another was slipping down eroding cliff tops, or falling into a raging river, at risk of being whisked away in the river’s torrent.

Any scenario that his mind could subconsciously conjure up to create these life-threatening circumstances was played out in his unconscious state, and only he was around to save them. And in each instance, despite his desperate attempts, he always failed.

All his nightly visions involved Jack’s single outstretched hand, as he frantically struggled to prevent one of the girls from plunging to her inevitable death.

The perspiration on his hands complicated his desperate attempts. As his lifesaving grip invariably failed to hang on, the girl’s pleading eyes looked back up at him, while her failing grip slowly slid through his hand, before eventually slipping free and falling.

In his recurring nightmares, Jack had to watch in horror as the girls fell from his sight, sinking away into the darkness that quickly engulfed them. The feeling of failure that followed was overwhelming. The feeling he was responsible for their deaths consumed him.

The dreams always concluded with him waking suddenly, usually screaming out when his grip failed and the girl disappeared into oblivion.

Jack was well aware that the frustration and sense of helplessness he felt from the death of the first two victims manifested itself though his dreams. The same feeling of helplessness was evident in all dreams, but he couldn’t control them.

---

Most of their night was spent talking to the girls from the city’s numerous red-light districts, much to the chagrin of the girls’ minders and pimps.

The presence of Detectives talking to the working girls was bad for business. Most people in New York could spot a Detective by their cheap suits and stereotypical cop mannerisms and demeanor, especially someone with heightened awareness, who was gutter crawling the streets for prostitutes.

Normally Jack and Spence would be mindful of how their presence impacted on the girls’ business, and as a courtesy, even to illegal street hookers, they would try to minimize their interaction to ‘on a needs basis’.

But this night was different. Tonight they had one thing in mind – preventing the 3rd victim. It was difficult for the girls to understand that the sudden attention from New York’s finest was out of concern for their collective safety, especially during this particular night.

Oblivious to the threats surrounding their kind, the girls became infuriated at the presence of Jack and Spence, and their uniformed colleagues, and they didn’t attempt to hide their ire.

Verbal abuse and insults from the girls was the norm throughout the night. But for tonight, Jack was forgiving. He understood the streets were busy and the potential for a lucrative evening was high. However as long as the cops remained, the Johns moved elsewhere. But Jack was only interested in deterring one John – the Cryptic Killer.

---

The early morning sun crowned the horizon. The blanket of darkness that covered the city during a night that felt like it went for an eternity, was yielding to a new day. The shadows that earlier projected from streetlights and illuminated shop fronts, were no longer visible in the morning light.

The hordes of party goers, clubbers, night owls and drunken revelers that previously populated the city streets had gradually been replaced. Thousands of freshly groomed city workers emerged from subways and cabs to fill the bustling sidewalks during their daily work commute.

Jack glanced at his watch. It was 7.30am. He yawned then glanced over at Spence. He grinned when he noticed his loyal partner was barely awake. Spence’s eyes were merely narrow slits in his face. His mouth was open and his head leaned against the passenger window.

It had been a long night. Jack considered now that it was morning, and there hadn’t been any reports of missing hookers, or the discovery of a body anywhere, that maybe the all-nighter did the trick.

Jack nudged Spence’s shoulder. ‘Hey partner… How ya doin’?’

‘I’m stuffed Jobs,’ Spence said. His mouth hardly moved.

‘What do ya think… Time to call it and head back,’ Jack said. ‘It’s 7.30 and we haven’t had any reports of missing, or murdered hookers,’ Jack crossed his fingers to Spence.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

---

The short stroll from the garage back to the office briefly exposed the Detectives to the fresh, chilly morning air, which provided Jack with a second wind.

With overcoats folded over their arms, they strolled through the Bull Pen. Jack’s face wore a rare smile. He was pleased with himself. His all-night operation appeared to have been a success.

Those from the team who didn’t work through the night, had arrived for work and lounged around the Bull Pen, ingesting their morning caffeine fix.

Spence followed Jack through the Bull Pen. As Spence passed his desk, he lobbed his overcoat onto his chair, then followed Jack into his office.

Jack hung his overcoat on the freestanding coat stand, behind his door. He ambled over to his desk and unloaded his pistol and badge into his desk drawer, then slumped back into chair. The momentum caused it recline back at 45 degrees.

Spence flopped into the chair in front of Jack’s desk. He lifted his feet and dropped them onto the corner of Jack’s desk, as he lounged back with his fingers locked together behind his head. He was long overdue for bed.

Jack glanced across the desk at Spence. He looked beat. ‘Why don’t you head home and get a couple of hours sleep, Spence?’

‘I might just do that, Jobs. What about you? You gunna try and catch some zees?’

‘Yeah, I might,’ he said. He lifted his chin towards the morning crew in the Bull Pen. ‘This lot can hold the fort while we recharge.’

Neither man had moved, when Jack’s office phone rang. Jack’s cynical gaze met Spence. He rolled his eyes at the irony of the situation. ‘Didn’t wanna go home, anyway.’ He lifted the telephone handset.

‘Yes.’ Jack’s tone was intentionally abrupt in the hope the person on the other end would sense his impatience. The caller was Uniform Sergeant, Dave Fox, from the front desk.

‘Yeah Good… What can I do for you…? Aha.’ Jack reached for a note pad and pen.

At the same time, someone from the bull pen called out to Spence. Spence dropped his legs onto the floor and promptly exited the office.

Jack wedged the handset between his shoulder, as he scribbled down, “Brooklyn Bridge Park – Main Street, in a bush under the Manhattan Bridge.’ He underlined it several times.

