Jason Sullivan sighed as he took out his apartment keys. The Bludgeon Man investigation was going nowhere. They didn't have diddly on the guy. And according to the spooks at Behavioral Sciences, the guy was gonna hit again, soon. His cycle was getting shorter, too. Meant they'd be dealing with another crime scene and another broken body soon.
The detective found himself wondering about Lisa. She seemed like a really nice chick. He knew that there were a few people making jokes about him shacking up with her, but hell, it was necessary. That Creed guy was bad news. Besides, she was nice. He didn't know what would come down the road – eventually, Lisa Starling was gonna pack up and move back to Washington where she lived. But it was fun, he liked her, and for now he was happy to enjoy her company. For the past couple of days, though, she'd been real jumpy. Like she'd seen a ghost or something. Every time one of the cops guarding the apartment knocked on the door, she'd jump practically through the roof. He'd asked her what was up and gotten polite demurrals in return.
He opened the apartment door and glanced curiously at the uniformed cop sitting in his living room. It didn't bother him that there was a stranger sitting on his couch. That came with the territory. The important thing was protecting the FBI's Behavioral Science people. Lisa was still at the office. One of the Boston cops surrounding the office had told him. For her part, Lisa carped good-naturedly that she couldn't do much without him knowing.
But for the past couple of days she just seemed so…haunted. Something was up. He hoped she'd fess up. Detective Lieutenant Sullivan had gotten plenty of confessions in his time. Confessing itself could be very, very calming and relaxing for someone under stress. Sometimes, when he'd felt it appropriate, he'd try to go to bat for a defendant who needed it. Maybe Lisa needed to talk. He'd go to bat for her if he had to.
"Where's Alvarez?" he asked the uniform. Tall guy. Blond. Sullivan didn't recognize him.
The guy looked nonplussed for a moment. "He had to go," he said finally. "I'm taking over in his place."
Jason nodded and sat down at his computer. The Creed escape had really gotten to Lisa. Maybe he ought to have a look. Lisa had told him there was a VICAP file he could get to. He had a username and password. He fired up a web browser and surfed to the FBI's web site. In a moment he was at the Ten Most-Wanted List.
There it was, on the left side. The first entry was that of a brunette who resembled Lisa. She was smirking in the four-year old mugshot. Susana Alvarez was written in underlined blue letters under her name. Under that was a picture of a studious looking man, staring solemnly into the camera. He had the tiniest pupils Detective Sullivan had ever seen. It reminded him of the speed freaks he'd arrested as a young cop. Under his name was Thomas Lawrence Creed.
Was that a woman humming? Was Lisa in the bathroom? That'd be good. He wanted to get dinner started. Maybe she'd feel better with some food in her. She hadn't been eating well on the Bludgeon Man case. Jason rather liked cooking and thought a good meal would do her a world of good.
"Lis?" he asked. "That you?"
No reply came. Probably somebody next door. The walls here were thin. No biggie. Better that way; he could have some food ready by the time she came home.
He pulled up Creed's record. The professor's tiny pupils were freaky even in the mugshot. Under the photo and description was a paragraph labeled CAUTION.
Thomas Creed committed several ritualistic murders in Ithaca, New York. He was sentenced to death for his crimes and incarcerated in New York's Clinton Correctional Facility. Creed was being brought to Boston to testify in federal court when he escaped. Two federal marshals were murdered in his escape. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous.
"Nice guy," Jason Sullivan said.
Jason clicked on Susana's name. A moment later, a larger version of her mugshot came up along with a side view of her face as well. Under it were those aliases that Lisa had been able to crack. Jason read her description and the large CAUTION under that.
Susana Alvarez is wanted for twenty-five counts of murder. She was allegedly responsible for the explosion of a building in which sixteen federal agents were killed and butchered a seventeenth. She escaped custody and allegedly murdered eight more FBI agents in Behavioral Sciences as well as a civilian brought out of retirement. She is considered armed and extremely dangerous.
Jason whistled.
"So," he said to the screen. "You're Lis's cousin."
"Yes," a woman's voice said. "So she's 'Lis' now? Once a man lops your name to one syllable, it must be serious."
