“I can’t believe the fucker was dying,” Kloz muttered, picking at something on his arm.
Porter tapped on the whiteboard. “What do the personal items tell us?”
“The dry cleaner receipt is a bust,” Clair said. “Aside from the number, there’s no identifying information, not even the name or address of the cleaners. It’s from a generic receipt book that can be ordered from hundreds of shops online. Half the cleaners in the city use the same one.”
“Kloz, I want you on that. Create a list of all cleaners within five miles of the accident this morning, and contact each one. Find out if they use this particular type of receipt. If they do, ask if number 54873 is active. Obviously, 4MK won’t be picking it up. Even if you find more than one, we’ll be able to narrow down the list as the other tickets get closed out. If you don’t find anything, expand your search grid. He was walking, though—I think the cleaners will be close.”
Kloz waved at him. “I accept your challenge.”
Nash scanned the board. “What do we do about the suit and shoes?”
“Kloz can check all the shoe stores while he’s running the dry cleaners,” Clair said.
Kloz raised his middle finger and stuck his tongue out at her.
Porter stared at the board a moment. “I’d rather Kloz focused on the cleaners. The size mismatch definitely bugs me too, but it’s just noise right now. We’ll keep the info on the board in case it comes into play later.”
“Coins aren’t much of a clue, either,” Nash pointed out. “Everyone in this room probably has a pocket of change right now.”
Porter considered erasing the seventy-five cents, then changed his mind. “We’ll leave that up there too.” He turned to Watson. “Any luck on the pocket watch?”
“I’ll head over to my uncle’s shop once we finish up here,” he replied.
Porter turned back to the board. “I think we’ll find him with this,” he said as he drew a line under DYING OF CANCER. “Eisley said he found octreotide, trastuzumab, oxycodone, and lorazepam in his system. Trastuzumab can only be administered by a handful of centers in the city. We need to reach out to each of them with a description of 4MK and hunt for missing patients.”
“I can do that,” Clair said. “How many fedora-wearing, cheap suit buying, expensive shoe owning stomach cancer patients can there possibly be out there? That’s where the clothing items will help us. He’d stand out walking into a treatment center dressed like that.”
“Good point,” Porter said. “Eisley also found a small tattoo on the man’s right inner wrist.” He loaded the image onto his phone’s screen and passed it around the room. “It’s fresh. Eisley said he probably got inked within the past week.”
Kloz studied it closely. “Is that an infinity symbol? Kinda ironic for a guy on his way out the exit door.”
“It obviously meant something to him,” Clair said, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “If you’re going to permanently mark your body, you put some serious thought behind your ink.”
Kloz grinned up at her. “Speaking from experience? Is there something you want to show the group?”
She winked at him. “You wish, geek boy.”
Porter reached into his pocket, removed the diary, and dropped it onto the table. “Then there’s this.” They all fell silent for a moment and stared at it.
“Shit, I thought Nash made that up,” Kloz said. “The fucker really had a diary on him? Did you log that into evidence? There’s no reference on the case log.”
Porter shook his head. “I don’t want the press to know. Not yet.”
Kloz whistled. “4MK’s handwritten manifesto? Hell, that’s worth a fortune.”
“It’s not a manifesto. It reads more like an autobiography, dating back to when he was a kid.”
Kloz leaned back in his chair. “What, like, ‘Today Becky Smith wore that little red dress I like to school. It made me happy. I decided to follow her home and ask her if she’d go steady with me. When she said no, I gutted her in her living room. Tomorrow is pizza day in the cafeteria. I like pizza, but not as much as burgers, burgers with cheese are—’?”
Clair threw a pen at him.
“Ow!”
Nash nodded at the diary. “Okay, I’m going to ask about the elephant in the room. Have you flipped to the end? What’s on the last page?”
Porter reached out and gave it a little push. The book slid across the table, stopping in front of his partner. “Go ahead, take a peek.”
Nash’s eyes narrowed as he reached for the diary. The room had gotten very still. He turned the book over and opened to the last page, reading aloud.
Ah, good sir. Didn’t your mother ever tell you sneaking a look-see at the end of a good book before you’ve earned the right is a mortal sin? Authors around this great planet of ours are spinning in their graves, rolling their eyes in disgust, or flat out wishing ill will on you and yours. I would like to say I am truly disappointed in you, but that would be a lie. If circumstances were reversed and I were standing in your shiny loafers, I no doubt would have done the same. But alas, the answers that you seek are not to be found here at the end. I suggest you pour yourself a nice cup of joe, plant your posterior in your favorite chair, and turn back to the beginning. You really should start there, don’t you think? How could you understand how our story will end without knowing how I began? To know me is to know my reasons, and there are reasons. You only need to know where to take a gander. You need to understand how to read between the silly little lines. That’s half the fun, isn’t it? Learning how to play the game? Good luck, my friend. I’m rooting for you, I really am. This is all such fun, don’t you think?
Nash flipped through a few more pages before tossing the diary back onto the table. “Motherfucker.”
Porter shrugged. “Told you.”
Porter picked up the diary. “I’ve been reading this thing, and I’m still not sure what to make of it. It’s an autobiographical account of 4MK’s life, but so far I haven’t come across anything that will help us find Emory. All I’ve found are the ramblings of a very disturbed individual.”
“The fucker is dead and he’s still taunting us.”
“Maybe you should make some copies; if we all read it, we’ll get through it faster,” Clair said.
Porter shook his head. “We don’t have time to turn this into a book club, and I want all of you focusing on your assignments. I don’t trust anyone outside this room with it, so that leaves me. I’m a quick read—I find anything, I’ll get it out to you.”
“What about the camera at the scene?” Watson asked. “Has anyone reviewed the footage yet?”
“I put in a requisition, but Central hasn’t provided an analysis yet,” Kloz said. “I’ll chase it down.”