‘How does he know that…?’ Jack asked. ‘He what…?’ Jack’s voice rose in astonishment. ‘Bullshit. When…? The whole letter…? So he knows exactly what’s on it…? Well I’ll be… When…? Last night…? I’ll be- Who the hell is he…? Who…?’

Spence re-entered the office while Jack continued his conversation with the desk Sergeant. Jack ’s eyes lifted to Spence. He noticed Spence held a piece of paper. His arm dangled by his side like the paper was too heavy to hold up. An expression of shock was frozen into Spence’s face.

Jack mouthed, ‘What’s up…?’ to Spence, while Dave continued on the other end of the phone.

Without saying a word Spence dropped the piece of paper onto the desk. It floated and came to rest beside Jack’s note pad.

Jack was too focused on the exciting news he had just received, to notice Spence’s note. It was potentially the break he had been waiting for.

Jack continued with his phone call. ‘Why do I know that name…? Aha…Did he…? Who did he speak to…? Is he still there with you…? No. No, I’ll come down… See ya soon.’

Jack hung up the phone. He was excited to share his news with Spence. There was a male at the front desk who claimed to have cracked the cipher on the third letter. But Spence’s forlorn expression started to register with Jack.

‘What’s up…? You OK…?’ he asked. He lifted his note pad in preparation to inform Spence his news. As he did so, Jack noticed the note Spence dropped on his desk. He paused while he read the words “Brooklyn Bridge Park – Main Street, in a bush under the Manhattan Bridge”, on Spence’s note.

Jack’s eyes lifted to Spence in confusion. He frowned. He lifted Spence’s note and held both notes side-by-side, for comparison. His eyes flicked back and forth, from note to note, comparing their identical contents.

Both notes contained the same message. His brow dipped. Jack held up Spence’s note. ‘What’s this?’ Jack said.

‘About twenty minutes ago…’ Spence began. His voice broke. ‘At the location I wrote on the note…’ He flicked a finger in the general direction of Jack. ’The third victim was just found at that park. Female… Neck broken.’ Spence’s shoulders slumped. His head lolled to the side.

Jack’s legs gave way. He fell back into his chair. His hands, which still held the two notes, fell limp onto his thighs. His face stared blankly in disbelief.

‘It can’t be,’ Jack said. He lifted his note to Spence. ’Dave from the front desk just rang to tell me he has a guy at the desk who apparently cracked the code last night. This was where he said the body would be found… He was warning us…’ Jack lifted Spence’s note. ‘Are you telling me a body has just been found at this same location…?’

Spence nodded. ‘CSU are there now. They have it cordoned off. They want us to attend ASAP.’

‘FUCK!’ Jack’s face turned an unappealing shade of puce. The veins on his neck and forehead bulged. ‘For weeks, no one was able to crack this fucking code, and now, someone turns up and tells us they have crac — …’ Jack cut himself short. His eyebrows arched high into his forehead. His gaze shifted to Spence. ’What if he’s our guy…?′ Jack paused while he processed his comment.

’Think about it Spence… No one can crack this code. Then this guy comes along out of nowhere, claiming to have broken it, and he tells us where the body will be found. Around the same time the body is found – at that very same location. It can’t be a coincidence. What are the chances?’ Jack asked rhetorically.

Spence shook his head. ‘I dunno Jack,’ Spence said. ’I suppose he has some explaining to do.’

Jack lifted his desk telephone handset. As he did so, he said to Spence, ‘Get in touch with the unit at the scene and tell them we have the job and we’ll be there as soon as we can.’ Jack then punched the front desk’s extension into the phone.

’Dave, Jack…. Is he still there…? Good… Do you have all his details… Good… Have you run them yet…? OK get someone to run them… Coz we do. Just run them, OK… Look, take him around to the interrogation room. Give him a coffee, or a soda or something and tell him someone will be with him shortly… No, the interrogation room,’ Jack emphasized… I know all that… I’ll explain later…’ Jack said. He slammed the telephone handset into its cradle.

Jack stared out the window of his office, into the adjoining Bull Pen, in disbelief. His face was expressionless, having just experienced an emotional roller coaster that would challenge the strongest of characters.

He had gone from a considerable high, feeling satisfied with himself that the night’s operation had prevented the 3rd murder, to a higher feeling of excitement at the prospect of the letter’s cipher finally being solved. Only to crash to a sudden and intense low from the realization that yet another girl was dead.

He failed to prevent the 3rd murder. In an instant, he crashed to the depths of despair. Jack’s eyes shifted to the smiling faces of the first two victims on the white board. He quickly looked away. He couldn’t hold their smiling faces. His head dropped and his shoulders rounded in a helpless feeling of failure. It was clear that the direct and implied pressures of investigating the Cryptic Killer case had started to take its toll. Cracks were starting appear in what was once an impermeable façade.

The sound of Spence’s voice snapped Jack back into reality. ‘We going to see this guy in interrogation, Jack?’ Spence asked. He frowned. ‘You OK buddy?’ Spence placed a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder.

‘Yeah…,’ Jack nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m good. Let’s do this. I need a brew though to give me a kick. Let’s get one on the way down.’

Chapter 8

Desk Sergeant, Dave Fox was already in the interrogation observation room when Jack and his team of Detectives arrived. He stood at the observation window with his arms crossed, watching the suspect through the two-way mirror.

Fox welcomed Jack with a, ‘Hey,’ complete with a lift of his chin, before he returned his gaze back to their suspect.

The interrogation room was a rectangular room with dark colored, sound proof walls. It was intentionally unwelcoming to its occupants. There were no windows and only one door.

