Page 107 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“I don’t know but I keep coming back to the apostles. Thomas is one, Pauline or Paul the other, Barbara Marx, as Mark, and Roberta Peters obviously for Peter. Could he possibly be killing people he considers somehow represent Christ’s disciples?” she mused, frowning. “Perhaps that’s how he chooses the people already in the coffin, because of their names.”

It was possible, he thought, though far from solid.

“He has to prove he’s smarter than everyone, especially the police. That’s why he’s taunting you and showing off to me. I can get him press coverage and he’s chosen you, because you were the brains behind cracking the Montgomery case last summer and therefore the most challenging adversary. He might not have even known about you and Barbara Marx.” She held up a finger. “No. He did know! Don’t you see,” she said, getting more excited as she talked, “the Grave Robber wants us to work together. It’s the best of both worlds. He contacts me and is assured of a page one spread. He contacts you and he knows, because of your involvement with Barbara Jean Marx, that you’ll try your damnedest to expose him. He’s laughing at us both because this is a game. His game. And he expects to win.”

“I agree with you about the reasons he’s contacting us,” Reed said, turning everything over in his mind and stepping backward to put some space between them. He needed to focus. Concentrate. “But I’m not sure I buy the apostle angle. At least, not yet.”

“It only makes sense.”

“If the killer wanted to get to me with Bobbi Marx, then he’s killing everyone else just to link them to a biblical reference?”

“Who knows what’s going on in his sick mind?”

“So far, it’s just a theory.”

“But a strong one. You have to admit.”

“One we’ll consider, but,” he added, realizing the basis for her enthusiasm, “you’re not going to print it.”

She hesitated.

“Whoa, Gillette. Until you have the facts and the go-ahead from me or the department, you will not report any part of this. Nothing about the notes, nothing about the victims, nothing about your hypothesis or the killer’s M.O.”

“But—”

“Nikki,” he said, leaning forward again. His nose was less than an inch from hers. “I mean it. If you go off half-cocked and any of what we’ve discussed here is in the newspaper, I’ll personally see that you are arrested.”

“For?”

“Hindering an investigation, to begin with.”

“Damn it all, Reed, I thought we had a deal.”

“We do. When it’s all over, you get the exclusive. The inside view. If we capture the guy alive, I’ll see that you can interview him, but until then, you have to be very careful what you say. And I have to approve it.”

Little lines pulled her eyebrows together and she seemed about to protest, but eventually let out her breath and acquiesced. “Okay. Fine. But I get credit for this twelve-word thing and you keep me abreast of the investigation.”

He lifted one side of his mouth. “I’m not involved in it anymore, remember.”

“Shove it, Reed. I want to know what you know, when you know it.” She scraped her chair back. “Oh, geez, I forgot.” She was looking at her phone, focusing on the message light that was flashing dimly on an older-model answering machine. “Just a sec.”

Leaning a hip against the counter, she punched a button.

A mechanical-sounding techno voice stated, “You have three new messages. First message.”

There was a click and then a hang up.

“Great. Another one,” she said. “I got a hang up at work today.”

“At the office?” He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Yeah. It happens sometimes. People are impatient.”

“Second message,” the mechanical voice said.

“Hey, Nikki, are you avoiding me? Come on, give me a call.” A decidedly male voice gave her his phone number and Nikki frowned.

“Old boyfriend,” she said and Reed felt an inexplicable spurt of jealousy. “Sean Hawke. He dumped me several years back and doesn’t get it that I’m not about to come running back to him.”

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