Autopsy of a Mind

Chapter 165: Another Letter

"The results are out," Nash shouted. I jerked up to look at him.

"The sand analysis?" I whispered. Nash nodded enthusiastically. Despite my attempts at looking dignified, I sprinted to the forensics lab and found the familiar faces of the analysts gaping at me. 

They had never seen me like this and they would probably never see me in this state ever again.

"What are the results?" I asked.

The analyst looked up from his report, the dark circle under his eyes prominent. "Dr. Butler," he said, his voice excited. "Here." He pushed the result towards me. 

I looked at the general location of the sand and frowned. "This is somewhere around Queensbury?" I asked. I tilted my head to the side.

"The beach at Queensbury is a popular destination. Ideally, that is the only beach in this vicinity that still has sand. All the other beaches have been encased in rock and pebbles and shells, highly unlikely for anyone to get sand residue from there," the analyst said. 

He looked perplexed. "Does that help in any way? Almost everyone goes to that beach on their days off. We can't narrow down anything, right?" his voice was low and deliberate. 

I shook my head. I pulled out my cellphone and searched for companies that shipped sand from the beach. And there you had it, garden supplies. The sand was good for gardening and was therefore supplied to certain localities in the ten-kilometer range. I could only find one medium-sized company so that was a plus.

"Gardening supplies," I prompted, showing Nash the screen. 

Nash contemplated for a moment. "He wouldn't very well go to the beach to pack the bag and he cleaned it so carefully. It's strange for one grain of sand to be left behind." His eyes lit up with understanding. "It's from his backyard. The paraphernalia is in the house's backyard and he dug it out. Somehow it got into the bag after he had completely cleaned it out!"

I nodded. 

The analyst looked confused. "You got that from a simple search?" he asked. "But it spans across a wide area, right? How will you find the identity of this person?" 

"Kid, you've done well. You've given us more information than we could ever imagine," Nash said proudly. 

I didn't add in but I felt relieved. This didn't look like much but I had to admit that searching would become a little easier.

We were back in the confines of Nash's room when I spoke up. "We need to narrow those lists to the people who lived within twenty miles of the beach at that time," I told Nash. 

Nash was reluctant, though. "The higher end of the population living within three kilometers of the beach are rich. The property prices are exorbitant. This doesn't fit in with the initial idea that the BTS killer was powerless. Money usually equals a sense of success in life," Nash rationalized. 

"I wouldn't put it past them, though. The BTS Killer was out of a job at the time, it hurt his masculinity. It doesn't have to do much with money more than it is about his ego, right?"

Nash clucked his tongue. "But usually, police academy attendants are from middle-class households and lower-income households."

"Statistics would say that, but I can't bank on it right now, can I?" I asked him firmly. 

"The search is too big, Sebastian," he warned.

Something at the back of my head nagged at me. "Where did Alicia grow up?" I asked myself.

Nash's eyes grew wide. "Do you think it would work?"

"It was possibly his first time actively helping a criminal out. He would have a harder time scoping out Alicia. He might have gone to the same school or lived in a close neighborhood, right?"

Nash pressed his lips together. "Most parents prefer sending students to the nearest school. That is true. I can triangulate and find a general location, that is for sure."

I heaved a sigh of relief. "You get on it. I'll call the news station and talk to the host," I informed. 

Nash was behind his desk in no time, going through the list and redoing it once again. 

"Hello?" I said into the phone. "Have I connected with SBN News Studio?" I asked into the phone once the call had been picked up. 

"Yes, speaking. May I know who you are looking for?" the gruff female voice asked from the other side. 

"I am calling from the city police about a case. Is there anyone authorized to speak of such matters?" I questioned. 

There was silence on the other end. 

"Is this about the BTK killer?" the woman asked, exasperated. 

"Why would you ask that?" I found it curious that they would know so soon. 

"We got a tip that the Killer was back in town but didn't report because it was a rumor. But this morning, we received a letter insisting that it was from the guy."

I grew silent. "You received a letter?" I repeated. 

"Yes, we did. It was addressed to the director of the morning news show which airs in an hour. We haven't decided if we should talk about it yet"

"Don't talk about it yet. I'll come personally to see the letter," I said quickly. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nash looked up in surprise. "Is Miss Natalia still there?" I added after a beat. 

"Yes, she is. She is the one who will do the morning news," she replied, confused. 

"Great. Please inform your director that I am arriving shortly." I was already out of my desk and sprinting to my room to get my purse and car keys. 

I hung the phone up and was about to leave the station when Nash caught up to me. 

"What is it?" he asked, looking frantic. 

"News Station received a letter saying it was from the killer. I don't know if it really is the killer or the accomplice trying to confuse us, but it's a lead I can't pass by," I hastily spoke. "I'll talk to the staff face to face and get the answers, too."

"Okay, stay safe. I'll complete the list by the time you are back," Nash assured. "Be sure to drink water."

I may have broken a few traffic laws to arrive at the scene before the morning news started. I was sweating and received an alarmed look from the receptionist. "Hi, I may have spoken to you on the phone a little earlier. You told me about the letter that arrived this morning?" I enquired.

The older woman nodded and looked worried as she picked up the phone and called someone. "There's someone from the police force come to meet you," she said and then hung up, never looking away from my face. 

I tapped my finger on the desk and waited until I saw the familiar figure of the news host sauntering in my direction. 

"Who are you?" she asked. She had a pleasant voice and an older face, lines marking the corner of her eyes. But she was conventionally beautiful. 

"Doctor Sebastian Butler. I am a consultant for the city police and am currently working on a cold case that you might know something about." Natalia arched her brow and glanced towards the receptionist with displeasure. 

"Which case?" she asked, pretending not to know. 

"The letter that you received from the BTS Killer, I must see it. And I wish to speak to you about the previous letter you received. I have some questions for you."

She looked startled and I saw a flash of fear in her eyes. "I don't wish to speak about it," she said through gritted teeth. 

"You don't need to worry. We are going to solve the mystery soon and the Killer is not in a position where he can harm you," I assured her. 

"How can you be sure of that?" she hissed. 

"Because I am a professor of criminal psychology and know a thing or two about criminals. Please, can we find a private room to chat?" I pleaded. 

She watched me closely before she finally agreed. We were in the room and she looked angsty. 

"I know that the show starts shortly, so I just want to look at the letter for now. I will stay behind and ask you questions about the previous letter after you are done with the morning news. How does that sound?" 

I scrutinized her expression and saw the reluctance, but finally, she agreed. 

She handed the paper over after retrieving it from her desk. She took the seat across from me and watched me with rapt fascination.

As I looked over the paper and the style of writing, I analyzed it in my head. My thoughts were interrupted by the words of the anchor.

"I have never seen a consultant so passionate about a case. Is there something urgent?" she poked. 

I looked at her dispassionately.