The lighting was deliberately low. A centrally located table was secured to floor. There were only two chairs; one on either side of the table.

A large two-way mirror on the wall of the room allowed for the monitoring of interrogations from the adjoining room. An intercom allowed the onlookers to listen in on the conversation, while a video camera, positioned in the interrogation room, and operated from the viewing room, recorded every interview. A monitor located in the observation room showed what the video camera recorded.

Jack stood beside Fox at the interrogation room window. ‘What do we know…?’ Jack asked, then sipped his coffee.

Fox retrieved a clipboard from a nearby table and handed it to Jack. Jack flicked through the pages. ‘Twenty-six,’ Jack read out, as if asking a question. His eyes lifted to the suspect to check if that looked feasible. ‘And a clean skin…?’ he said.

‘Yep. Nothin,’ Fox replied. ‘Says he lives with his mom in Jersey, and he works in a mail room in the city, delivering office mail.’

Jack turned to Spence, as he lowered a thoughtful brow. ‘Didn’t someone who worked in a mail room ring here yesterday claiming he thought he could break the code in the letter?’ Jack said.

Spence shrugged. ‘Not sure Jobs.’

‘I think that’s the guy I spoke to you about in your office Jobs,’ Pete Unly said. ‘You remember… the crossword guy.’

‘He did say he was the National Crossword Champion, or some shit,’ Fox said. ‘Says he won some competition recently,’ Fox continued. ‘Apparently he says he is an amateur code breaker, or something, and he claims he broke the code last night.’

‘Last night?’ Jack addressed Unly. ‘Where is your list of fruit cakes that rang the station yesterday, about the letter on the news…?’

‘On my desk.’

‘Go get it.’

Jack eyed Fox, as Unly exited the room. ‘Why did he wait until this morning to come in, if he solved it last night?’

Fox shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

‘He doesn’t tell us until the same morning the body was found…’ Jack’s mind worked through the chain of events. ‘Maybe he had to wait until he killed her before reporting it…’ he said. ‘Maybe he was sick of us not being able to crack this cipher and stroke his ego, so he had to move things along.’

‘It’s possible…’ Fox said. ‘But can you prove it?’

Unly re-entered the room and handed Jack a clipboard of names. Jack ran his finger down the lengthy list of names. He flipped the front page over. ‘Shit’, he blurted to himself. ’There are a lot of ‘em.’

Three quarters of the way down the page he stopped and tapped the page. ‘Matthew Curry. Rang at 11.45am.’

‘That’s him,’ Unly said.

Jack addressed Fox. ‘Did he say how he solved it?’

‘He started to, but it was too confusing to me. I told him to wait and someone would be along shortly that he could explain it to.’

Jack’s eyes shifted to his suspect sitting calmly in the interrogation room. His hands were clasped together on the table in front of himself, as he casually glanced around the barren room, in a typical first-time survey.

‘He doesn’t look too worried, does he?’ Jack said.

Fox shook his head in agreement. ‘No, he does not.’

‘OK. We have to go down to the crime scene,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll just go in and have a quick chat to him first, before we go… You come in with me Spence while I talk to him.’

Both men exited the observation room. Matthew’s head snapped to his left when Jack aggressively wrenched open the door and entered the interrogation room. Jack’s eyes locked onto Matthew, as he approached Matt’s side of the table.

He deliberately dropped his folder onto the desk from a height. The sound bounced around the enclosed room. Jack leaned a hand on the back of Matthew’s chair, while his other arm rested on the table. He was effectively hovering over Matthew in a controlling show of dominance. Spence leaned against the wall, beside the door, with his arms folded.

‘My name is Lieutenant Jack Head from the Homicide squad…’ he said. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer. Thanks for coming down, Matthew.’

‘That’s OK. I was just wondering if this is going to take long.’ Matthew checked his watch. ‘I have to be at work,’ he said.

‘It might take a little while. Is there someone you can call to let know you are here?’

‘Just my boss. He’ll be pissed coz the mail has to go out about now.’

‘We can ring him for you and let him know you are assisting us with our inquiries.’

‘That would be great. He wouldn’t question you guys.’

Jack retrieved a note pad from his folder and placed it in front of Matthew for Matt to jot down the telephone number and his boss’s name.

When he was done, Jack ripped the page from the pad and handed it to Spence, who took the page and exited the room.

‘Detective Sergeant Spencer will take care of that for us. OK…’ Jack said. He made his way around and sat at the table opposite Matthew. ‘I just want to ask you some questions. OK.’

‘No problem.’

‘Tell me why you came down here this morning, Matt?’

‘I was working on the cipher in the letter last night, you know, the coded letter you received, and it all came together for me last night and I think I solved it.’

’You think you solved it?’

’Well… No… I solved it,’ Matt corrected.

‘I’ll get you to show me later how you solved it. But for now I have a few more questions. How did you get a copy of the letter?’

‘I printed it from the CBS website….’

Jack slowly nodded his understanding. ‘What time did you solve the letter?’ He asked.

‘Ah, Last night… It was late. I finished it after the movie we were watching.’

Jack scribbled some notes down as Matthew talked. Over the ensuing ten minutes, Jack asked a series of strategic questions, essential in ascertaining a preliminary understanding of Matthew’s background and his whereabouts, and his movements and actions from the previous night.

Verification inquiries would be made while Jack visited the crime scene from the latest murder. Once Jack established an understanding of the new crime scene and murder circumstances, he would return and conduct a more detailed interview with Matthew.

