The Viper

“Jim Holland—like the Netherlands. I’m assistant managing editor here at the Star. I’ve been in touch with your office before.”

“Just a moment.”

A minute or so later, he heard the electronic click of the call being transferred. It rang again, once, and was picked up.

“Dr. Loeffler speaking. What’s this about?”

“Jim Holland here at the North Country Star. We’ve received some information regarding Lenny Lerman, the murder victim. According to our source, he suffered from an advanced form of brain cancer. Can you provide us with the basic medical details?”

“The autopsy results will be made public in due course.”

“I appreciate that, Doctor. In the meantime, perhaps you could simply confirm the details already in our possession.”

Loeffler said nothing, which Gurney took as an opening to proceed. “Our source told us that Mr. Lerman’s cancer was late-stage and terminal. Are we likely to run into trouble with that description?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“I just want to be sure we’re not making any embarrassing medical errors. Our source described the cancer as a particularly aggressive type of meningioma. Can we print that?”

“Not if you care anything about accuracy.”

“The North Country Star cares a great deal about accuracy, Doctor, and so do I. Which is why I was hoping you’d be willing to put us on the right path.”

Loeffler emitted the weary sigh of a professor dealing with a tiresome student.

“Inoperable final-stage glioblastoma,” he said and ended the call.

Gurney wasn’t surprised by Loeffler’s diagnosis. But having his guess confirmed gave his faith in his own hypothesizing a much-needed boost.

The location of Lerman’s cancer suggested a possible link to his decapitation. Did the murderer know about Lerman’s terminal condition and want to hide it from the police? If so, why? And what role could the finger amputations have played in that concealment?

As Gurney was about to put that last question aside, a possibility occurred to him. The finger amputations might have been designed to create the exact impression that they did—the intent to delay identification of the body. That impression had, in fact, eliminated speculation by Rexton PD and Cam Stryker about other possible reasons for the decapitation.

Gurney felt that his feet were on solid ground, and that gave him an appetite for more progress, along with a more dangerous appetite—for confrontation.

Theorizing about the nature of a crime was a necessary process, but there came a point in every investigation when progress depended on identifying a prime suspect. And there were occasional investigations in which the only way to identify that individual was to provoke him or her into making mistakes.

As he considered how he could apply that kind of pressure to his elusive target, he concluded that RAM-TV—specifically, Controversial Perspectives—offered the best opportunity. Their philosophy of provocative insinuation created the right environment for what he had in mind, and they certainly wouldn’t object to his presenting supposition as fact.

He found Sam Smollett’s cell number and made the call.

She sounded surprised to hear from him, but definitely interested.

He described the kind of interview he had in mind, emphasizing the sensational aspects of what he wanted to share with the RAM audience and its potential for bringing a murderer out of hiding—an event that RAM could take credit for.

“That’s fantastic, David! A great counterpoint to our recent interview with Cam Stryker. According to her, you’re a wanted man.” Smollett made that sort of man sound like the world’s most exciting commodity. “We’ll mention that you’re doing the interview from an undisclosed location. A nice touch of cloak-and-dagger. District attorney versus rogue detective. I love it!”

“Sounds good to me, Sam.”

“Okay! Let’s do it!”

“Now?”

“Absolutely! I’ll set up a Zoom call with you. I’ll handle the RAM side of the interview. I’ll record it all, then edit out my questions, and tonight Tarla and Jordan will ask the same questions, and your answers will come across as live.”

“Is that legitimate?”

“Legitimate?” She made it sound like a word from a long-forgotten language. “The lawyers can worry about that. More importantly, do you have a black shirt, black sweater, anything like that?”

“Maybe a black tee shirt. Why?”

“Black conveys a tough, no-nonsense attitude. Street-level gravitas. You have any neck or forearm tattoos?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Give me your email, and I’ll send you the Zoom link. Then go put that tee shirt on.”

Five minutes later, having shed his flannel shirt for a black tee, he was at the dining room table, sitting in front of his laptop screen, gazing at a sharply featured female face topped with an auburn brush cut. The smile on the face was animated more by hungry anticipation than by friendliness.

“You look great, David. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“Keep that stern edge on your voice. It’s perfect. Okay, this is it.”