Chapter 1
Even without Sheila, I’m always going to have at least one other girl in my life: My daughter.
Cappelano’s prison jumpsuit glares orange through the glass. He sits down and picks up the phone, waiting for me to speak. I’m waiting too. At first, I just sit there with him in silence, lost in thought. As I snap out of it and pick up the greasy phone, I can’t help but let out a sigh.
“It’s been six months since that day in Mexico City, and I’m still second-guessing myself. Everyone back at the Bureau said it was the right move, but I still wish I would’ve done something different.”
“Neil, you need to stop worrying about this. The case is over.”
I shake my head. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother coming here, but I have no one else to talk to. Cappelano and I have been meeting once a week, and for some reason he really helps me put things in perspective.
“I want to, but what we want and what we get are usually two different things. You of all people know that.”
“That’s true, but only when things are out of your immediate control. This is all on you. No one else. Just you. And you need to let this go, or that ulcer will turn into something worse.”
“How did you know I had an ulcer?” I palm the bottle of Tums in my pocket. “But I get what you’re trying to tell me. Ever since I started training hard again, I’ve felt a little better. Hitting that punching bag and running seem to help me forget.”
“That’s the spirit. You need to work through it,” he said, nodding. “As for noticing your ulcer, that was easy. You’ve been sucking down those antacids like they’re going out of style. That, and you haven’t touched your coffee since you’ve been here. And we all know that you love your coffee.”
I grimace. “I’ve resorted to eating coffee beans. It sits better in my stomach.
“You genuinely have a problem, Neil. Eating coffee beans whole? I mean, seriously, you’ve lost it,” he laughs. “But I digress. How’s the home life been?”
That’s a loaded question. I thought ending the Cappelano case would simplify my life, but it hasn’t. Hell, the only thing that has changed at all is Cappelano himself. Life for me has been just as crazy as it was when I was chasing him down.
“It’s hard trying to be a family with an ex-wife and a daughter. Don’t get me wrong, I love both of them dearly. It’s just hard.”
“You and Sheila still have a lot of love for each other. That can get very complicated at times. At least, I imagine it can.”
“Complicated is a nice way of putting it.”
What is my life? I’m sitting here unloading my relationship drama with a man I put in prison. I don’t stop, though. I can’t. “I’m still a little upset with the way things ended up with Maria. I thought after the case, it would be okay for us.”
“That did end pretty badly, didn’t it? Are you guys at least on speaking terms?”
“We try, but it just ends up as small talk. Maybe I’m still bitter. I mean, she knew my relationship with Sheila going in. To demand that I stop seeing her was ridiculous. I stopped all physical contact, but that wasn’t enough. And things just got worse the longer we dated.”
“Sounds like she didn’t want to share you. You’ve got to understand that, at least?”
“I do. Trust me, I do. But even without Sheila, I’m always going to have at least one other girl in my life—my daughter. If someone can’t understand that you don’t get all of me, all of the time, then I can’t help them. And that’s something she wouldn’t do. She didn’t even try to see my side of things, even after four months together.”
“Damn shame she couldn’t. You’re right though. She didn’t try for you.”
Before I can respond, a guard taps him on the shoulder as he passes.
“We’re almost out of time. Anything else you want to cover before you have to go?”
“Nothing I can think of. But if I do, I know where to find you. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.”
“Very funny. Still cracking jokes. Glad to see one of us can smile about my situation.”
After that night in Mexico, the Bureau guys and I snuck Cappelano back across the border and brought him to Detroit so he could be tried in the state with jurisdiction. The DA and the FBI worked out a deal to keep him at a Michigan prison instead of shipping him to a federal penitentiary. Cappelano pleaded guilty to all counts—twenty-seven—as long as he could stay in Michigan. He said he wanted to be close to me; I think he has a little man-crush. Either that or he wants to kill me. But lately, Cappelano has been getting tired of me ragging on his ass.
“I didn’t force you to go on a killing spree, now did I? Not to mention killing an FBI agent.”
“Not again, Neil. We’ve been over this. These meetings are to talk about you and your problems, not mine. Have a good week.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Franklin.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know I hate that name.”
“Are sure you don’t want me to call you Veritas?”