‘Why didn’t you contact us last night, when you solved the cipher?’ Jack asked.

‘I did… Well, not straight away. I told my Mom first and we talked about it. It was she who suggested I ring you up. We live in Jersey, so I didn’t want to come into the city at night.’

‘Why did you change your mind?’ Jack said.

‘I didn’t… I rang last night.’

‘You rang last night…?’ Jack repeated, as a question.

‘Yep. I told them that I had some information about how to solve the cipher letter that was sent to Homicide, and I wanted to speak to Lieutenant Head.’

‘What time was this?’

‘About 11.30pm or so.’

‘What happened then?’ Jack slowly glanced over his shoulder and glared at the two-way mirror.

‘The cop I spoke to took down my name and phone number and said he would pass on my message to you… And that you would call me back. I waited till quite late, but when you didn’t ring me back, I went to bed and decided I would come in here this morning, on my way to work.’ Matthew must’ve noticed Jack’s reaction. ‘You didn’t get the message I left, did you?’ Matthew said.

Jack ignored the question. He realized that if he had received the message last night, like he should have, he may have been able to prevent the 3rd murder. For the moment he contained his frustration to continue with Matthew.

‘How did you know where the body was going to be dumped?’

‘When I decoded the message in the letter… The location was in the letter.’

’Did the letter actually name a location?’

‘No. It gave coordinates.’

‘Coordinates…?’

‘Yeah. Latitude and Longitude coordinates.’

‘OK.’ Jack nodded his understanding. ‘How did you know where these coordinates were?’

’I typed them into a website that pinpoints Latitude and Longitude coordinates and the Main Street Brooklyn Bridge Park came up.’

‘Did the letter provide a time or date when the body would be dumped?’

‘No.’ Matthew shook his head. ’It just said in “two days’ time”, but it didn’t state an actual time.’

Jack nodded. He was satisfied this kid was more likely just a clever kid, than his murderer. Jack’s experience and training had taught him that 70% of all communication was through body language. Most verbal responses from offenders during interviews were usually lies.

He worked on the theory that the majority of all true responses to his questions were derived from non-verbal behavior and cues. Which was why years of experience from interviewing some of the most vicious and sadistic murderers had taught Jack to read his suspect’s body language during strategic questioning.

Jack identified early on, Matt’s body language was too calm. The kid was too cool, and he didn’t seem intimidated by the environment of the interrogation room.

In fact, he appeared the opposite. He appeared intrigued. He answered every question directly, without hesitation. He didn’t have any of the usual tells that suggested lies or evasive answers. And more relevant was, he didn’t appear to know of the discovery of the 3rd victim, or that it coincided with his arrival at the police station this morning.

Jack continued his discussions with Matt. ‘I have a couple of things I must do. I might be a little while, but I will be back as soon as I can. I’m really interested to see how you broke the code. OK?’

‘Sure.’

Jack slid his notepad into his folder. As he pushed himself away from the table and stood, he said, ‘OK. I won’t be long. If you need the bathroom or anything else just sing out.’ Jack gestured towards the mirror.

Dave Fox was still in the observation room when Jack burst into the room. ‘What the fuck, Dave,’ Jack blurted. ’Please don’t tell me that one of your guys took a message last night from this guy,’ he jabbed a thumb towards Matthew. ‘A message that the letter had been cracked. The fucking letter that we have not been able to crack for months… And because of that two gir-’ Jack cut himself off. His shoulders slumped at the thought of saying it… ’Three girls are now dead,’ he said.

Dave didn’t respond. Jack continued. ‘This kid Dave,’ Jack lifted his chin towards Matthew. ‘Tells one of your officers that he solved the cipher in the letter and asks for me… AND I DIDN’T GET THE FUCKING MESSAGE,’ his voice rose to a frustrated yell. ‘Do you understand what this means?’ He glared at Fox.

‘I understand Jack. I’ll look into it,’ Dave said. ‘We’ll know more when I speak to the officer concerned. I’ll let you know what I find out…OK?’

‘We better get down to the crime scene Jobs…’ Spence said, ‘They’re waiting for us.’

Jack opened his folder and quickly scribbled something onto his note pad. He ripped off the page and handed it to Detective Peter Unly.

‘Head out to this address in Jersey… It’s his home.’ Jack jabbed his pen towards Matthew. ‘Speak to his mother… Her name is Wendy… See if she can verify where Matt was last night,’ Jack said.

Unly accepted the note from Jack. ‘Will do.’

Jack briefly stared at Matthew through the two-way mirror. Matthew sat calmly in the interrogation room. His hands remained clasped together on the table in front.

Jack would know more once he returned from the crime scene and finished their discussion. He was particularly interested to see how Matthew cracked the code, and what information was provided in this latest mystery letter.

Chapter 9

Both men were surprisingly alert, considering they had been awake and working continuously since yesterday morning. The increased stress from the morning’s events had pepped them up and reduced their perception of fatigue. At some stage however, they would hit the wall.

Despite the cool morning temperatures, the cloudless blue sky gave the impression of a much warmer day, with its bright azure backdrop framing the Manhattan city skyline.

The morning sun through the vehicle’s window was pleasantly warm on Jack’s face, as he drove. Despite knowing what lay ahead for him and Spence, for the moment at least, he felt good.

The traffic was medium for that time of the day, so the drive from the office to the latest crime scene on the Brooklyn side of the East River, only took about ten minutes.

It was hardly enough time for the guys to discuss each other’s thoughts about recent events. Instead, both men were happy to take the time to silently recharge and take in the glorious sunshine ahead of being thrust into the ugliness and depressing atmosphere that usually confronted them at murder scenes.

