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CHAPTER 53

“I LOVED JACOBI. We all loved Jacobi. That he was murdered drives us crazy night and day, but we don’t have a clue.” I picked through my nearly fifteen years of encyclopedic knowledge of Jacobi and told this FBI agent about my friend’s integrity and leadership abilities. I told him more about Ted Swanson, the dirtiest of cops whose illegal and lethal activities had caused Jacobi’s “retirement.”

I said, “Warren Jacobi spent his last hour on Earth bird-watching at dawn in a very nice park when he was shivved from behind by an unknown scumbag. The bird-watching was a surprise to me. It was a new hobby. The killer was a pro or he never could have surprised Jacobi from behind. All that was found at the murder scene was a matchbook hidden in some ferns. No prints on it. No nothing on it except the ‘I said. You dead’ message and the name of the bar it had come from: Julio’s. Dive bar in the Mission.”

I opened the Jacobi murder book and flipped through the pages until I reached one with an enlarged photo of the matchbook. I turned it toward Walsh, who focused on the writing inside the cover.

“The block lettering is consistent with the lettering I’ve seen before.”

Did Walsh have something on the killer? I was getting anxious just being with him surrounded by photos of the dead. I wanted to shout, Just tell me!

“I understand that there also was a note reading, ‘I said. You dead,’ in the pocket of Sadie Witt’s pants.”

“Soaked in her blood.” Walsh looked at me. “I worked the case.”

Why would an

FBI

agent from Boston work a murder case in Verne, Nevada? Are there even earlier victims from other states we don’t know about? Are we dealing with a serial killer?

“And?” I prompted.

“And nothing. This killer is a ghost. And we haven’t been lucky. But I have a semisolid lead that I’ve vetted and can talk about. It hurts to do it, but I’m ready to share.”

Special Agent James Walsh stood up and dragged his chair away from the table, then sat down hard again. He seemed pent-up and anxious. He was the one who had come here talking about wanting to share his lead, but now it was as if he wasn’t sure he was ready. Or maybe he wasn’t sure about talking to me .

I didn’t yell but spoke in a louder tone than I intended, “So, James, apart from the unsolved cases, can you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Walsh ran his hand over the lower half of his face, sighed loudly, and finally said, “I’ll tell you, but I’m going to need something from you.”