CHAPTER 8 < THE CANNIBAL OF WOMEN – Speranze Letterarie

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It was a few minutes past 1 p.m.
Kaminsky and Cammarata, after having a quick meal at an Italian pizzeria in Central Park, had a briefing of sorts in the car as they drove down Madison Avenue toward 97 Greenwich Avenue, where the Jones family home, to which young Emily, who disappeared on Oct. 12, 1990, belonged, was located.
<<It is now certain that the blond-haired young man with blue eyes who has a name: Steve, is the one who made poor Patricia disappear. It is very unlikely that the woman ran away romantically with him to some exotic place. Instead, it is very plausible that he could be a maniac who kidnapped the woman. We hope that she is still alive. What do you think Filip?>>
<<I really hope she is still alive. And I hope that at the Jones house we will get some details that will be useful to the investigation because it may be that Emily’s disappearance and Patricia’s disappearance are connected. I don’t think Steve is the young man’s real name, his identity may be another one and therefore we will be dealing yes, indeed with a psychopath.>>
<<And we hope Filip that the sketch inferred from Ellen’s description will give us a chance to track him down.>>

The blue Cadillac arrived at its destination. Kaminski and Cammarata were met at the entrance of the residence by Mr. George Jones. The man appeared in the doorway dressed in a dark blue tracksuit, his face well shaven but his gaze sleepy: blue eyes circled under thick brows grizzled like his mussed hair. He gave the impression that his daughter’s disappearance had caused him to fight several nights with Morpheus rather than fall into his arms.
The pair of officers took a seat in the living room, where Patricia’s mother was waiting for them and seated them on the sofa. Mrs. Catherine Jones appeared very sober and youthful wearing a white blouse, classic blue jeans and blond hair pulled back in a bun. Her look was sweet with thin lips and careful makeup of light and dark eye shadow to make her eyes larger and thus disguise her rather aquiline nose.
The hosts each sat in an armchair in front of the sofa.
“Just bright the place, completely the opposite of the Williams house,” Kaminsky thought.
Questions were asked by Cammarata, and the inspector operated the audio recorder:
<<We thank you for your willingness and patience, because some of the questions we will ask you, I imagine, are still the same ones that you must have been asked at police headquarters when you reported your dear daughter missing.

<<Did Emily like her job? Had she never expressed a desire to change it and perhaps move to some other state?>>
Catherine gestured with her hand toward her husband to indicate that he should answer the question.
<<No, not at all, in fact she liked it very much, she was a worker specializing in toy quality control. When she decided to give up her studies and work in the Manhattan factory, my wife and I suffered greatly because we never had any financial problems and we were not really resigned to the idea of our daughter being a factory worker, when she could very well have been a lawyer. By the way, she was always very good in school but she didn’t feel like studying.>>
<<Did she have a boyfriend?>
<<No, but … >>, Catherine replied.
<<But what?>>
<<Nothing, nothing…>>
Cammarata bowed her head, turning a dejected glance toward Kamiński, who shrugged in resignation.
But the colleague did not desist and asked again:
<<Come on Mrs. Jones, tell us what is behind that “but.”>>
<<But yes come on love, let us see that intimate letter from our daughter, it might help to get her found!”>>, insisted her husband George Jones.
The woman was convinced, got up and went to the cabinet. She opened a drawer from which she pulled out a sheet of paper, folded in two, which she brought into the hands of the FBI agent.
Cammarata opened the letter, which was handwritten, and said:
<<Forgive me Mrs. Jones but I can’t read it, it is written in really illegible handwriting>> and placed the paper in Kaminsky’s hands. The colleague looked at the letter, widening his eyes and curling his blond mustache. He then observed Eva who also shrugged and asked:
<<Do you mind, ma’am, if we take the letter to the station and have handwriting experts read it, so they can assess its psychological aspect as well?>>
<<Yes certainly, but in the meantime, if you want I can read it to you…>>
<<Okay, we didn’t want to disturb you.>>, confirmed the inspector handing it to Mrs. Jones.

“Are you my amazing man with eyes as blue as the sea?
Yes, it’s really you who every day I come back tired from work on the Bus cheers me up and makes me feel important.
Are you really my blond man
Who steals the sun in the morning for me
And spreads it over all the houses
To color my day.
And tell me you’ll never leave me alone before you give me a kiss
And like the scorching summer warm me
And make me forget the cold when you are missing…”

But Patricia’s mother could no longer continue reading it because she burst into tears.