The number of emergency service vehicles already in attendance meant that Jack and Spence had to park a considerable distance from the crime scene, and walk.

After exiting their vehicle, they made their way down towards the East River. A large area of the park had been cordoned off by crime scene tape stretched around trees, shrubs, posts and whatever else was in the vicinity that would satisfy the need. Uniformed officers stood like sentries at intervals around the exterior of the tape.

The Brooklyn Bridge Park – Main Street was an area of manicured lawn and gardens located beneath the Manhattan Bridge. With its large open space of lawn, encircled by a pathway, the area was a popular spot for families. Trees and shrubs lined the river side paths, which were regularly used by joggers and walkers, especially people with dogs.

The female officer on guard duty smiled and nodded to the Detectives. She lifted the tape up for them to pass under.

‘Thanks,’ Jack said as they stooped under the crime scene tape. ‘Where is the path that has been cleared for us to walk on?’ he asked.

‘Straight ahead.’ The Officer gestured to a sealed pathway that led down to the river. ‘That way is clear. The shoe covers are at the next tape,’ she said.

A privacy screen had been erected around one of the small trees, located down by the river bank. Several Crime Scene personnel and the Chief Medical Officer were still on scene waiting for the Homicide Detectives.

As they neared the privacy screen, the Detectives were met on the path by the uniform Sergeant who had taken charge of the scene, pending Homicide’s arrival.

The Detectives failed to break their stride as they continued towards the body, forcing the Sergeant to quickly turn and walk with them, to keep pace as he greeted the men. His voice was clearly morose, ‘Jack… Spence,’ was all he offered.

‘Who found the body?’ Jack asked, as they continued to move in the direction of the river.

The Sergeant glanced at his note pad and replied, ‘Ah… Sandra Walters… Twenty-two… She’s over there with one of our female officers.’ He indicated a female seated on a nearby park bench. An oversized Rottweiler rested faithfully beside her.

‘Thanks for that. We’ll take it from here,’ Jack said. ‘Go get her story, Spence,’ Jack directed.

Jack continued towards the location of the latest body, while Spence peeled off and headed over to speak to the witness.

---

‘Ms. Walters…?’ Spence said as he approached the seated witness. His eyes dropped to her large, vicious-looking dog. It stood up from its lying position and moved to stand in front of its female owner. Its protective instincts were clearly alerted as this unknown male approached its master.

The female witness tugged aggressively at the dog’s choker chain, as she gave a succinct instruction. The dog obediently returned to the ‘heel’ position beside her, while its eyes remained locked on the approaching Spence

The female witness was a fit, athletic woman. She wore low ankle socks and short, black skin tight lycra running shorts that accentuated her shapely, long tanned legs. Her body hugging fluorescent green singlet top exposed her tanned flat stomach.

Her dark hair was pulled tightly back into a single ponytail, but her most notable feature was her perfect brilliant white teeth, visible when she smiled at Spence on his approach.

She also had overpowering large piercing blue eyes that were complimented by long thick lashes. Spence was suitably impressed.

‘Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting…’ Spence said. His eyes dropped nervously to her dog.

‘He won’t hurt you…’ she said. ‘He knows you’re not a threat.’

‘How can he tell that?’

She patted his coat with full length strokes. ‘He’s just an adorable, gentle little boy.’

‘Little…?’

She smiled at Spence then continued. ‘He knows when I am stressed, or frightened and he instantly turns into a guard dog. But when I let him know everything is OK, he relaxes.’

‘So who takes whom for a walk?’ Spence added light heartedly.

’I take him…’ she said firmly. ‘And we run. We don’t walk. He is so obedient I wouldn’t even need a leash. He runs beside me the whole time. I only have a leash on him because it’s the law around some of these river paths.’

Spence smiled his understanding as he slipped his shield from his belt and held it up to the woman. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Doug Spencer from Homicide,’ he said. ‘I understand you discovered the body.’

‘That’s right. I was running along the path in this direction,’ she gestured from her right to her left. ‘When I passed under the bridge, Cooj was running beside, like he always does.’

“Cooj?”

’Yes, short for Cujo, you know, like in the movie...’ she said, with a reference to the 1983 horror movie about a vicious Saint Bernard dog named Cujo.

Spence nodded. ’How often do you and “Cooj” run along here?’

‘Every morning around the same time, unless it is raining too heavily.’

‘What time is that?’

‘We leave home at 7am every morning. I live in DUMBO, about one- and one-half miles that way, back up the river.’ She pointed to her right, toward North Brooklyn.

‘What happened as you were running?’

‘We were passing that tree or shrub… The one by the river where all the police are now,’ she said. ‘Cooj started pulling me off the track, over towards the lawn area… I thought he wanted to go to the toilet… You know… number twos…’ She smiled at Spence.

Spence nodded his understanding.

‘He then started to sniff around under the shrub,’ she continued. ‘I didn’t know what he was trying to do. He was sniffing everywhere, as he walked around to the river side of the shrub… And it was when I followed him, I saw two feet protruding from under the shrub.’

‘What happened then?’

’Cooj went in under the shrub, but I pulled him back out straight away… I called out in a loud voice… “Are you OK…?” But there was no response from under the shrub. I didn’t know if it was a drug addict, or a homeless person, so I was a bit scared. I asked again, “are you OK?” But still nothing.

‘I got down onto my knees and looked under the shrub…’ She stopped suddenly, pausing briefly before continuing. Her eyes fell heavily to the ground in front of her. ‘I’ve never seen a dead body before…’ She shook her head while holding a blank stare.

