Page 70 of Deadly Cry
Her hand was curled around the door handle before she remembered to knock. It was one of her boss’s pet hates and a habit she struggled to break, much to his annoyance.
‘Come in,’ he called after two firm knocks.
She entered and took a moment to assess the two additional people sitting with Woody at the small, round conference table, which worryingly had one spare seat. She felt her inner groan trying to escape. Sit-down meetings indicated a lengthy stay.
‘Take a seat, Stone,’ Woody said in a tone she rarely argued with when they were alone never mind in front of other people.
‘Obviously, you know Flora,’ Woody said, nodding to his left as she sat.
Flora Bridges was with the press liaison team and was responsible for telling police officers what they could and could not say to reporters. She was in her mid-fifties and had a mousy brown perm that was as tight as the ill-fitting blouses she always wore. Her glasses on a rope rested along with her identification on a chest that was testing the fabric and button construction of her shirt.
Almost all officers she knew dreaded getting Flora. Most of the press liaison team were happy to offer guidelines on content and delivery, but not Flora. Oh no, Flora wrote the whole thing word for word, with little notes like ‘pause’ and ‘lower voice’ like stage directions. Flora liked control.
Kim glanced to Woody’s right.
‘And this is Frederick Hammond, psychologist over at Ridgewood laboratory.’
‘Okay,’ Kim said, wondering what either of these people had to do with her. For clues, she looked to the paperwork on the table. Set before Frederick Hammond were copies of the letters the killer had sent. The sheets were covered in red notations.
Before Flora’s folded arms was a single sheet of paper neatly typed without notations.
‘We have a press briefing booked for five o’clock,’ Woody stated.
That was little over half an hour away and still: what did that have to do with her?
‘You’ll be the one talking to the press,’ Woody stated, answering her silent question.
If they’d been alone, she would have immediately offered an opposing argument. She hated talking to the press and Woody knew it.
She searched his expression for wiggle room on the matter. There was none.
Woody inclined his head to Frederick, who offered his hand across the table.
‘Pleased to meet you, DI Stone.’
She ignored the hand and waited. Irritation flashed across her boss’s face, but she didn’t care. She didn’t touch people unnecessarily for anyone.
He retracted his hand.
‘These letters are addressed directly to you. There is something in you that he trusts. He’s asking for your help. He wants you to help him stop.’
Kim waited. She’d worked that much out for herself.
‘He looks up to you and has placed his faith in you. His anger at your failure to stop him is almost like a child waiting for boundaries to be set by a parent who—’
‘Sir?’ she said, looking at Woody. The words,how long do I have to listen to this?remained unspoken between them. She had little time for psychologists at the best of times, but this guy looked way too excited by his own observations.
Woody narrowed his eyes at her and turned to Frederick.
‘He asked for your help in the first letter and showed his frustration with you after the second. I understand that no letter was found on the third victim today?’
‘Not yet.’
‘He still wishes to communicate with you but may feel his letters are useless. He might find another way to communicate his displeasure. He may feel you’re ignoring him and choose to use the most valuable weapon he has.’
‘Archie?’ she asked, paying attention.
Frederick nodded. ‘He may hurt the boy or worse, to get your attention, to make—’