“NO!” He slams the phone down without another word, refusing to even wave goodbye.
It’s hard for a lot of people to understand why I would want to speak regularly with the man I chased for so long—not to mention who killed so many people—but it’s simple: Cappelano understands me. I don’t know how; he just does, and that’s good enough for now. Plus, he comes in handy when I need to talk to someone about a killer that I might be tracking down. There’s nothing quite like talking to a psychopath when you’re trying to catch one. It’s like that old saying: To catch a fox, you need to think like one.
The merits of my strategy seem to elude Daniels, one of the prison’s corrections officers I pass on the way out.
“Hey Neil, how was the visit today? I still don’t understand how you can talk to that guy; he’s crazy.”
“Some say the craziest people are too sane for anyone to notice.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? All I know is he doesn’t say a word to anyone, not even other inmates. He only talks to you,” Officer Daniels said.
“He might be crazy, but he’s helped me catch a couple of killers already, not to mention it’s kind of fun to give him a little shit about being behind bars. I mean, after all those years he taunted me, now I get to taunt him right back. So what if I’m enjoying it a bit.”
“Whatever you say, Neil. I need to do my rounds. Drive safe.”
“Thanks, Officer Daniels. Keep an eye on Cappelano. He’s starting to warm up to you, trust me.”
“I couldn’t care less. This is just a paycheck to me, and these inmates are just numbers in a system. That’s the only way to look at this job. Otherwise, I’d go crazy working here.”
“You do what you have to. See ya.”
The drive home seems to get shorter every time I leave Cappelano’s office. He’d rather me call it that than what it is—the Michigan State Prison. I guess it’s all semantics when it comes down to it.
But hey, you can’t always pick your friends.
The last couple of months have been pretty good to me. Most of my friends were surprised when I turned down a full-time job with the Bureau, especially with the promotion they offered me. Instead, we settled on a compromise that allows me full access to FBI resources, but with the time and freedom I can enjoy as a consultant.
I’ve been keeping busy with BCI, too. When it became public that my team of investigators caught Cappelano, the high-profile cases started pouring in.
I also did a small lecture circuit at a few colleges and conferences, sharing my expertise regarding long-term investigations into serial killers. That was fun. I met some interesting people and made a few new friends.
Oh yeah, I made a lot of money, too.
At a three-day conference in Florida, I made $75,000 for the weekend; I paid off my mortgage with that one. With a couple others, I finished remodeling the inside of my house.
It’s getting late as I make it home. I stop upstairs to change and admire my new bedroom. It’s decked out with a massive walk-in closet, king-size bed, custom oak dresser, matching nightstand, and a temperature-controlled dog bed for the girls to sleep in. I know I spoil my dogs —probably a little too much — but they’re my babies.
Then I head downstairs to the finished basement, and it’s just the way I like it. I didn’t go the route of a big entertainment area like most. Instead, I turned half into my office, complete with a custom desk and shelving units you’d expect to find in a politician’s office.
The other half of the basement is where I keep my sanity—my dojo. I admire the smooth wood flooring, mirrored walls, the heavy bag and speed bag hanging from the paneled ceiling. It looks like someone could film a martial arts movie in there. I turn up my music to levels usually found at stadium concerts, knowing the extra insulation will dampen the sound. I also made sure the whole house is synced wirelessly to my laptop, so I turn the AC down as I start my routine on the heavy bag.
About twenty minutes into my workout, I hear a faint noise nearly drowned out by the music.
My cell phone.
What’s Ken doing calling me this late?
“Ken, what’s up? Are you still at the office?”
“Yeah, I am, and good thing, too. You’ve got an urgent message.”
“From who?”
“It’s your old high school. Orchard Lake St. Mary’s. The headmaster asked for you personally and said to be as discreet as possible.”
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“He wouldn’t say anything else. He just said to meet him in his office at the main building. Do you need me to go with you? You’re right on my way, so I can swing by and pick you up.”
“I’d say yeah, but he wants me to be discreet. I’ll call you when I get there and let you know what’s up,” Neil said.
“No problem. Just let me know if you need anything. I hope everything is okay.”
“Thanks, Ken. I’ll talk to you later.”
