glancing at it. FedEx was routine: Lawyers never seemed to use the snailmail anymore. My mind was on Katy, and it wasn't until I swung around that I noticed the return address:
Wilbee Cingu
Never-Never Land Enterprises 64 Martin Luther King Blvd. Cross Roads Junction, NH
I looked again. Wilbee Cingu. I didn't know any Wilbee Cingu, and there were law firms that should be called Never-Never Land Enterprises but weren't.
I looked more closely. Wil-bee-c-ing-u. Uh-oh. I didn't have to worry about finding Willy. He had already found me. Fear pushed its way up in my throat, and I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Willy had gotten the jump on me, and I hated it as much as I thought I would. I didn't mind walking down a dark alley to meet him —well, I did, actually, but there was nothing I could do about it —but I could not tolerate sitting in one while Willy walked toward me.
I had a friend who twenty years back had been the first female police officer in her state. She once had to climb a dark stairwell by herself in an apartment building with a man waiting at the top with an ax. Nobody knew how she did it. I did. She was the one doing the climbing.
I hesitated a second. A letter bomb was feasible. Willy could do it. On the other hand, he wouldn't be there to see the results, so it wouldn't be all that enjoyable for him. If he sent a letter bomb, my diagnosis of sexual sadist was wrong. I almost smiled. I didn't usually have to have that kind of faith in the diagnoses I made.
I opened the letter. "Free at last," Willy quoted. "Free at last." I'll bet Martin Luther King didn't have Willy in mind when he said that.
"By now," Willy wrote, "you must be wondering what our role in Never-Never Land will be. After all, reality is the product of the most august imagination.' Show me yours and I'll show you mine." It was signed,
[email protected].
I stared at the letter for a long time. It wasn't a very long communication, but it said a lot. I knew what was in Willy's imagination — fairly horrific ways of torturing people —and if Willy was planning on bringing them to reality, then somebody was in for a bad time.
I didn't really want to see Willy's imagination brought to life, up close and personal. The only people who saw Willy's imagination brought to reality were the victims. If he was planning on personally showing me "his," then I was the one who was in for a bad time.
So he'd managed to tell me that, yes, he was up to his old tricks and, guess what, he had plans for me. Worse, he said it without anything he could be prosecuted for. It was a threat that didn't look like a threat, even if I could tie it to Willy, which I doubt very much that anyone could. Willy wouldn't be on any of the main networks with their billing records. Willy would have software that would access the Internet directly, and he could dial up from any phone in the world.
At least I didn't have to feel bad about not taking it to Adam. What could he do about it?
What could I do about this was a bigger problem. I tried to think. Jesus, he hadn't been out ten minutes before he got in touch. Had he been planning this?
All right then, what role did Willy have in mind for me in Never-Never Land? I had no doubts that Willy saw himself as Peter Pan and no doubts too about what his plans were for the "lost boys" he'd inevitably pick up. But what about the females —given that he was talking about my role—where did I fit? There were only two female roles in Peter Pan —Tinker Bell and Wendy —and nothing terrible happened to either of them.
Well, there was also the Indian Princess. As I remember, her role had something to do with being tied at the stake in a cave while the water rose. That would be a reasonably unappealing prospect.
One thing was clear: Willy was inviting me to communicate with him via e-mail, and he didn't have the address.
I didn't really want to play games with him, and if I corresponded with
Wilbee Cingu
Never-Never Land Enterprises 64 Martin Luther King Blvd. Cross Roads Junction, NH
I looked again. Wilbee Cingu. I didn't know any Wilbee Cingu, and there were law firms that should be called Never-Never Land Enterprises but weren't.
I looked more closely. Wil-bee-c-ing-u. Uh-oh. I didn't have to worry about finding Willy. He had already found me. Fear pushed its way up in my throat, and I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Willy had gotten the jump on me, and I hated it as much as I thought I would. I didn't mind walking down a dark alley to meet him —well, I did, actually, but there was nothing I could do about it —but I could not tolerate sitting in one while Willy walked toward me.
I had a friend who twenty years back had been the first female police officer in her state. She once had to climb a dark stairwell by herself in an apartment building with a man waiting at the top with an ax. Nobody knew how she did it. I did. She was the one doing the climbing.
I hesitated a second. A letter bomb was feasible. Willy could do it. On the other hand, he wouldn't be there to see the results, so it wouldn't be all that enjoyable for him. If he sent a letter bomb, my diagnosis of sexual sadist was wrong. I almost smiled. I didn't usually have to have that kind of faith in the diagnoses I made.
I opened the letter. "Free at last," Willy quoted. "Free at last." I'll bet Martin Luther King didn't have Willy in mind when he said that.
"By now," Willy wrote, "you must be wondering what our role in Never-Never Land will be. After all, reality is the product of the most august imagination.' Show me yours and I'll show you mine." It was signed,
[email protected].
I stared at the letter for a long time. It wasn't a very long communication, but it said a lot. I knew what was in Willy's imagination — fairly horrific ways of torturing people —and if Willy was planning on bringing them to reality, then somebody was in for a bad time.
I didn't really want to see Willy's imagination brought to life, up close and personal. The only people who saw Willy's imagination brought to reality were the victims. If he was planning on personally showing me "his," then I was the one who was in for a bad time.
So he'd managed to tell me that, yes, he was up to his old tricks and, guess what, he had plans for me. Worse, he said it without anything he could be prosecuted for. It was a threat that didn't look like a threat, even if I could tie it to Willy, which I doubt very much that anyone could. Willy wouldn't be on any of the main networks with their billing records. Willy would have software that would access the Internet directly, and he could dial up from any phone in the world.
At least I didn't have to feel bad about not taking it to Adam. What could he do about it?
What could I do about this was a bigger problem. I tried to think. Jesus, he hadn't been out ten minutes before he got in touch. Had he been planning this?
All right then, what role did Willy have in mind for me in Never-Never Land? I had no doubts that Willy saw himself as Peter Pan and no doubts too about what his plans were for the "lost boys" he'd inevitably pick up. But what about the females —given that he was talking about my role—where did I fit? There were only two female roles in Peter Pan —Tinker Bell and Wendy —and nothing terrible happened to either of them.
Well, there was also the Indian Princess. As I remember, her role had something to do with being tied at the stake in a cave while the water rose. That would be a reasonably unappealing prospect.
One thing was clear: Willy was inviting me to communicate with him via e-mail, and he didn't have the address.
I didn't really want to play games with him, and if I corresponded with
Similar Books
