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I took a beat. I knew the risk I took in sharing Geneva’s confidence. “Doctor, I’m working with Geneva Bell. Recently she’s had some new memories emerge about that night. Things she never told the police. I’m telling you in confidence.”

That got her attention. “Go on.”

As briefly as I could, I explained Geneva’s story.

“Atrō te benedico,” Glassman said, correcting the grammar. “That doesn’t fit with any of Derrek’s prior MO.”

“But how would anyone know? Geneva’s the only person who lived to recount what a night with Derrek Sidney was like.”

“True,” she said. “But as far as I know, it’s not a phrase Sidney would have used.”

“The book, though, The Traveler’s Guide. Is that something you think he would have read or been a fan of?”

“It would surprise me if he did,” she said. “It’s drivel to me. Derrek would have recognized that. This Sherman character seems like a hack. I couldn’t even get past fifty pages of the thing. It’s trite, rambling, self-indulgent. In my opinion, he would have been completely turned off by it.”

“But then that begs the question,” I said. “If Geneva’s recollection is accurate, is it possible Sidney wasn’t there alone that night? It would explain a lot.”

“It’s an interesting theory,” she said. “Since we emailed yesterday, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. It would represent such a departure from his normal manner of killing. Don’t forget. This man killed at least a dozen women before he showed up on anyone’s radar. He was exceedingly good at not getting caught.”

“Until he wasn’t,” I said.

“Until he wasn’t. But that was just dumb luck. He got a flat tire after he carried out the Bettina Morgan murder in Shaker Heights. If the Myerson family hadn’t stopped to help him, no one would have known Sidney was in the area. Cindy Myerson’s glance into Derrek’s back seat broke the case wide open. She knew blood on upholstery when she saw it. I honestly think if he’d never gotten that flat tire, Derrek might still be out there killing.”

A chilling thought.

“The letters, though,” I said. “In your clinical assessment, do you have any conclusions to draw about who wrote them?”

“A sycophant. Derrek had a lot of them, unfortunately. If I had to do a profile, I’d say white male. Maybe twenty-five to thirty-five years old. Probably a loner. It’s just so hard to create a complete profile from just a series of letters. But they do get increasingly weird, I’ll give you that.”

“Everyone keeps telling me the FBI would have deciphered something in those letters by now. They had access to them for years, even before Derrek was executed.”

“Don’t be so sure. As far as I know, nobody has ever really looked at these before. We were interested in Derrek’s writings. Not random letters he received from disturbed individuals. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the first person who’s ever read each one besides Derrek himself. If he even did—he had a lot of disdain for these types of people. That’s probably the most useful thing I can tell you. It’s the only thing I can say for sure I knew his opinion on.”

“How?” I asked.

“We talked about it. This was well after his conviction and death penalty sentencing. He was amused that his popularity seemed to increase the closer he got to his execution date. He was even self-aware enough to understand how disturbed that made his fans. Like he couldn’t believe it. He had disdain for them. That’s the only thing that surprises me about these letters you have. If it turns out he did in fact start corresponding with one of them. You’re saying his son, Derrek Jr., wasn’t aware of it? You’re sure?”

“I don’t have any reason to doubt his word,” I said. “Plus, they were in a sealed outer envelope from the Ohio Department of Corrections when he gave them to me.”

Dr. Glassman looked perplexed. “Make that the second thing that surprises me.”

“Why?”

“For a couple of years there, Derrek and Derrek Jr. reconnected.”

She had to be wrong. Boone had told me the exact opposite. When I challenged her, Dr. Glassman held firm.

“You can check with the prison,” she said. “They keep a log of every visitor a prisoner receives. Sidney was on death row. He was notorious. Mercy, Derrek Jr. visited his dad multiple times when he was in custody before the Deadwater Lake murders. And also in the last two years before his execution. I believe for a time he was visiting him pretty frequently.”

Her account seemed nothing like the man I’d met. The one who had done everything he could to distance himself from his father, including legally changing his name.

Boone lied to me. But did he ever answer me when I asked him point-blank whether he’d visited Derrek Sidney? Had he actually told me when the last time he saw his father was?

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” she said. “But thank you for letting me take a look at those letters. They were more interesting than I thought they would be. If you ever figure out who this potential accomplice was, do fill me in.”

“I will,” I said. We exchanged a few more pleasantries. I was actually light-headed by the time I hopped off the call.

Boone Sidney had lied to me. He had been in regular communication with his father during the critical window some of these letters were sent.