‘How did you know she was dead?’

‘Her skin color wasn’t natural. Her lips were blue and her head didn’t look like it was sitting right… It was tilted too far around. The way her clothing was… Everything was exposed… I mean, it would be so humiliating.’ She shuddered as she recounted.

‘What happened then?’

‘I screamed,’ she said. ‘I was terrified. Cooj started barking aggressively… He knew I was frightened.’

‘What did you do after you saw the body?’

‘I moved back out onto the path… I was shaking. Some people came over and asked me if was OK, but others just came to look at what all the commotion was about, then left.’

‘Are any of those people who came to help you around here now?’ Spence asked.

‘Some were. The police spoke to them already I think… Others just looked and kept on going… Like a body by the river was an everyday occurrence to them. Unbelievable,’ she said.

‘What happened next?’

‘I rang 9-1-1.’

‘OK, that’s great,’ Spence reassured. ‘The crime scene investigators will want to get a photograph of the sole of your runners.’

‘Ah, they have already done that, Detective,’ the female officer standing nearby said.

‘OK great,’ Spence said to the officer. He gestured to the same female officer. ’I am going to ask this officer here to take your statement, just like you have told me here today, and then you will be right to go. Is that OK with you?

‘Fine. I don’t have anywhere else to be,’ she said, although her tone suggested otherwise.

Spence the witness his card, should she think of anything else.

---

The walk from the car to the crime scene was a lengthy one, much further than what Jack was used to. He was a lonely figure strolling down the sealed path, that cut a swathe through the manicured lawns.

He looked every bit the police Detective; dark suit, jacket unbuttoned, loose tie with the top button undone, police folder in one hand, the other hand buried into his trouser pocket, as he walked with purpose in a long confident gait.

Contrary to his usual forthright and confident persona, Jack was apprehensive, as he walked to this particular crime scene. Not because of the thought of being confronted with another dead body, but because this body was representative of his inability to solve the previous two murders.

Rightly or wrongly, there was blood on his hands with this death. Had he been able to track down this sadistic Cryptic Killer by now, this young woman could still be alive today. Instead, he found himself reluctantly strolling towards this crime scene with an overwhelming sense of helplessness and failure, feelings that were completely foreign to him prior to these cryptic killings.

Jack stopped at the inner perimeter crime scene and slipped on the protective shoe covers. He then continued to walk, scanning the ground leading up to the victim’s body.

He noted there were no visible signs of vehicle tire tracks. Did the victim accompany the killer to this location, or was her lifeless body carried from the nearby car park and dumped?

The Senior Crime Scene Investigator stood up from his crouched position near the body and oved to meet Jack.

‘Jack,’ he greeted in his customary brief manner, devoid of any emotion. ‘Rough morning?’ the CSI asked.

Jack assumed the question was a direct reference to his unshaven appearance after working into his third straight shift without a break.

‘Tom.’ Jack nodded. He chose to ignore the question. ‘Do we have a name?’

‘No.’ The CSI shook his head. ‘I think she’s a hooker though, but there is no ID on her. There was a hand bag beside her… It’s over there.’ He gestured to a large purse with its contents upended onto a plastic sheet on the ground.

‘If she was a hooker, we will probably have her on record, for something,’ Jack said.

He moved over to the purse and bent down to examine the contents. Using his pen, he moved and nudged the contents while making a mental note of each item.

Lip gloss, small tube moisturizer, lipstick – “Flaming Red”, six packets of condoms, compact mirror, Metro-card, a pen and an iPhone. But nothing to identify who she was.

Jack removed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapped one onto a hand. His gloved hand picked up the iPhone and awoke the device. Surprisingly, the phone was not password protected.

After navigating his way to the phone’s call register, he noticed that the same number had called this phone six times between 2am and 6am this morning. Jack used the victim’s phone to call back this recurring number.

The phone rang for several rings without being answered, but did not go to voice mail. Jack was about to hang up when a voice abruptly answered the other end.

“Where da fuck you been girl…? Do you know how much money you cost me, bitch…? I oughta break your fuckin’ skinny little neck!”

‘Too late. Somebody beat you to it,’ Jack bluntly replied.

“Who da fuck’s dis?” The voice on the other end was aggressive. “And where da fuck’s Amber?”

‘This is Lieutenant Head from New York Homicide. To whom am I speaking?’

Silence…

Jack continued. ‘Look, I am calling this number because it appeared several times in the call register of a cell phone that was found in possession of a young woman…’ he said, pausing briefly before continuing. ‘A young woman whose body was found in Brooklyn this morning. And we don’t know who she is.’

Silence.

‘Look, I don’t care about you. All I am interested in is finding out who this young girl is and who killed her. And I need your help?’

“You for real…?” The voice was cautious. “She dead…?”

‘I couldn’t be more serious. All I’m interested in is finding out who this young woman is.’

“Amber…” the voice was solemn. “Well…at least… dat’s her phone you calling me on, man.”

‘What color is Amber’s hair?’ Jack said.

“Blonde…long, sensual blonde hair, man.”

Jack’s eyes dropped to the victim’s long blonde hair. ‘When did you last see Amber?’

’Last night ‘bout 1am.’

‘Did you notice if she left with a client?’

“Nah. I didn’t know she had gone with anyone.”

‘What was Amber wearing?’

“I dunno know man, shit, I gots lotts a girls.”

‘Think hard.’ Jack was stern. ‘It’s important.’

“Ah…oh yeah. A hot little red number…and red high heel shoes.”

