Night Terrors by Dennis Palumbo Read Free Book Online

group. Imagine living inside their fucking heads for the past twenty years.”
    I couldn’t even begin to imagine. I said so.
    â€œDamn straight. On the plus side, Barnes has a gut like nobody’s business. When the DNA on the Ohio vic came in, the Cleveland cops asked for the Bureau’s help with the lab stuff. Somehow Barnes got wind of it. Then, when there was a match to an earlier assault on a hooker, he got into the data base and—”
    â€œFound the other cases, the other prositutes who’d been raped and strangled.”
    â€œThen all he had to do was contact Jessup’s company, get the info on where their rep was working on any given date, and match up the locations to the scenes of each girl’s death. Barnes himself led the FBI team to pick up Jessup at the Cleveland county jail.”
    â€œWhat happened at the trial?”
    â€œOpen and shut. So no media circus. Another reason the story stayed regional. A couple news cycles in Ohio, not even that in Kentucky and Indiana. Plus the timing was bad. One or two blogs about it from the crime junkies, and then it was back to March Madness. They take their basketball pretty seriously in that part of the country.”
    â€œAnd Jessup never said anything? About his motives, his fantasies? Did they do a psych eval?”
    â€œSure, his defense attorney insisted, and Jessup was declared legally fit to stand trial. Which was all the prosecutor needed. Some hotshot female in the Cleveland DA’s office, making her bones with the Jessup conviction. Judge must’ve felt the same way, since he sentenced the guy to four consecutive life terms.”
    â€œBut what’s all this have to do with me?”
    Alcott unhurriedly flipped to another page in the file. Bringing me into this may not have been his idea, but he was still determined to stay in charge.
    â€œRelax, will ya, Doc? Like I said, none of this stuff is particularly unique. Multiple murderers are a dime a dozen. Got a lot of ’em locked up in SuperMax prisons. Bottom-feeder serials like Jessup. Gang shooters. Mob hit men. The crap floating in the sewers under society.”
    I had to smile. “Nice one, Alcott. A good soundbite for your next media shot.”
    â€œYeah, I like it, too.” A broad, unconvincing wink. “Anyway, John Jessup gets sent up to Markham Maximum Correctional in Ohio, nobody gives him another thought. Until he starts getting the letters.”
    â€œWhat letters?”
    â€œFan letters. Again, nothing new. You oughtta see the fan letters Charlie Manson still gets. Hell, Ted Bundy got marriage proposals. All these whack jobs have groupies, people sendin’ them pictures, lockets, whatever. Lotta strange folks out there in the heartland, Doc. But I guess I don’t have to tell you that.”
    â€œBut you said Jessup wasn’t a celebrity in that way.”
    â€œHe wasn’t. Maybe if he’d killed a dozen women. Or carved his initials on their tits or something. But I’m telling you, the jails are full of guys like him. Maybe they’re nuts, maybe they’re just evil pricks. But as far as I can tell, there wasn’t anything special about Jessup.”
    â€œWere all these letters from the same person?”
    â€œLooks like it. Though all with different postmarks. All typed on some kind of electric typewriter. A Sears Coronamatic, circa 1970. I mean, who even uses a typewriter anymore?”
    â€œWhat were in the letters?”
    â€œIn a nutshell? How much the writer admired Jessup, thought he was brave, a maverick in a soulless society. How the people who put him in jail were the real criminals, part of the oppressive establishment. The usual conspiracy bullshit, with some groupie ass licking thrown in.”
    â€œWas the writer ever identified?”
    â€œNo. But he always signed the letters the same way. Well, typed them, I mean. Always ended them with the words ‘Sincerely, Your