the media had given this killer a name. In a mere couple of hours from the discovery of the bodies to the linking of the two murders, the SHS Killer had been born: see, hear, and speak no evil. SHS. Maybe twenty years ago it would have taken a day or two for the name of the SHS Killer to become part of the cultural lexicon. But with the advent of instant communication networked to just about everybody, fear could travel at supersonic speed and a name could catch quicker than a fire in Southie. One minute, people were watching the end of Ellen and the next they were tweeting and updating their Facebook profiles with warnings to stay vigilant, walk in groups, and avoid going out at night unless absolutely necessary.
We watched the five o’clock news blend into the six and were witness to the police battling a swelling tide of panic. They urged caution while warning against jumping to conclusions.
“At this point, we cannot confirm or deny reports of a serial killer,” the police commissioner said on camera. “We do have two murders with strikingly similar characteristics, and we’re asking anybody with information to come forward to help us solve these terrible crimes.”
The words tumbled about in my head. Anybody with information —well, that would be me. I had all the information, but yet I felt powerless to do anything about it. I could give up Uretsky’s name, along with my role in the fire, Jenna’s death, the robbery of Giovanni’s Liquors, Rhonda Jennings’s murder, and our medical fraud in the process, but would that stop the killings? Uretsky and his wife, Tanya, were both MIA. What realistic hope did the police have of tracking them down?
Ruby must have been thinking along the same lines. “We’ve got to tell them what we know,” she said.
“The police, you mean?”
“Yes, John, the police. We’ve got to tell them about Elliot Uretsky.”
I nodded, because I agreed with her. We needed help. We needed the police. And yet the consequences of a confession were immense.
“I just need to think about it,” I said.
“What’s there to think about?” Ruby asked, her voice a burst of hostility. “Make the call, or I will.”
“We need to make arrangements. For you . . . for us,” I said, stammering to get out the words. “I’m going to jail for what I’ve done. You don’t have to.”
Ruby’s eyes turned downcast as she ruminated on what I had said. “We could run,” she suggested. “We’ll vanish. We’ll figure it out.”
“Or we wait until we hear from Uretsky,” I said. “Keep playing his game.”
“Who knows what he’ll ask us to do next?”
“Let’s not rush,” I said. “We can’t go far from your medication right now. We need time to figure out what’s best. Okay?”
Ruby nodded and looked out the window. “There’s more news trucks out there,” she said. “A lot more.”
We watched those trucks for a while, kneeling on the futon with our arms wrapped around each other. I shivered even though my body still felt like it was on fire. For some reason, I didn’t mind looking down this time. Normally, I get the shakes glancing out a second-story window. I guess a deeper and far more profound horror had sequestered my acrophobia in some sort of mental lockbox. Hell of a way to find me a cure.
Twenty minutes later, our apartment phone rang. I knew who’d be waiting for me on the other end of the line.
Despite every voice inside my head screaming not to do it, I answered the phone.
CHAPTER 41
“Quite the scene we’re causing,” Uretsky said as soon as I picked up the phone.
“What you did to Winnie . . . to us . . . Please, this needs to stop.” I needed the kitchen island countertop to keep myself upright. “You win. You win everything,” I said, pleading with him. “Please just let us go.”
It was odd to hear myself beg, but beg I did. Desperation seeped from my pores as rivers of sweat. Hopelessness stifled my breathing. I had so much rage welling up inside me, so much hatred, that I was amazed I could put together a coherent thought. All I could do was to plead for some sort of mercy and pray that he might tire of toying with us.
“You’ve watched the news reports, I trust,” Uretsky said. “Crazy stuff, John. Crazy.”
“You need to stop this,” I said. “This needs to stop.”
“You don’t control me,” Uretsky said. “I control me. You