Jack’s eyes dropped to the lifeless body lying under the shrub. The pimp described exactly what she wore. Jack noticed some ink on the victim’s right forearm. ‘Does Amber have any visible tattoos?’

“Um…yeah…yeah. She gots a tattoo on her right arm…um, you know, on her forearm.”

‘Do you recall what the tattoo is?’

“Yeah man… words written down her arm. Something about life being simple, or some shit…”

Jack moved closer to examine the tattoo on the victim’s right forearm. The words, “Life is Simple – It’s Just Not Easy”, were tattooed in script font on her forearm.

‘What area was she working in last night?’

“Ah Last night she was in Chinatown…all night …until she disappeared. Dats why I was callin’ ’er.”

‘Do you know where Amber was from. Where her family live…?’

‘She don’t got no family, man… I’s all she’s got. Her parents are dead. She’s lived her life in and out of the State Juvey system, before she came to me…’

Jack had heard enough. With Amber being known to police, he was satisfied her ID would not be too problematic. He ended the call a short time later.

Chapter 10

Jack returned the cell to Amber’s property, then surveyed the immediate vicinity around the body, searching for anything out of place.

The victim’s short, body-hugging little red dress had lifted and exposed her groin.

‘Was there any underwear lying around the area?’ Jack asked anyone listening.

‘No, nothing. Probably not wearing any,’ a CSI said.

‘Was the skirt like this when you arrived?’

‘Exactly. We haven’t moved her.’

Jack crouched down beside the victim’s body. He noticed her dress was also raised at the back. Her buttocks were fully exposed to the ground. The victim’s long blonde hair was all knotted and stretched above her head.

‘It looks like she was dragged from this side, by her feet.’ Jack gestured to the river side of the bush. ‘Probably to move her further under the bush and out of sight,’ he continued. ‘The weight of the body being dragged over the ground must have dragged her skirt up. Make sure you check the area of her ankles and shoes for any epithelial evidence,’ he said. ‘What was the T.O.D.?’ Jack asked the ME.

‘I estimate around 3am this morning, give or take…’

‘Probable cause…?’

‘Broken neck…looks like the C2 or C3 vertebrae, but I will know more once I get her back.’

Jack lifted the victim’s arms and examined them. ‘No sign of any defensive wounds on her arms or hands,’ he said. ‘Anything under the nails?’ he asked the ME.

‘Nothing.’

Jack’s ageing knees creaked when he stood up from his prolonged crouching position. ‘Anything on the body? Clothing fibers, hair, blood, semen, transfer, or trace evidence…’ he asked a CSI.

‘There’s not much there. We have taken some swabs for testing. We’ll know more when they are run.’

‘Any impressions?’

‘There were some impressions from a large dog and some impressions from runners around the area of the shrub,’ The CSI said. ‘But nothing else. It looks like the area had been swept over before the witness and her dog walked over it.’

‘Probably was,’ Jack said.

‘We’ll run fingerprints on the victim when we get her back. If she’s got a record, we’ll know who she is.’

‘OK, thanks,’ Jack said. ‘Can you get the results to me as soon as you have them?’ The CSI nodded once.

Jack noticed Spence approach. ‘How did you go with the witness?’ Jack asked.

Spence crouched down to briefly examine the body. He returned to his feet a short time later, shaking his head,

’Treats ‘em like garbage. Discards them under a bush when he has finished with them,’ Spence said. ‘Ah…the witness…Boy, Jobs… she was hot.’

‘I didn’t ask for a rating, Spence…’

‘I know but, whoa,’ he grinned. ‘OK, what have we got…?’ Spence asked himself, as he started his recap. ‘She runs this path every morning at 7am with her dog. It was her dog that sniffed out the body. She went to look at what the dog was sniffing at and then called 9-1-1. Did you see that dog jobs…? You could throw a saddle on it…it was huge.’

‘Statement?’ Jack grunted.

‘Yeah, the female uniformed officer is taking that now. They have three other statements from witnesses who testified that they saw our witness when she screamed, and all verified her story. Uniform will get them to us later.’

‘OK. We are done here, then.’

Jack and Spence retreated to the inner perimeter crime scene tape where they discarded their shoe covers and gloves, before making their way back to their car.

‘We’ll head back and see how our friend at the station solved this letter cipher,’ Jack said.

As they approached the outer perimeter crime scene tape, Jack noticed a throng of media reporters that had gathered at the entry/exit area. ‘Fuckin’ vultures,’ Jack blurted.

The officer on guard raised the crime scene tape for the Detectives to walk under, but before Jack could pass through to the other side of the tape, he was accosted by reporters thrusting microphones and tape recorders in to his face.

The sound of yelling unintelligible overlapping questions was deafening and annoyed Jack.

Both Detectives ignored the reporters’ thrusting advances, intentionally holding their gaze straight ahead. Jack and Spence simply pushed through the arms and bodies that tried to impede their progress.

Like a pack of wolves encircling their prey, trying to bring it down for the kill, the media throng followed and circled the Detectives, as they returned to their vehicle.

Jack was unyielding. He towered over the journalist, as he continued to push away microphones from in front of his face. He nudged people out of his way as he walked. Spence followed closely behind Jack’s larger frame as Jack cleared the way for him like an offensive blocker.

Jack decided that the only way he could get rid of these parasites was to give them something. He stopped in his tracks and was quickly engulfed by the reporters. Questions were bombarded at him from all directions.

“Is the victim a prostitute? Is this murder related to the coded letter you received two days ago? Is this the work of CK? Is this murder linked to the other two prostitutes who were found dead? Is there a serial killer on the loose? What was the cause of death?”

