LITMIR.BIZ

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was it emailed from?” Avery asked.

      “Oh, this is the screwed up part…well, one screwed up part,” O’Malley said. “The email address is registered to a woman named Mildred Spencer. She’s a seventy-two-year-old widow that only has the email address to keep in touch with her grandkids. We’ve got someone talking to her right now, but all signs point to the account being hacked.”

      “Can we trace the hack?” Avery asked.

      “No one at the A1 has the capabilities. We’ve called the State Police to try to crack it.”

      Ramirez was done with the letter, sliding it back to the center of the table. Avery slid it back over to her and eyed it again. She did not read it again, but just studied it: the paper, the handwriting, the odd placement of sentences on the paper.

      “Any initial thoughts, Black?” Connelly asked.

      “A few. First, where’s the envelope it came in?”

      “Back at my desk. Finley, run fetch it, would you?”

      Finley did as he had been asked while Avery continued to pore over the letter. The handwriting was pristine but also sort of childlike. It looked like someone had gone to great lengths to perfect it. There were also a few key words that jumped out to her as being quite odd.

      “What else?” Connelly asked.

      “Well, a few things right off the bat. The fact that he sent us a letter makes it clear that he wants us to know it’s him – without knowing his identity. So while it might not be a game to him per se, it’s something he wants credit for. He also enjoys being hunted down. He wants us to go after him.”

      “Are there any clues in there?” O’Malley asked. “I’ve looked it over at least a dozen times and I’m getting nothing.”

      “Well, the wording is weird in some places. The mention of a windshield in a letter where the only other concrete thing he references are flowers and bed covers seems strange. I think it’s also worth noting that he used the words erotic and lover. Pair that with the fact that the victim we found today was pretty much gorgeous and there’s got to be something there. The mention of afterlife and rebirth is unsettling, too. But we could go a million different ways with that until we know more.”

      “Anything else?” Ramirez asked with his usual not-so-concealed smile. He loved to see her on a roll. She tried to push this to the back of her mind as she went on.

      “The way he breaks his lines up…it’s almost like fragmented stanzas of poetry. Most every other letter I’ve ever seen in old case studies where the killer contacted the police or media was usually in blocks of text.”

      “How’s that a clue?” Connelly asked.

      “It might not be,” Avery said. “I’m just free-styling here.”

      A knock came at the door. Connelly opened it and Finley stepped back in. He closed the door behind him, setting the lock. He then carefully placed the envelope on the table. There was nothing remarkable about it. The address to the station had been written in the same carefully practiced script that was on the letter. There was no return address and a Forever stamp in the left corner. The postmark was high on the envelope and mostly to the left, its edges touching the stamp.

      “It came from zip code 02199,” O’Malley said. “But that means nothing. The killer could have gone miles outside of his area to mail it.”

      “That’s true,” Avery said. “And this guy seems too smart and determined to lead us right to him via a zip code. He’d have thought about that. The zip code is a dead end, I can guarantee it.”

      “So then what does that leave us to go on?” Finley asked.

      “Well,” Avery said, “this guy seems to be preoccupied with the cold, with ice in particular. And not just because that’s where we found the body. It’s all over the letter. He seems to be fixated on it. So I wonder…can we run a search for anything dealing with ice or the cold? Ice skating rinks, meat lockers, labs, anything.”

      “You’re certain the location isn’t purposeful?” Connelly asked. “If he wants to be known, maybe the zip code was like a calling card.”

      “No, I’m not certain. Not at all. But if we can find a business or some other organization that deals in ice or just the cold inside of that zip code, I’d maybe start there.”

      “Okay,” Finley said. “So do we need to check security tapes around the locations of post offices or drop boxes?”

      “God no,” Connelly said. “It’ll take forever and there’s no way we’d know when this particular letter was sent.”

      “We need a list of those businesses and organizations,” Avery said. “That’s going to be the best place to start. Can anyone think of any right off the top of their heads?”

      After several moments of silence, Connelly let out a sigh. “I don’t know right off the top of my head,” he said. “But I can have you a list within half an hour. Finley, can you get that request rolling?”

      “On it,” Finley said.

      When he was out of the room again, Avery raised an eyebrow in Connelly’s direction. “Is Finley an errand boy now?”

      “Not at all. You’re not the only one up for a promotion. I’m trying to get him more involved in every aspect of high-profile cases. And as you know, he thinks you walk on water so I’m giving him a chance on this one.”

      “And why are we locking ourselves in the conference room?” she asked.

      “Because the press is on this. I don’t want to take any chances with bugged rooms or tapped phone lines.”

      “Seems paranoid,” Ramirez said.

      “Seems smart,” Connelly said with a bit of venom.

      Wanting to prevent a pissing match between the two, Avery pulled the letter closer to her. “You mind if I eyeball this letter some more while we wait on results?”

      “Please do. I’d much rather have someone on the A1 figure it out before the media blasts it all over TV and some nerdy kid in a basement figures it out.”

      “We need to get Forensics on this. A handwriting analysis should be done. The envelope needs to be looked over for any trace evidence: fingerprints, dust filaments, anything.”

      “They’ve been notified and the letter is going to them right away the moment you’re done with it.”

      “It’s got to be done quickly,” she said. “I know you were just making a joke about some kid in his basement figuring it out, but it’s a legitimate concern. And when this thing hits social media, there’s no telling what sorts of eyes and minds might be analyzing it.”

      As she started to take a closer look at the letter, Finley came back in the room. “That was fast,” O’Malley said.

      “Well, it just so happens that one of the women on dispatch has a father that works near the Prudential Center. And that’s within the 02199 zip code, by the way. Maybe just a coincidence, but you never know. Anyway, her husband works at a tech lab over that way. She says they do these crazy experiments with quantum mechanics and things like that. Some sort of arm of the tech school at Boston University.”

      “Quantum mechanics?” O’Malley asked. “That’s doesn’t fit with our guy, does it?”

      “It depends on the experiments,” Avery said, instantly interested. “I don’t know much about the field, but I do know that there are areas in quantum mechanics that deal with extreme temperatures. Something to do with finding the durability and central origin points of different kinds of matter.”

      “How the hell do you know all of this?” Connelly asked.

      She shrugged. “I watched a lot of Discovery Channel in college. Some of it stuck, I guess.”

      “Well,

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