Richard Cordova
He sealed it and addressed it to The Light. He made up the return address.
Then he picked up his cell phone for the first of two calls he had to make. Information connected him to the Pennsylvania State Police. When he said he wanted to report a crime, he was shunted to another line. He told the officer who answered that they needed to go to a certain farm where a concrete cylinder had been buried, and that within that cylinder they'd find the remains of the missing New York City reporter, Jamie Grant. He also told them where they could find the mold used to make the cylinder and that the symbols on it were strictly Dormentalist.
The officer wanted to know who he was and how he knew all this.
Yeah, right.
The second call went to Mrs. Roselli-Not. She picked up on the second ring.
"Good morning, Jack."
That startled him. He had no name listed with his phone. Even with caller ID, how could she…?
Maybe she recognized his number. Or maybe she didn't need electronics.
"Good morning. Peeling well enough for company today?"
"Yes. Finally. You may come over now if you wish."
"I wish. See you in about half an hour."
He got dressed, switched his latex gloves for leather, and headed out. He had the overnight envelope in hand and Anya's skin in the pocket of his coat. One he'd mail along the way. The other was for show and tell—he'd show and the old lady would tell.
He hoped.