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Back The Night Bird
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CONTENTS
  5. Start Reading
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. FROM THE AUTHOR
  59. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  60. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Using the letter opener, Frost pried at the wood panel on the bottom of the drawer, and it came up easily. Immediately underneath the panel was a manila envelope. He retrieved the envelope, opened the flap, and dumped the contents across the surface of the desk.

Behind him, Jess sucked in her breath.

“That son of a bitch,” Frost said.

43

43

Photographs.

The envelope contained dozens of photographs. Frost picked up each picture and laid them out in rows, taking up the entire surface of the desk. He spotted at least five different women among the faces. He didn’t recognize any of them, but Jess leaned over his shoulder and jabbed one of the photos with her fingernail.

“That’s Merrilyn Somers,” she said.

Newman had at least thirty photographs of his former neighbor. He’d stalked her everywhere she went. On campus at SF State, at a library computer, singing in a church choir, drinking coffee with friends on Market Street. The zoom lens he’d used captured every detail of her body and face in intimate, uncomfortable detail. Frost could see the brightness in Merrilyn’s distinctive blue eyes and the pencil-thin lines of her eyebrows, the curves of her hips in frayed jeans, and the ebony shine of her long, straight hair.

She was magnetic. And she’d attracted the wrong man.

There were more pictures of Merrilyn. After. She lay on her bed, naked. Her blue eyes were fixed, staring in death. Mouth open. Blood stained her body like red paint where the knife had violated her. Newman had recorded the murder in the same horrifying detail he’d used to stalk her.

“Do you know the other women, Jess?” Frost asked.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes couldn’t let go of the photographs.

“That one there, I think that’s the girl in Green Bay who was killed when Newman was eighteen. And this other one, that’s his classmate at college in Boulder. I don’t know the rest.” She leaned closer to the array of pictures. “Wait, no, I know that girl, too. She’s local. A prostitute. She disappeared nine months ago, and a couple of the other street girls reported her missing. We never found her.”

“She doesn’t fit the pattern,” Frost said. “There are pictures of her after the murder, but not before. And he hid the body, rather than let us find her, like the others. I wonder why.”

“I know why,” Frankie murmured.

Frost turned around. Dr. Stein had crept up behind them. Her lips were pressed together in horror as she stared at the photos laid out on the desk. Rain dripped from her hair to the metal floor like music.

“He made a joke about it,” she said. “He talked about using a hooker to get a sperm sample from Leon Willis. And about how he would have had to get rid of the hooker if he did that.”