Читать книгу A Marked Man - Stella Cameron - Страница 7

Hi, Max,

It’s been a long time. Forgive me for not writing sooner.

Have you picked your next victim yet?

How was London? Clever of you to go there. Far enough away for you to get lost in another closed-ranks medical fraternity, but not so far you couldn’t keep an eye on things here. I expect you were surprised how quickly the media in the States forgot about you and your nasty little habit. I wasn’t surprised.

The media is fickle, with short attention spans, but that means they’re always on the hunt for the next story, or the next installment of an old, sick story like yours.

Did you lose a close friend in London? You know the kind of friend I mean. A woman. If you did, you hid the evidence well. We didn’t hear a thing about it.

There are a few questions I want you to think about and maybe you’ll tell me the answers one day. Do you disfigure them so badly because you enjoy knowing that you are one of the few who could put some of their bones and flesh back together again, if you wanted to? Does the thought turn you on?

Do you tell them what they’ll look like afterwards and remind them that you know how to mend wounds like that—then laugh when you say you don’t heal dead women?

You’re back. That’s too bad, but we’ll make the best of it. You’ve chosen a quaint place to hide—conveniently out of touch, too, but that doesn’t mean a few words here and there won’t have the whole town watching you. If you stray, even sleepy Toussaint will notice the attention you get.

Be very, very careful who you associate with, Doctor. Stay away from whores. You know how quickly your history can jump into the public eye from every media outlet across the country—the way it did before. They loved crucifying you then and they’ll love it even more the next time—if there is a next time. But that’s up to you. Try to control yourself, and keep your nose clean.

Remember how charges in the first death, poor Isabel’s, were dismissed for lack of evidence? And the second one went the same way? Carol was so sexy.

How did you wait all those years before you killed the second time? Or did you wait? Did other women die in between without any connection being made to you?

The third time (that they find out about) won’t be a charm for you.

I don’t know why I waste my time trying to help you. Once a killer, always a killer. You’ll do it again and probably soon—unless I find a way to stop you.

Why not show my letter to someone who can help you? Not your brother, Roche. It might seem convenient to use a shrink in the family but he would only say whatever you wanted to hear. Kelly would worry about himself first, then panic. He would sacrifice you to save his own skin. Best keep this away from him, too.

Go to the law. Tell the truth and show them this. Say it’s a letter from the best friend you ever had, the only honest friend you ever had, and ask them to lock you away before you do something unspeakable again.

God help you, and them.

I don’t sign my letters to him. Why should I? He’d know I was only trying to be clever.

By now he’ll feel safe, as if he’s finally outrun me and his past, but he never will.