nice to look at. You up for that, or—
"I can probably handle it," she lied. "But thanks for asking."
11
B ERT READ FROM reports and summarized each file as Cree leafed through the materials. They were older cases Bert had handled himself or ones he'd worked along with other jurisdictions. The cause and manner of death varied, but they all had one thing in common: Bert hadn't liked the outcome. There were two stabbings, a shooting, a blunt-object battery; the morphing e-mails must have gotten Bert thinking about dogs, because several files concerned unsolved dog-attack deaths. A couple were ten years old, one in San Francisco, one in Oakland, animals never identified. Four years ago, a toddler killed after wandering away from a family outing in San Bruno State Park, just south of San Francisco, death attributed to dogs or coyotes. Three years ago, an elderly woman dead in Sausalito, animal never located. Bert had even pulled up a death attributed to accident, a man who fell down the stairs in his house and then was partially eaten by his own dogs after they went unfed for several days.
After eight or ten, Cree could no longer absorb the details. When they closed the last of the folders, she leaned back, feeling stunned and sick.
"You're saying there's a murderer who didn't get caught. You had suspicions at the time, maybe you had other suspects who never panned out, who slipped through your fingers. And now the killer is sending you e-mails."
"Right now, all I'm saying is maybe."
"Assembling this material was a lot of work. When did you first get the idea there was something to look for?"
Bert bit his lips and turned partly away. "For the last six months, I been looking back. Wanting to clean up anything I'd let get away from me. It was kind of on the side, but then I began getting the e-mails with the morphs. But it wasn't just the messages. All they did was reinforce the sense I've had all along on every one of these. Most of these files I just dug out today."
Cree thought about that. "Why would this hypothetical killer suddenly start sending you messages?"
"Guy's taunting me. I must have gotten close to him and he's reminding me. He must know I'm retiring, wants to rub my nose in shit because I didn't catch him. Trust me, these guys often do this. They like to challenge you. They half-want to get caught, and they love the attention, makes them feel important. He doesn't want me to fade away without a last fling at it, because when I fade away, so does he."
"But—"
"I figured you'd be skeptical. But take a look at this." Bert selected two files, the older dog attacks. "One of these was mine, right? The other was Oakland's, but we got together because of the similarities. Me and the lead from Oakland, we didn't like the way the animal never turned up, couple other details. We batted around the idea that these were actually homicides, somebody using dogs to kill. See?"
She looked where Bert's thick finger indicated, a memo from back then. She smelled the booze on Bert's breath and was hit by a sudden yearning for a stiff drink herself, then remembered she needed to stay alert for her session with Dr. Skobold. That gave her a jolt, and she looked quickly at her watch.
"Seven fifteen! How long does it take to get to Berkeley from here?"
"This time of night, not too bad. Half an hour."
She shook her head, trying to rattle away the dazed feeling. "I should go to the bathroom and then head over there."
Bert started stacking the case files. Cree went down the hallway to the bathroom, where she shut the door and leaned her head against it with her eyes closed, trying to overcome the sensation of hurtling. After a few minutes, she splashed water on her face and patted herself dry with one of Bert's smelly towels.
When she came out, he was up at the front of the house, putting his jacket on.
"Going out?" she asked.
"I got errands to run. I had a lot on my plate even before this stuff came up."
"Well, you're
"I can probably handle it," she lied. "But thanks for asking."
11
B ERT READ FROM reports and summarized each file as Cree leafed through the materials. They were older cases Bert had handled himself or ones he'd worked along with other jurisdictions. The cause and manner of death varied, but they all had one thing in common: Bert hadn't liked the outcome. There were two stabbings, a shooting, a blunt-object battery; the morphing e-mails must have gotten Bert thinking about dogs, because several files concerned unsolved dog-attack deaths. A couple were ten years old, one in San Francisco, one in Oakland, animals never identified. Four years ago, a toddler killed after wandering away from a family outing in San Bruno State Park, just south of San Francisco, death attributed to dogs or coyotes. Three years ago, an elderly woman dead in Sausalito, animal never located. Bert had even pulled up a death attributed to accident, a man who fell down the stairs in his house and then was partially eaten by his own dogs after they went unfed for several days.
After eight or ten, Cree could no longer absorb the details. When they closed the last of the folders, she leaned back, feeling stunned and sick.
"You're saying there's a murderer who didn't get caught. You had suspicions at the time, maybe you had other suspects who never panned out, who slipped through your fingers. And now the killer is sending you e-mails."
"Right now, all I'm saying is maybe."
"Assembling this material was a lot of work. When did you first get the idea there was something to look for?"
Bert bit his lips and turned partly away. "For the last six months, I been looking back. Wanting to clean up anything I'd let get away from me. It was kind of on the side, but then I began getting the e-mails with the morphs. But it wasn't just the messages. All they did was reinforce the sense I've had all along on every one of these. Most of these files I just dug out today."
Cree thought about that. "Why would this hypothetical killer suddenly start sending you messages?"
"Guy's taunting me. I must have gotten close to him and he's reminding me. He must know I'm retiring, wants to rub my nose in shit because I didn't catch him. Trust me, these guys often do this. They like to challenge you. They half-want to get caught, and they love the attention, makes them feel important. He doesn't want me to fade away without a last fling at it, because when I fade away, so does he."
"But—"
"I figured you'd be skeptical. But take a look at this." Bert selected two files, the older dog attacks. "One of these was mine, right? The other was Oakland's, but we got together because of the similarities. Me and the lead from Oakland, we didn't like the way the animal never turned up, couple other details. We batted around the idea that these were actually homicides, somebody using dogs to kill. See?"
She looked where Bert's thick finger indicated, a memo from back then. She smelled the booze on Bert's breath and was hit by a sudden yearning for a stiff drink herself, then remembered she needed to stay alert for her session with Dr. Skobold. That gave her a jolt, and she looked quickly at her watch.
"Seven fifteen! How long does it take to get to Berkeley from here?"
"This time of night, not too bad. Half an hour."
She shook her head, trying to rattle away the dazed feeling. "I should go to the bathroom and then head over there."
Bert started stacking the case files. Cree went down the hallway to the bathroom, where she shut the door and leaned her head against it with her eyes closed, trying to overcome the sensation of hurtling. After a few minutes, she splashed water on her face and patted herself dry with one of Bert's smelly towels.
When she came out, he was up at the front of the house, putting his jacket on.
"Going out?" she asked.
"I got errands to run. I had a lot on my plate even before this stuff came up."
"Well, you're
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