“How do you know?” Janus asked.
“Because Lord Halloween is not subtle,” she said. “Fanton is probably dead and if they haven’t discovered her body yet, they soon will. And it won’t be in an obscure place. It will be out in the open. He will make sure no one can miss it this time.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Quinn said.
“Me too,” she said.
But she wasn’t.
Blackwell| Rob
A Soul To Steal
LH File: Letter #7
Date Oct. 19, 1994
Investigation Status: Closed
Contents: Classified
Mr. Anderson,
You see now the price of ignoring my wishes, don’t you? You can’t say I didn’t warn you. For this to work, I have to live in people’s minds. They have to see me everywhere. They have to fear me when they take out the trash, or close their eyes in the shower. They are doing that now, I know, but it would have been so much easier- for both of us-if you had just listened to me the first time. But you didn’t.
No, you played along, didn’t you? When the police told your editors what to do, you just did it. They wanted to keep me under wraps. That’s the way it’s always been with fear. Some people think they can just wish it away. But what you fear is always out there, Mr. Anderson. It’s always lurking behind your home, waiting for a moment to strike.
And I struck. You’ve seen just a taste of what I can do. There are eight bodies, but I’m just ramping up speed. I’m sorry about your girlfriend, I really am. Had you had sex yet, Mr. Anderson? I knew you were only just dating, after all. It would make me feel better to know that you had a chance to fuck her good and proper. Such a pretty girl.
I didn’t touch her, rest assured. Rape is so very pedestrian and then you get the feminists claiming all sorts of things about you, your mother and your local priest. But she had lovely brunette hair, those soft, dewy brown eyes and that figure. Oh, that figure was exquisite.
I have to say you were aiming up. Good for you! You have to always have ambitions in life-God knows I did. You can’t accept where other people would put you. So she was out of your class, you made a play and-voila! — you did it. You scored.
Of course, you also killed her. You do know that, right? She wasn’t on my list. Oh, who am I kidding, what list? But I didn’t have my eyes on her until you made me angry. I could have killed you, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I can get around to that any time I want, Mr. Anderson.
She didn’t call your name-I don’t want you beating yourself up about that. That could have been because I cut her throat and she was choking on her own blood, but you can never really tell, can you? She had a lot of blood too, Mr. Anderson.
It’s true she suffered a lot, but I will give you one passing comfort. She died well. So many don’t. There’s the screaming, the crying, the begging, the carrying on. As if I would stop. As if I would consider it. Please. But not your girl. She just sat back and took it. She accepted her fate. Hey, maybe she even wanted it, right? Some people are really sick in this world.
So where are we? Oh, I imagine you’re a little upset and you think you won’t do what I ask you to. We can play it that way if you want to. But there are other people you are close to, Mr. Anderson, and you can’t possibly protect them. So let’s do this my way from here on out and everyone can go home happy. Well, everyone except your little girlfriend. She lives in a box now and I don’t think happiness is on her agenda.
I want a full page spread. I want my name in bold face type. I want it to be all about me. You’ve had a run of good victim stories. Well, they’re done. It’s all about me now. Where am I going to strike next? Are your children safe? Why can’t the police stop me?
That’s what I want and that’s what you’ll give me.
Yours Truly,
Lord Halloween
Chapter 14
Wednesday, Oct. 18
Quinn stared at the headline for almost five minutes.
“Woman murdered in Leesburg,” it said.
It was simple enough, but it didn’t begin to tell the story. In fact, it looked too much like last week’s headline for his comfort.
But it wasn’t like last week, at least not to him. They had found Fanton’s body on Monday. As Kate had predicted, it was hard to miss. Fanton’s body was dumped sometime late Sunday night outside the courthouse. It had not been noticed until early the next morning. Though the police tried to play it down, the news traveled fast.
By Tuesday, there was a press conference. Few details. Unexplained murder. Brown denied a persistent rumor that Fanton’s head had been mailed to police headquarters. He suggested people were trying to panic the populace. Brown squashed any implication that it could have been the same murderer as a week before. He denied rumors of notes found on both bodies.
For now, at least, it appeared many people believed him. No businesses shut down. The Washington Pos t put the story on the front of their Metro section, but even they didn’t bump it to A1 status. On the surface, things seemed normal enough.
But Quinn sensed it all around him. By this morning, people were at least openly talking about the possibility that their long-lost murderer had come home. It had started. A few more bodies and panic would be close at hand.
He put his head on his desk. The bottom of their story made mention of a serial killer 12 years ago, but it didn’t attempt to draw any conclusions. There was no need.
“He won’t like the fact that he isn’t mentioned,” a voice said behind Quinn.
Quinn practically jumped in his chair. He turned around to see Buzz watching him.
“I didn’t see you come in, Buzz,” Quinn said.
“I like to make a stealthy entrance,” Buzz replied. “I don’t like people to know I’m around.”
“Is that where you are at staff meetings-lurking in the corners?” Quinn said.
“Sometimes,” Buzz said.
“Anyway, what are you talking about? Who wasn’t mentioned?”
“The story,” Buzz replied. “You refer to Lord Halloween’s murders, but you don’t mention his name. He won’t like it.”
“Well, I guess he can always write a letter to the editor,” Quinn said, hoping for a laugh. “’To the editor: I may be a psychotic madman, but I would appreciate your using my full name.’”
Buzz didn’t laugh.
“You think this is funny?” he said. “It’s not. He has ways of making his wishes known and though they involve notes, they aren’t exactly publishable.”
“I’m just kidding around.”
“He isn’t a joke,” Buzz said.
“Look, even if the guy wanted his name printed, that’s a reason not to do it,” Quinn said. “We don’t pander to madmen.”
Buzz waved his hand in disgust.
“Spare me the good journalism speech,” Buzz said. “If you don’t print his name, you wind up dead. You aren’t