Jason Sullivan turned around. Standing behind him, in the flesh, was the woman whose picture was on his monitor. Her maroon eyes sparkled at him. "I just hate that picture, though. I've thought of emailing the FBI a better one to use. Do you think they'd do it?"
Jason threw only the briefest of glances over at the uniform cop before reaching for his gun. But Susana was faster. Her hand flashed down. The thin silver of a needle stung his throat. Susana left the hypodermic dangling from his throat and grabbed his gun hand, keeping it pointed away from her. She covered his mouth with her free hand.
The uniformed cop stood and ran over. Jason glanced at him mutely. His vision was beginning to blur. The cop simply grabbed his hand and simply pried the automatic from his grip. His other hand locked down on Jason's shoulder and held him in the chair.
A look of shock came over Jason Sullivan's face as consciousness began to give into the black. Then he looked into the cop's face, saw the tiny pupils, and he understood. But it wasn't him they were here for: clearly, it was Lisa.
Jeez, I'm sorry, Lis, he thought, and then he went limp.
…
I should be working on the Bludgeon Man, Lisa Starling scolded herself. But she was on to something. Professor Creed's escape had clearly been planned. He'd carried on plenty of correspondence, but none of it mentioned anything about an escape. The cryptographers had found nothing after reviewing the letters they had. Lisa had figured that Creed's code would have been easier to deal with, something that didn't take too much work. Creed was observed; they'd have noticed him doing calculations or plotting something out. Now she might have cracked the code that Creed had used with his accomplice.
While Professor Creed had been on death row, he had been under constant electronic surveillance. Every moment of his day was observed via videocamera. There were some still pictures that had been cut from the thousands of frames, and a few of them were in his folder on VICAP. In a few of them, she had noticed a square piece of paper taped to the wall of his cell.
It had taken her a few round of squinting at it to realize it was a painting. She'd called Clinton Correctional Facility to see if she could get a copy of it or if one of the guards had known what it was. The level of art appreciation among small-town prison guards was relatively low, but eventually she'd been able to get that it had been a picture of the Last Supper. Jesus and all his disciples gathered around him.
It hadn't been in Professor Creed's belongings when his cell had been inventoried. Most of his correspondence and books had been. Most probably , the professor had destroyed it along with the letters that he hadn't wanted the authorities to find. Therefore, it was a lead.
Searching for the painting on the Web had gotten her a reasonably good copy of it. It was Leonardo da Vinci's painting of the Last Supper. But that wasn't all it had been. Lisa had printed a copy of it and punched out the eyes of the disciples in the painting wherever she could find them. Tiny printed eyes littered her desk. She supposed she was going to hell for that, but she had found something quite interesting.
She had copies of the letters that Creed had sent and received. The letters from John Martin and Regina Schacht were exactly what she thought they were: red herrings. Creed had destroyed them to smokescreen the ones he really wanted to hide. The letters from Marie Lavelle in Paris.
Once she had blinded all of Jesus's disciples as well as the Savior himself, she had held the printout of the painting over the Lavelle letters. And there it was.
What had seemed to be a chatty letter was actually a coded message. The appropriate letters popped up under the cut-out eyes. The coded messages were terse. The professor signed off with his last name. Marie Lavelle did not sign her coded messages at all.
A letter he'd written five months ago asked WHO IS BLUDG MAN. HAVE HEARD ON NEWS BUT VERY LITTLE. CREED.
The return letter, typed, read KILLER FROM BOSTON. OFFER TO HELP FBI. ASK FOR STARLING. DEMAND HER AND HER ONLY. Creed had then asked WILL THEY BITE? CREED. The reply to that had made Lisa shudder. LISA WILL. SHES A GIRL SCOUT.
HOW DO YOU KNOW BLUDG MAN? CREED asked another letter.
DON'T ASK MY DEAR. WILL FOLLOW WITH BLUDGMAN MO.
GIVE BLUDG MAN MO TO ESTABLISH BONAFIDE WITH LS? ALL MY LOVE. CREED.
OUI. BLUDG MAN USES DRUGS TWICE. HOSPITAL GRADE SEDATIVE AND MUSC RELAXANT.
