I locked the door to the decomposition room, and I opened the bay door again. Through it I saw mountainous dark clouds blowing across the moon like boats in full sail, and the wind was wild and making eerie rushing sounds around the corners of my building. Marino walked me to my car and seemed in no hurry as he got out his cigarettes and lit one.

“I don’t want to put any hinky ideas in your head,” he said, “but there’s something I think you ought to know.”

I unlocked my car door and slid behind the wheel.

“I’m afraid to ask,” I said, and I meant it.

“I got a call about four-thirty this afternoon from Rex Willis at the paper. The editorial columnist,” he said.

“I know who he is.”

I fastened my seat belt.

“Apparently he got a letter today from an anonymous source, kind of in the format of a press release. It’s pretty bad.”

“About what?” I said as an alarm shot through my blood.

“Well, it’s supposedly from Carrie Grethen, and she’s saying that she escaped from Kirby because she was framed by the feds and knew they’d execute her for something she didn’t do unless she got away. She claims that at the time of the murders you were having an affair with the chief profiler in the case, Benton Wesley, and all the so-called evidence against her was doctored, made up, a conspiracy between the two of you to make the Bureau look good.”

“And this was mailed from where?” I asked as outrage heated me up.

“Manhattan.”

“And it was addressed specifically to Rex Willis?”

“Yup.”

“And of course, he’s not going to do anything with it.”

Marino hesitated.

“Come on, Doc,” he said. “When’s the last time a reporter didn’t do something with something?”

“Oh for God’s sake!” I blurted out as I started the engine. “Has the media gone totally mad? They get a letter from a psycho and print it in the paper?”

“I’ve got a copy if you want to see it.”

He dug a folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to me.

“It’s a fax,” he explained. “The original’s already at the lab. Documents is going to see what they can do with it.”

I unfolded the copy with shaking hands, and did not recognize the neat printing in black ink. It was nothing like the bizarre red printing that was on the letter I had received from Carrie, and in this epistle, the words were very articulate and clear. For a moment I read, skimming over the ridiculous claims that she had been framed, my eyes stopping cold on the last long paragraph.