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already ringing. She set down an empty Slim-Fast can she d downed two on the
way to the office and snatched up the receiver. She d been thinking about
Alex, but now that nice thought was gone.
Bree, it s Brian Kitzmiller. Listen, I have something pretty neat to show
you.
Something prettyneat , Kitz? What might that be? A new game for your Wii?
You are a piece of work, you know that?
She shrugged her work bag back onto her shoulder. I can be there in a few
minutes.
Not necessary. Stay right where you are. Do you happen to be near a
computer?
Of course I am. Who isn t nowadays?
As soon as she was online, Kitz directed her to a site called
SerialTimes.net. Bree rolled her eyes as she brought up the site.What now ?
The home page was a crowded and sloppy-looking collection of thumbnail images,
unofficial updates, and actual news items. Really sick, gross stuff. Right
up there with the worst she d seen.
The most prominent item was a red-bordered box with the headline:
Exclusive! Don t miss this!
Message from DCAK!
Click here.
And I m supposed to believe this is for real? she asked, then added, Is
it, Kitz?
Just click it. Then you tell me.
The next window had a black background with a short message in the same white
typewriter font as the killer s original blog, which was one of hundreds of
leads she had followed that didn t seem to go anywhere.
The familiar look of the site wasn t what definitely answered Bree s
question, though. It was the two images pasted in at the top of the screen: a
small Iraqi flag and a bright-greenX-Files X symbols from the first two
homicides.
Yeah,they seemed to say,it s me.
Those two items aren t public knowledge yet, are they? Kitzmiller asked.
Am I right?
Bree shook her head as if he could see her, then mumbled, No, they aren t,
Kitz. We ve kept them to ourselves. She was already reading the message
below. The latest mindblower.
Imitation is the sincerest of flattery. Charles Caleb Colton
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I m setting the record straight for everybody who cares, or ought to care,
about these things. That piece of shit work out at the George Washington
Memorial Parkway? Someone else did that, not me. I ll take the flattery, but
don t try to pin that one here, cause I don t want it. I mean, Nixon just
copycatted what I did at the Riverwalk! Didn t even have the nerve to show his
face. Plus, the work itself was amateurish. Not worthy of me or those I model
myself on.
FedExField that one was yours truly. Took some balls to get in and out of
there. Imagine making a kill in a closed-in public area like that.
Make no mistake. There is only one DCAK. When it s me, you ll know it. You ll
know because I ll tell you.
And the work will be done with some imagination and flair. Give me a little
respect. I think I ve earned that much.
At least now the police have someone they can catch this imitator! Isn t that
right, Detective Bree Stone? Cause you re not even close to catching me, are
you?
Keep on living, fuckers.
DCAK
For the next few seconds, Bree stood there, shaking her head back and forth.
Alex had been right about the parkway murders . . . and probably everything
else.
Chapter 50
PLUS, DCAK HAD USED HER NAME.
Bree finally sat back in her chair and tried to process that little nugget.
She couldn t believe how brazen and arrogant this prick was, and how
completely messed up. And scary.
Bree? You still there? Brian Kitzmiller asked over the phone.
Yeah. I m here. Just having a depressed-cop moment. That was pretty neat,
all right.
You okay? Other than the obvious?
She focused on her hands, which were shaking only a little bit. Yeah, Kitz.
Thanks for asking. It s creepy, but it makes sense to me. He s probably a
total junkie for his own coverage. Of course he knows who I am. And of course
he knows about Alex. He s watching us, Kitz.
In one way, that s good news, isn t it? We wanted to make sure we were in
the same communication stream as the killer. I think we re there.
Ya think? Bree s mind was racing with all kinds of questions. When was
this posted?
Eleven twenty last night. It s already burning up the chat rooms. It s
everywhere, and I mean everywhere.
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That might explainthese calls. She picked up the stack of pink message
slips already in her in-box. The top one was from Channel Seven news. Listen,
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