I pulled my inoperable phone from my pocket and opened up the contacts list. I got the number for the FBI in Los Angeles and punched it into the throwaway. When the main operator answered I asked to speak to Agent Rachel Walling. I was transferred and it took a while to go through, but once it rang it was answered immediately.

“Intelligence,” a male voice said.

“Let me speak to Rachel.”

I said it as calmly as possible. I didn’t ask for Agent Rachel Walling this time, because I didn’t want to be asked who I was and possibly give her the opportunity to deflect my call. My hope was that I sounded like an agent and my call would be put through.

“Agent Walling.”

It was her. It had been a few years since I had heard her voice over the phone but there was no doubt.

“Hello? This is Walling, can I help you?”

“Rachel, it’s me. Jack.”

Now it was her turn to be caught in silence.

“How are you doing?”

“Why are you calling me, Jack? We agreed that it would be better that we not talk.”

“I know… but I need your help. I’m in trouble, Rachel.”

“And you’re expecting me to help you? What kind of trouble?”

A passing car blew past me going a hundred, at least, and making me feel like I was standing still.

“It’s sort of a long story. I’m in Nevada. In the desert. I’m chasing a story and there’s a killer out there nobody knows about. I need somebody to believe me and to help me.”

“Jack, I’m the wrong person and you know it. I can’t help you. And I’m in the middle of something here. I have to go.”

“Rachel, don’t hang up! Please…”

She didn’t answer at first, but she didn’t hang up. I waited.

“Jack… you sound frazzled. What is going on with you?”

“I don’t know. Somebody’s messing with me. My phone, my e-mail, my bank accounts—I’m driving through the middle of the desert and I don’t even have a credit card that works.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Ely, to talk to somebody.”

“The prison?”

“That’s right.”

“What, somebody called you up and said he was innocent and you come running, hoping to prove the real cops are wrong again?”

“No, nothing like that. Look, Rachel, this guy is strangling women and stuffing them into the trunks of cars. He does horrible things to them and he’s been getting away with it for at least two years.”

“Jack, I’ve read your stories about the girl in the trunk. It was a gangbanger and he confessed.”

I got an unexpected thrill from knowing she was reading my stories. But it wasn’t helping me to convince her.

“Don’t believe everything you read in the paper, Rachel. I’m getting to the truth now and I need someone—somebody in authority—to step in and—”

“You know I’m not in Behavioral anymore. Why call me?”