Page 27 of The Accomplice
He nodded, a smile building at the corner of his lips.
‘It’s a thing, but this is different. Catching monsters is what I do. I could do it faster with Bloch.’
‘And why would you trust me ?’ asked Bloch.
‘Because you tried to help my friend. And you’re not a cop anymore.’
I watched Bloch put down her fork, wipe her lips with a napkin before she spoke again.
‘The name Lake is kind of familiar. When I was working in a sheriff’s department in Port Lonely, I heard about a fed named Lake who took out a meth cook house in New Jersey single-handed. Twelve guys with shotguns, AKs, AR-15s. Half of those guys were ex-military. Well trained and well paid to kill anyone who set foot in that house. I heard this guy Lake was shot twice during the firefight. That you ?’
Lake met her eyes, his jaw working silently like he was revving up his mouth to spit out a response.
‘That’s not how it went down and I’m no hero.’
She returned to her eggs, said, ‘Lake is okay,’ like it was the Declaration of Independence.
Delaney had been willing to put her faith in Lake. Now Bloch was doing the same. I knew better than to doubt either one of them. If they were willing to trust this guy I couldn’t ignore that.
‘Lake may be okay, but that’s not the issue here. No disrespect, Lake, but the FBI and the NYPD had two hundred officers and the entire resources of two law enforcement agencies looking for Daniel Miller for almost two years. What makes you think you can catch him in under a week ?’
I was serious. I didn’t want to lose Bloch on a hopeless chase when I needed her on the Carrie Miller trial. I liked Lake, but even if he could shoot his way out of a drug den, he wasn’t a miracle worker. He seemed to take the point. He looked at me like he was weighing me up. Judging my character, searching my eyes. Finally, he nodded.
‘I think I understand the Sandman more than the other agents. He’s an opportunist killer, in many ways, but it also looks like he has a careful plan. It’s weird. I think he’s highly intelligent and can adapt to his environment and the situations he finds himself in with a real clarity of thought that most killers can’t even contemplate. It’s like chess. He may not know exactly which piece his opponent is going to move, but he has half a dozen strategies in his back pocket ready to go. I can catch him because I work smarter and harder than the feds and cops combined, plus I have a significant advantage.’
‘What’s that ?’
‘Unlike the feds, I know how to catch people like Daniel Miller. And I won’t make their mistakes. You see, there’s a secret that’s increasingly difficult for the Bureau to hide. It’s embarrassing. It’s really a national scandal. They don’t want me talking about it, and they sure as hell don’t want anyone else to find out.’
‘What is it ?’
Pushing aside his plate, Lake put both elbows on the table, leaned forward and said, ‘What if I told you everything the FBI knows about serial killers is wrong ?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SANDMAN
It was almost three-thirty in the morning. The Sandman circled the block in his van one more time. Letting his mind wander. Driving helped him to think. It would take the feds a few days to figure out what happened to agent Delaney.
He had to be careful. Her kidnap and murder could have gone sideways any number of times, for any number of reasons. But experience had paid off. That and planning, risk analysis and clear thinking.
The result was a powerful message to law enforcement. And the whole damn city.
The Sandman is back. He can get to anyone. At any time. And the cops should leave Carrie alone.
He thought carefully about every move he made. Every murder had been planned, considered. The risks of capture evaluated and minimized.
He didn’t fully understand why he chose certain victims. Sometimes it was clear. Certain women stood out as if they were glistening idols. They were different to the ordinary crowd. The way they walked, or carried their heads high, or even just the way the sun caught their hair, or their skin was particularly fine. With others, it was because of their ordinariness. It was the way they didn’t stand out. How they were almost invisible to those around them. A brunette wrapped in a long towel, carrying a surf board across the hot sand at Coney Island beach. Or the blonde who stood on the corner holding a sign, handing out flyers for the restaurant just up the street. But no matter how someone drew his attention, his decision to select them as his next victim came down to a single aspect.
Ultimately, it was the eyes that drew him in.
Beautiful, clear eyes. They sparked something. Something more than anticipation. A heat, which grew into a strange desire.
Not quite rage. Not quite love.
But deeper and darker than both.
It always ended the same way though. He blew gently on their necks, put them to sleep with the needle and then he could go about his work undisturbed. That work sent them to sleep forever. In many ways, he felt as though he was releasing them from this world into an everlasting, undisturbed dream.
