waiting for him to show up for 12 years.”
“Do you know who he is?” Kate asked.
“No,” Anderson answered. “I had theories at some point, but none of them really held together. I will tell you this: whoever he is, he’s connected with your paper.”
Kate nodded.
“Why do you say that?” Quinn asked.
“He chose me,” Anderson replied. “And at first I was arrogant enough to assume it was about me. But it wasn’t. He chose the paper, not the reporter. I find it curious he hasn’t sent letters to either of you-what that means, I don’t know, but it means something. But I think that paper mattered more to him than the Post or New York Times or any of it-papers, by the way, that did cover his killing spree. I think it was this: I think the Chronicle was his hometown paper. I don’t think he went anywhere for 12 years. I think he just laid low. But whoever he is, he knew who you two were long before he started his latest spree. My guess is he knows everyone at the paper.”
“Ethan Holden?” Kate asked. “That’s who you think it is.”
“You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that,” Anderson responded. “Yes, that’s been a particular focal point for me. He’s a bit old to be running all over town killing people, but you can’t rule it out. He shares certain qualities with Lord Halloween: he’s arrogant, cold-blooded and deeply in need of a conscience. He thinks he’s high minded, but he’s not. I watched him encourage Laurence to take stories in certain directions-ones that might sell more papers, but weren’t exactly true either. Nothing overt. Nothing you could stand up and take a stand against.”
This time it was Quinn who was nodding.
“He’s your best candidate,” Kate said. “But are there others?”
Anderson responded by getting up and walking away again. When he came back, he held a monstrous file in his hand.
“This is it, the Holy Grail,” he said. “As much information as I could collect on everyone. Ethan, Kyle, Buzz, Laurence-even Sheriff Brown is in here. Nothing conclusive on anyone. If you look hard to see if someone’s a murderer, you find all sorts of things that could prove you right. But that doesn’t mean you are. Most people make mistakes and some are even ruthless, but that doesn’t make them killers.”
“You’re giving this to us?” Kate asked.
“It’s yours,” he said. “If Lord Halloween kills you, he’ll find it with you. When he does, he will know who wrote it. If he doesn’t know already you came to see me, he will after that.”
“You want a final showdown,” Quinn said. It wasn’t a question.
“I want it to end,” Anderson said. “I’ve been waiting for 12 years. It’s long enough. I won’t just kill myself- that’s a coward’s way out. And I won’t go down easy. But I’m through waiting. Either you finish him or he finishes me.”
“Thank you for all your help,” Kate said.
“How could I refuse you?” he asked. “I met your mother once, working a crime story. You look stunningly like her-same blue eyes and blond hair. She was beautiful. When I saw her, it was to meet your dad. She knew your dad didn’t like to talk to reporters, but she couldn’t have been nicer to me. I’m sorry for what that man did to her. I’m sorry for what he did to you.”
“I’m going to finish him,” she said. “I’m going to make him pay.”
Kate and Quinn rose to leave. As they were heading out the door, Anderson spoke for a final time.
“Promise me something,” he said. “When you find him, don’t treat him like the monster he wants to be. He gets off on that. He’s just a man. Treat him that way.”
When they were in the car driving away, Quinn turned and asked, “What did that mean? Treat him that way.”
“He meant he wanted us to kill him,” Kate said. “Don’t capture. Don’t wait for the police. If we get a chance, take him down.”
“You think you could?” Quinn asked, but he already knew the answer. He had trouble imagining himself hurting anyone, much less killing them.
“It’s not a matter of could,” she said. “When I find him, I will.”
Kyle paused while cutting onions and waited. He was preparing dinner, but he moved slowly. He kept listening for the scanner to go off.
There would be action again soon-he could feel it. All day he had waited for the call. A new body, a panicked police source, but nothing had come.
He managed to finish making dinner without any unusual scanner activity. He flipped the TV on while he ate.
He turned the channel to find some wrestling, found it and watched it without paying much attention to it. He still had one ear cocked for any squawk of the scanner.
A loud thud came from outside and Kyle jumped out of the chair. God, he was testy, he thought. It was probably just a package being delivered. Still, he weighed possibilities in his mind, decided it was better to be cautious and moved to the kitchen. He picked up the knife on the counter, still moist from chopping onions.
He looked outside the kitchen window and saw nothing. He could wait here, but Kyle preferred action to waiting. If someone was playing a game, let them come. He would be ready.
He walked toward the back patio and slid open the sliding glass door. He moved slowly and quietly. He thought with some irony that this would make a good story. A very good first-person perspective piece.
Kyle crept around the outside of his house, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement. When he got outside the kitchen, he saw it. The bushes right by the window had been trampled. Someone had been looking in.
He held the knife steady in front of him and kept walking. If someone was here bent on mischief, they would have another thing coming. Kyle had not spent years in the service so that he could be sneaked up on and ambushed.
Kyle came around the front of his house and saw with some shock that the door was open. He cursed himself. Had he even locked it? He should have been more careful.
It occurred to him that his tracker knew he had been running around outside the house. Shit. Now the person was inside and he was the one skulking.
He felt a twinge of anxiety as he crept to the front door. He should be more careful. He could even call the police. But he pushed that thought away. They would mock him for calling them out here if they didn’t find anything. He wasn’t sure he could take it. No, he would handle this as he did everything else-by himself.
He crept up to his front stoop and slowly opened the storm door in front. It squeaked slightly and made Kyle wish that he had oiled it more recently.
The front door stood wide open. Closing the storm door quietly behind him, Kyle carefully walked in, the knife still at his side.
He tensed with every muscle and listened. He moved to the stairs and walked down into his den.
Slowly, Kyle thought. I mustn’t rush. He thought about his gun upstairs, but he had not used it in years. Mostly it had been there for decoration, since Kyle had never fully embraced the weapon.
He pushed himself up against the far left wall and crept ever so slowly forward. He checked behind him, but there was nothing. Moving forward, he edged around and looked beyond the corner, just briefly.
Sure enough, there was a figure sitting in the chair in his computer room.
“You can come out now, Kyle,” the voice said, startling him. “I’ve been watching you for some time. You aren’t nearly so clever as you think you are.”
Kyle walked around the corner and instantly recognized who sat in the chair. He took a step back in surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Kyle asked. “Don’t you know there is a murderer on the loose?”
“Yes,” the figure said and chuckled slightly. “I do.”
Even though he was draped in shadow, Kyle saw him pull something large from behind him.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Kyle asked.
“I think you know,” the figure replied.
Kyle realized that the man had a gun pointing at him.
“Jesus, you can’t be serious,” said Kyle, backing up.
