“I believe you,” Healy said.
“But I’m not the one that needs to
believe you.”
“I know,” Jesse said.
He drank some coffee.
“I can’t even get a search
warrant.”
“Judges hate to issue them on cop
intuition,” Healy said. “Want
some surveillance help?”
“No,” Jesse said.
“Might prevent them from killing the next one,” Healy
said.
“I think I’m the next one,”
Jesse said.
Healy looked at him and raised his eyebrows and didn’t say
anything.
“They’ve been taking pictures,”
Jesse said.
“Of what?”
“My home, the station.”
Healy frowned, watching the steam rise from the triangular tear
in the plastic top of his coffee cup.
“They’re interested in you,”
Healy said.
“I’d say so.”
“And they’re serial killers,”
Healy said.
“I’m convinced of it.”
“And they kill people at random, for no obvious reason,” Healy
said.
“They seem to.”
The snowflakes were very small, and with no wind they fell straight down, like white rain.
“You figure you’re being penciled in as their next victim,”
Healy said.
“Yes.”
“And you figure the picture-taking is foreplay?”
“Something like that.”
Healy said, “I can give you a couple of troopers to watch your
back.”
Jesse shook his head.
“This might be an opportunity,” Jesse said.
“They try to kill you and you catch them in the act?”
“Yeah.”
“Serial killers like ritual,” Healy said.
“So they’ll come at
you from the front, and shoot you one time each.”
“Probably at the same time.”
“Simultaneous climax,” Healy said.
“You think you can keep them
from killing you?”