Some of them dealt with other minutiae of escape. Even in this, there was some chattiness and warmth that seemed absolutely bizarre. It seemed almost like something off the Discovery Channel. This was how two highly intelligent sociopaths dealt with each other in private, here in the tiny cracks of the letters they used as cover. It was spooky. Even the chattiness was spooky, as if they had learned so well to emulate normal people that a bit of it had become real. This, here, was pure Susana and pure Creed. There was some sarcasm, but here they were using it as humor. There was no masking or artifice, as sociopaths were wont to do. The grammar was usually correct if terse, and occasionally they managed to squeeze in proper punctuation.
I NEED YOUR SIZES THOMAS. SHOES INSEAM WAIST AND JACKET.
THAT'S SOMEWHAT FORWARD DON'T YOU THINK? 11 SHOE, 44 LONG SUIT. 32 INSEAM AND 30 WAIST. CREED.
YOU KEEP THE WEIGHT OFF NICELY. YOU'LL LIKE YOUR SUIT. PICKED IT UP TODAY. BY THE WAY, BOXERS OR BRIEFS?
OTHER PRISONERS HERE WOULD BE ASKING FOR YOUR MEASUREMENTS YOU KNOW. EITHER WILL DO. CREED.
THAT'S WHY I'M NOT WRITING TO THEM! USE YOUR IMAGINATION FOR NOW. I WAS ON THE TATTLER'S WEB SITE AND FRONT PAGE WHEN I WAS CAUGHT. TERRIBLE PICTURE THOUGH. I SHOULD GUT THEM.
NO WEB ACCESS HERE. I COULD TRY AND TRADE FOR ONE BUT THAT WOULD CAUSE SUSPICION. ALL MY LOVE CREED.
YOU POOR THING, I GUESS IMAGINATION WILL HAVE TO DO. I DO HAVE TO HAVE SOME MYSTERIES YOU KNOW.
TRADED WITH THE FELLOW IN THE NEXT CELL FOR AN OLD TATTLER. YOU'RE QUITE BEAUTIFUL. CREED.
IF IT'S THE PICTURE OF ME BEING BROUGHT INTO COURT IN THE DARK SUIT I'LL HAVE YOUR FRIEND IN THE NEXT CELL CARVED UP WITH A LINOLEUM KNIFE.
Lisa made a note on her memo pad to see if any Death Row prisoners had been attacked, with linoleum knives or otherwise. Most women might have made such a threat in jest. If Susana had said such a thing, she probably meant it very literally.
Hitting Susana's VICAP file revealed what she was talking about, although Lisa knew the picture well. It had been taken at Susana's trial, shortly before her escape. Susana was being escorted to the defense table by a guard. Most prisoners were granted the right to appear in court in civilian clothes if they wished, and the judge in Susana's trial had granted her the same right. Susana wore a dark suit in the picture, fitted and tailored as had been the fashion then
It wasn't a flattering picture, Lisa had to agree. Susana's hands were manacled behind her and she was being forced to bend over awkwardly while the guard removed her handcuffs. The skirt was a few inches above the knee. She looked more like an executive than a multiple murderer. It was pretty obvious that the guard was bending Susana over to humiliate her, forcing her to stick her butt out towards the TV cameras. From the look of anger and shame on Susana's face, the guard had succeeded. Lisa had sympathized with Susana on that. As Lisa recalled, they'd found that guard dead in her own home, tortured to death with hot coals. Well…pissing Susana off needlessly was a pretty stupid thing to do.
DON'T GUT HIM MY DARLING. HE'S BEEN SENTENCED TO DEATH AND HAS NO ONE LIKE YOU TO GET HIM OUT. DOESN'T THAT SUFFICE?
IF HE'S GIVING OUT THAT PICTURE, LETHAL INJECTION IS TOO HUMANE A PUNISHMENT!
On to more recent letters. As things got more recent, they became much terser. There were less cute jokes or anything chatty as things kicked into high gear.
WILL THEY TAKE ME OUT OF HERE TO BOSTON? EXTREMELY HIGH SECURITY HERE. THEY DON'T LET ME GO FOR PIZZA YOU KNOW. AML CREED
FBI CAN DO A LOT MORE THAN THEY LET ON. CONVINCE LS AND THEY WILL SPRING YOU TO TESTIFY.
FREE HOW? SECURITY IN BOSTON WILL BE EXTREMELY HEAVY IF NOT WORSE. CREED.
