Kate shook her head. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Anderson said, and his eyes looked shrunken and hollow. “It matters to me. That girl’s death is my fault. I didn’t cut her face up or make small incisions on her body to let the maximum amount of blood drain without letting her die quickly, but it’s my fault. He killed her because I didn’t do my job. He killed her because I didn’t give the public all the information it deserved. He killed her because I listened to the cowards and the fools who say they have control, when they control nothing! All they wanted is to control information. Did they try to find the killer, or did they just hope he would go away? They were powerless to stop him and they did everything they could to make it seem like they were in charge, but he was in charge.
“I broke the rules and a sweet, pretty, lovely girl who always remembered birthdays and everyone loved died in the worst fashion I can imagine. We were all in the building, did you know that? She was dying and calling for help and we were all there! All of us upstairs making changes and doing our jobs and she was begging us to help. But we couldn’t hear her. The printing press was running and running and running and it was so loud. She died screaming for help, knowing it was seconds away.”
Tim Anderson wrapped his arms around his legs. Quinn had the feeling this was something he had wanted to say for 12 years and never had.
“In the letter, he made it sound like you were dating Carrie,” Kate said. “Do you think he knew you weren’t?”
“Oh, he knew,” Anderson said. “It was all just an elaborate trap. I had to spend hours talking to the police about a relationship that simply did not exist. They thought I did it. Once again, they thought I was Lord Halloween. Because why not? They couldn’t find any other candidates. Holober was a sick fuck, but he wasn’t a serial killer and they knew it. He was just another schizophrenic. They wanted a better candidate. I spent hours with the police. Hours I should have been looking for the real killer.”
“What happened? Why didn’t they blame you?”
“Holden happened,” he said. “He showed up with a lawyer and scared the shit out of them. He got them to seal the records on Carrie’s death, too. She was listed as a victim of Lord Halloween, but he convinced the police to keep where the body was found as confidential. He said it was about protecting information that only the killer would know, but I knew better. It was about protecting his precious paper.”
“And after that?”
“By then, all hell had broken loose anyway,” Anderson said. “The town banned Halloween, trick or treating, you name it. They would have agreed to any demand from Lord Halloween, if he had asked. And I just followed the story. Ethan finally gave me free rein to write about the impact on the town, speculation as to the killer’s motives, everything. Lord Halloween was happy with me. He wanted chaos and I gave it to him. I couldn’t write about the letters, but I wrote enough. There was sufficient information to characterize the killer and I did it.”
“So he let you live?” Kate asked. “You did what he wanted and he let you live.”
“Oh no,” Anderson said. “With him, there is always something beneath the surface. He set up a final test. You read the hint he gave already; pull no punches. That was about the police, but I pulled no punches with everyone. I am surprised Laurence let me publish it-certainly Ethan was pissed as soon as it came out, so he apparently didn’t know anything about it. Go find it in the archives. It was the best piece I have ever written-a sum up of the murders, the town’s reaction, the paper’s involvement, and the killer himself. And I let everyone have it.
“‘When we give in to madmen, we lose the most vital part of ourselves. And we have given in to Lord Halloween. We have panicked, turned on each other and lost our way. In a time when we should be united against fear, we have let it run rampant, divided ourselves and given terror a free hand. This man-and that is all he is or will ever be-is a thief. He has robbed us of our safety, our piece of mind and our faith in each other. He has stolen our very soul. And we have let him do this. Where we should stand firm and fast, we have wilted. Where there should be resolve, there was cowardice. For that, we bear some responsibility.’”
“Sounds like Lord Halloween would have loved it,” Quinn said.
But Anderson wasn’t finished yet.
“‘But I do not forget who holds the most responsibility for this month that will never end. It is the man who calls himself Lord Halloween. He preys on the weak, feeds on fear and lurks in the shadows. He does this under the illusion it makes him powerful. It makes him nothing. He is a phantom and nothing more. True, he has held a mirror to our faces and we have been found wanting.
“‘But if we have given into fear, so has he. He could have played a part in this world, but he has chosen to hide in it. He strikes at us because there are things he doesn’t understand: love, compassion and empathy. They have always been alien to him. He mocks them with his actions, but the truth is something he must know: he envies us. We experience feelings he can’t know or express and he hates us for them. He is a creature to be pitied, not feared. He is alone in this world and always will be. When we pick up the pieces of our lives, we will go on loving, caring and empathizing. We can hope we will learn from this miserable experience and stand stronger against the things that would tear us apart. He, however, will be by himself, lost in a world he cannot fathom.
“’I do not fear you Lord Halloween, I fear what you have wrought in us. One day we may bring you to justice, but if we do not, do not think it has not already been meted out. You have been judged and found unworthy.’”
“Damn,” Kate said.
“You should have been dead man walking.”
“I expected it,” Anderson said. “That was published on Oct. 31. And I went home and waited for him to strike. I wasn’t going to make it easy. I had bought a shotgun and I sat in a corner of the room where no one could sneak up on me through a window or anything else. I didn’t answer the phone, I wasn’t going to be baited outside. I just waited. It never occurred to me that he would let me live. Why should he? I had called him out. I had told him who he really was. I had struck him with the only weapon I have, the only one that ever matters: the pen.”
“And you remember it word for word?”
“I took a long time to write it,” he replied.
“What happened?” Quinn asked.
“At about midnight exactly, a letter was pushed through my door. I watched it come through, but I didn’t move. I assumed it was a trick. I would get up, read the letter and he would somehow sneak in behind me. So I sat there for six more hours. I could hear the birds in the trees and dawn was coming. And I thought, ‘What does it matter now? He’ll get me in the end anyway.’ And I got up and read the letter.”
“He let you live,” Kate said.
“Yes. I realize now it was his way of saying goodbye. He told me in no uncertain terms to get lost, but he also said he was letting me go. I didn’t fully believe him, but I suppose the fact that I am still here means he was serious.”
“Why?”
Anderson got up and paced around the room.
“You’ve seen the letter,” Anderson said. “I gave it to Laurence, whom I know kept copies. He kept copies on all of Lord Halloween’s victims.”
“Why?” Kate asked.
Anderson shook his head.
“Laurence was once a reporter, too,” he said. “It was a good story. A good journalist keeps all his notes. I’m assuming he gave you those letters from Lord Halloween. I know the police didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t say he gave them to us…” Quinn said.
Anderson smiled wanly.
“I didn’t feel any relief when I got the letter,” he said. “Not then and not now. I had been let go. I didn’t escape, he had simply chosen to let me live. And I thought about Carrie a lot. About how she died. I also did what he wanted: I left. I knew then that he was going to lay low. My death would have looked like an accident, but he would have found a way to kill me. So I packed up, handed in my resignation and moved west.”
“Why didn’t you go further away?” Kate asked.
“The same reason you came back,” Anderson said. “Because you are never really free. Would I be safer in Seattle? Maybe. But I didn’t know who he was and he could find me, I knew that. Anywhere I went, he could show up and take me out. So there was no point in going far away. I sometimes wonder if he did me no favor by letting me live. I still see him everywhere. I don’t trust anyone and the fact that you found me so quickly shows how useless that was. I’m a haunted man, Quinn O’Brion. I don’t need to tell Kate this: she already knows. I’ve been
