at the Item . Be he didn't look tired.
"I ran out of steam on the Lynnway," I said. "I stopped here for the night."
He looked over at the building. "I hope you didn't pay more than fifty bucks."
"The rooms only run about twenty."
"I know that," he said, flicking ash out his window and blowing smoke. "I also know her."
That comment made me wonder about being Cynthia's ‘fourth customer ever.’ "I guess it's your job to know things," I said.
"As much as I can." He smiled the wide smile captured every year, front-page on the Item , as he finished the Boston Marathon. He wasn't thirty-five yet, but his face was dominated by a prominent forehead, strong cheekbones and a square jaw that would probably keep him looking about the way he did right into his sixties. His black skin made his pale blue eyes seem translucent.
"Nothing wrong with that," I said. I was getting cold and I wasn't about to answer any of his questions. "See you up at the hospital." I turned to open my door.
"One question," he called out. "If you have a second."
I turned back to him. "Like Hancock said, I can't comment on the trial, or the hostage situation."
"Of course not. That's understood. I'm trying to get my head around something else."
I didn't respond.
"This copycat case," he went on.
My jaw tightened.
"The idea is that Trevor Lucas cut up the first two victims — Sarah Johnston and Monique Peletier — and that some other butcher did the last two — Michael Wembley and the dancer."
I didn't like Rachel going nameless. "Michael Wembley and Rachel Lloyd."
"Yeah, the stripper."
"Go ahead."
"What I don't quite get is why Hancock dismisses the fact that all four victims knew Lucas."
"She doesn't dismiss it. She investigated it. So did the D.A.'s office." I shrugged. "They were obviously more impressed by the fact that the last two victims were killed after Lucas turned himself over to police."
"Sure. And that does seem impressive, until you really let yourself wonder whether the good doctor did any of them. The killer could have been connected to all four victims and Lucas."
I thought Sanger was studying me for my reaction. Or maybe my guilt was making me paranoid. "There were differences," I said. "The first two bodies were found in Lynn. They were both female. Lucas’ prints were all over the place. They were patients of his. They were also his lovers."
"That doesn't mean he killed them."
"That's why there's a jury."
"Yeah, but Lucas’ plea is insanity, not that he didn't do it."
"You might want to take a cue from that."
"Even though he's ranting about not killing anybody."
"‘Ranting’ may be the operative word there. But you're the journalist."
"What do you think? I mean, doesn't it seem possible this copycat killer is actually the original?"
"Me?" I bent over and rested my hands on the door frame. "I think I'm a shrink, Calvin, and you're a reporter, and Emma Hancock's a seasoned cop. The best I've met. I think we know what she wants us to know. Nothing more. And you gotta believe that if she thought there was a chance somebody other than Trevor Lucas cut up her niece, she'd be digging so deep in the streets the whole city would shake." My fingers had gone numb. "That's what I think."
He took a long drag on his cigarette and swallowed the smoke, letting it out through his nose. "Probably true."
I felt as if I had shown more emotion than I ought to have. I turned to open the door to my truck, then turned back. "Anyone ever mention those things can kill you."
"Nobody who's watched me run." He winked. "See you at the hospital."
"Sure." I climbed into my truck as he drove off. I started the engine, lighted my own cigarette, then snaked my way through side streets to the Lynnway, checking my rearview mirror to make sure Sanger hadn't doubled back to follow me.
By 7:40 I was headed north on Route 95. The sun was blinding. A
"I ran out of steam on the Lynnway," I said. "I stopped here for the night."
He looked over at the building. "I hope you didn't pay more than fifty bucks."
"The rooms only run about twenty."
"I know that," he said, flicking ash out his window and blowing smoke. "I also know her."
That comment made me wonder about being Cynthia's ‘fourth customer ever.’ "I guess it's your job to know things," I said.
"As much as I can." He smiled the wide smile captured every year, front-page on the Item , as he finished the Boston Marathon. He wasn't thirty-five yet, but his face was dominated by a prominent forehead, strong cheekbones and a square jaw that would probably keep him looking about the way he did right into his sixties. His black skin made his pale blue eyes seem translucent.
"Nothing wrong with that," I said. I was getting cold and I wasn't about to answer any of his questions. "See you up at the hospital." I turned to open my door.
"One question," he called out. "If you have a second."
I turned back to him. "Like Hancock said, I can't comment on the trial, or the hostage situation."
"Of course not. That's understood. I'm trying to get my head around something else."
I didn't respond.
"This copycat case," he went on.
My jaw tightened.
"The idea is that Trevor Lucas cut up the first two victims — Sarah Johnston and Monique Peletier — and that some other butcher did the last two — Michael Wembley and the dancer."
I didn't like Rachel going nameless. "Michael Wembley and Rachel Lloyd."
"Yeah, the stripper."
"Go ahead."
"What I don't quite get is why Hancock dismisses the fact that all four victims knew Lucas."
"She doesn't dismiss it. She investigated it. So did the D.A.'s office." I shrugged. "They were obviously more impressed by the fact that the last two victims were killed after Lucas turned himself over to police."
"Sure. And that does seem impressive, until you really let yourself wonder whether the good doctor did any of them. The killer could have been connected to all four victims and Lucas."
I thought Sanger was studying me for my reaction. Or maybe my guilt was making me paranoid. "There were differences," I said. "The first two bodies were found in Lynn. They were both female. Lucas’ prints were all over the place. They were patients of his. They were also his lovers."
"That doesn't mean he killed them."
"That's why there's a jury."
"Yeah, but Lucas’ plea is insanity, not that he didn't do it."
"You might want to take a cue from that."
"Even though he's ranting about not killing anybody."
"‘Ranting’ may be the operative word there. But you're the journalist."
"What do you think? I mean, doesn't it seem possible this copycat killer is actually the original?"
"Me?" I bent over and rested my hands on the door frame. "I think I'm a shrink, Calvin, and you're a reporter, and Emma Hancock's a seasoned cop. The best I've met. I think we know what she wants us to know. Nothing more. And you gotta believe that if she thought there was a chance somebody other than Trevor Lucas cut up her niece, she'd be digging so deep in the streets the whole city would shake." My fingers had gone numb. "That's what I think."
He took a long drag on his cigarette and swallowed the smoke, letting it out through his nose. "Probably true."
I felt as if I had shown more emotion than I ought to have. I turned to open the door to my truck, then turned back. "Anyone ever mention those things can kill you."
"Nobody who's watched me run." He winked. "See you at the hospital."
"Sure." I climbed into my truck as he drove off. I started the engine, lighted my own cigarette, then snaked my way through side streets to the Lynnway, checking my rearview mirror to make sure Sanger hadn't doubled back to follow me.
By 7:40 I was headed north on Route 95. The sun was blinding. A
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