NOT IN TRANSIT. BEHAVE YOURSELF AND THEY WONT USE SO MANY GUARDS. I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT.
HAVE BEEN GOOD. GETTING READY TO WRITE LS. SHE WAS ON TASK FORCE THAT CAUGHT ME BTW. CREED.
SHE IS GOOD THAT WAY. GOOD TRACKER. GLAD I HAVE HER OFF MY TRAIL.
Lisa inhaled sharply, reading that. Finding out how serial killers acted amongst each other was weird enough. Being mentioned by name in their conversations was unnerving. Then, the last couple of letters.
WROTE LISA. WAITING FOR HER TO TAKE BAIT. WILL BE DESTROYING THESE LETTERS ALONG WITH TWO OTHER PEOPLES TO HIDE THEM. CREED.
SHE WILL. I WILL MOVE INCOUNTRY WHEN SHE HAS FIRST STAGE. GOOD IDEA THOMAS.
SHE CAME. I GAVE HER THE FIRST STAGE. SHE WAS MAD BUT WILL BE BACK. ALL MY LOVE. CREED.
The final letter from Marie Lavelle had been posted a week before Creed's escape. It was longer, and Lisa found herself nervous. It was also the only one signed, the way Creed had signed off on some of his.
MOVING INCOUNTRY. NO FURTHER MESSAGES VIA THIS CHANNEL. AWAIT POSTCARD WITH FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. I'LL SEE YOU VERY SOON THOMAS…FREEDOM AWAITS. AS DO I. FREEDOM IS SWEET, AND I DO KNOW HOW YOU FEEL. STAY CALM. ALL MY LOVE. SUSANA.
The letters themselves creeped Lisa out, and the near-perfect verification that Marie Lavelle was Susana was enough to freak her out. It meant she couldn't go after Creed. But she felt oddly elated. This was almost like a serial-killer Rosetta Stone. The article on this could be amazing. Did Susana, after all, feel love? Did she love Creed? Did he love her? Was that it? Jesus, nothing in Susana's file had ever suggested she would do something like this.
She couldn't exactly tell Behavioral Sciences, since anything that might track down Susana would lead to a lot of misery for herself. But perhaps Jay might think it was neat.
She froze. She couldn't tell him. He was a good cop. He hadn't ever let a killer go free. She supposed she'd have to tell him someday. But heck, she didn't know where things were going. Well, they could get some food at least.
So she headed home without too much ado, putting her papers in her briefcase where she could keep an eye on them. The ride home on the T was uneventful. Lisa had her own key to the apartment and opened it. A uniformed cop was there.
Jason wasn't around, which was odd. Lisa stepped inside and looked around with a puzzled look on her face. She looked up at the cop.
"Do you know where Detective Sullivan is?" she asked.
"Inna kitchen," he grunted, looking away from her.
Lisa stepped forward into the kitchen, turning her back on the uniformed cop. Behind her, Professor Thomas Creed removed a second syringe. He grabbed her hair and forced her head to the side. He wasn't a doctor by trade, but his hobbies had told him where her carotid artery was. He jabbed the needle in and pressed the plunger. Then he relieved Lisa Starling of her gun while she was still surprised.
"What the--," Lisa Starling said, and her knees sagged and the world went black.
When Lisa awoke a few minutes later, she was sitting in one of Jason's kitchen chairs. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. There was a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Jason Sullivan sat across from her, similarly restrained. He looked sick. Professor Thomas Creed lounged over them easily. He smiled at her.
"Agent Starling," he said in that soft voice. "Good to make your acquaintance again. I did so enjoy our conversations in my visiting booth. And here we are, in Boston, although not as it was supposed to be."
Lisa Starling's eyes went wild and she tried to scream through the duct tape. Professor Creed grinned.
"I must make a confession, though," he said. "I'm afraid that when I was telling you about the Bludgeon Man that my information was second-hand."
From the hallway echoed footsteps. A silhouette appeared in the doorway and stopped. Lisa tensed.
Susana Alvarez Lecter took a few steps closer and eyed her cousin for the first time in four years. Lisa's hands clenched into fists. Susana grinned slowly.
"Well, I declare," Susana said softly. "Cousin Lisa, how are you? You look well. And a new boyfriend, I take it? We have some things…to chat about."