Jack raised his hands. ‘Back off…’ he barked. ‘If you want to talk to me… Do it civilly.’

The reporters recommenced the barrage of questions.

‘One at a time, or we walk…’ Jack jabbed a firm thumb towards their vehicle.

He gestured to a young female reporter closest to him, who responded with a question. ‘Can you tell us please, Lieutenant, is this case linked to the coded letter you received two days ago?’ Her articulation suggested education and refinement.

Jack paused while he scanned his eyes across the media horde, all of whom were hushed awaiting his response. ‘All I am prepared to say at this stage is… The body of a young, white female was found this morning by the East River,’ Jack began.

‘The cause of death at this stage is not known. Her identity is yet to be confirmed. I am not at liberty to discuss anything further in relation to this case, as it is an ongoing investigation. Thank you.’

All reporters surged forward simultaneously, yelling their questions, as if their respective question was more important than anyone else’s.

Jack used the weight of his six-foot eight-inch frame to force his way through the crowd. The reporters followed the Detectives to their vehicle, where they continued with their verbal barrage of simultaneous questions, only relenting when the Detectives slammed the vehicle doors in their faces.

The accompanying television cameramen continued to film the Detectives until they drove off.

---

Jack was distracted during the return trip to the office. He was excited at the prospect of learning how Matthew cracked the CK letter cipher. The chance to finally read the letter, the contents of which up until now, had been a mystery to him, yet was so critical in his investigation, was electrifying Jack.

Not being able to decipher the letter, or know its contents, or message, only added to Jack’s torment of not being able to save the three unfortunate women.

Could this be an opportunity to delve into the psyche of this egotistical killer, who no doubt by now was sitting back watching the news crosses, admiring his work? He was probably marveling at how Jack’s inability to solve his cipher had cost the life of another woman?

Always thinking several steps ahead, Jack realized the Cryptic Killer would assume the police had failed to decipher the 3rd letter, just like the first two letters. The 3rd, and latest victim was the consequence of this failure.

When comparing all three letters Jack was able to ascertain that the killer adopted the same cipher techniques in all three letters. Each letter included a literary quote, several cryptic crossword clues and a large string of numbers.

Jack considered how this could potentially work to his advantage, should a 4th letter using the same cipher techniques be received.

The killer would be unaware that Matthew solved the cipher in the 3rd letter and his presumed arrogance and narcissism would reassure him he was too clever for the police. He would expect the trend to continue with the assumption the police would be unable solve any subsequent ciphers he sent.

The thought of it sounded somewhat perverted to him, but Jack started to welcome the prospect of a 4th letter from the Cryptic Killer, rather than worrying on a daily basis, when a next letter was going to arrive.

He no longer worried about whether he would be responsible for adding more pictures to his whiteboard. He was now a giant predator, lying in wait for its unsuspecting prey to amble by.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Jack. A little over two hours ago he seriously, probably desperately, looked at Matthew as the main suspect. Move forward a couple of hours and Matt was now their trump card in a very complex murder investigation.

For months he had been pre-occupied, if not obsessed with trying to match intelligence with a very clever and very elusive killer. And now he had a break. Now he had Matthew Curry.

As they pulled into the police station parking garage Jack looked across at Spence and grinned; a rare sight in a man so serious.

Sitting motionless for a short period of time during the car ride back, had caused Spence to doze off. The effect of working well into his 3rd straight shift without a break took its toll.

The warm sun through the vehicle windows and the calming motion of the vehicle, must’ve caused Spence to nod off. His head fell straight back onto the seat headrest. His face pointed upwards, and his jaw sagged open. It was not a flattering sight. His breathing was deep and controlled.

After waking his partner, Jack and Spence headed straight for the interrogation viewing room. A uniform officer, responsible for monitoring Matthew, was present in the room.

‘How’s he been?’ Jack asked.

‘He’s been OK…. He’s very patient… Just sits there,’ the cop said.

Jack looked in at Matthew. ‘Has he asked for anything… food… drink?’

‘No, nothing… But we took him in a Pepsi anyway and he seemed fine.’

Although Jack was waiting for Pete Unly to return from the verification inquiries with Matt’s mother, he was confident their stories would align.

Procedurally, these were inquires that had to be conducted to definitively eliminate Matthew, and to move on to the next stage of the investigation, complete in the knowledge that he had not been conned by a very clever and calculating deceitful mind.

Jack instructed Spence to source a laptop computer in preparation for Matt’s demonstration and they were good to go.

---

‘Matthew…’ Jack greeted cheerfully when he entered the interrogation room. ‘Sorry we kept you waiting so long, but we had an urgent matter we absolutely had to attend to. Just bad timing buddy.’

‘That’s OK.’

’I am dying to see how you cracked this code, Matt.’

Matt’s body language changed. The kid re-adjusted himself in his chair and he sat up straighter. He removed a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, placed it onto the table and smoothed it out flat.

He removed a novel from his coat, which hung over the back of his chair, and placed that onto the table. Jack was not sure who was more excited about the pending demonstration, him or Matt.

Spence entered the interrogation room carrying a laptop. ‘I assumed you would need a laptop for your demonstration, Matt,’ Jack said. Spence placed the laptop on the table in front of Matthew. The laptop was opened, booted up and already surfed to the Google browser page.

Jack placed a copy of the last letter he received over two days ago on the table for Matt to use in his demonstration. ‘Ready when you are Matt,’ Jack said.

Spence brought in an additional chair and he and Jack moved to sit at the table opposite Matt. Their eyes were fixed on their tutor. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he was so interested in a demonstration.