Scheer’s disappearing vehicle.
“Find the light, Roxx. Flip it on.”
Dixon bent over and felt around, then found the round, magnetic device. She rolled down the window, turned it on, and then stuck it on the roof. “What do you have in mind?”
“A little blackmail. You in?”
“That’s kind of ambiguous, Karen. And blackmail is, uh, well, illegal.”
“Not real blackmail. Just some…creative coercion.”
“‘Creative coercion.’ Sounds to me like the new PC term for blackmail.”
Vail swerved around a car and accelerated. “I think we should use it, start a trend.”
Dixon grabbed onto the seat as Vail yanked the wheel hard to the left. “How about not?”
Vail had closed the gap between their Ford and Scheer’s Honda and were now forty or so feet behind him. The reporter’s brake lights flickered, he appeared to glance in his rearview mirror, and then he slowed his vehicle. A Prius to his right pulled to the curb and allowed Vail to pull up directly behind Scheer’s bumper.
As both cars came to a stop, Scheer remained in his vehicle.
“I don’t think he realizes it’s us,” Dixon said.
Vail shoved the gearshift into Park. “He’s gonna shit when he sees that it is.”
“Getting pulled over like that, he’s probably already shitting.”
Vail grinned. “Even better.” As she walked toward Scheer’s car, his expression was evident in the sideview mirror. He popped open his door and got out.
“Don’t you know that when a cop pulls you over, you’re supposed to remain in your vehicle?”
Scheer folded his arms and leaned back against the Honda. “What do you want?”
Vail looked across the car at Dixon. “A bit testy, brash…even arrogant. Don’t you think? Not the reaction we expected.” She turned back to Scheer. “How about showing some respect for a federal law enforcement officer?”
“So is that what this is? You pulled me over to harass me? Fine, go on. Have your fun.”
“Stephen,” Vail said with a pitying shake of her head. “I’m here to help you. We wanted to make you an offer.”
Scheer looked from Vail to Dixon. “What kind of offer?”
“I’ve got a story that’s surely front page material. And,” she said, rotating her watch to catch the streetlight, “looks like there’s still enough time to make your deadline.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to give me a story. After what you said to me yesterday? That’s a bit hard to believe.”
“It is hard to believe. No, I was thinking of making you the subject of a front-page article. The reporter who, pissed off at his former friend and colleague, decides to write some bullshit story that includes dangerous and irresponsible information that sets off a serial killer.”
“We hear your job’s in a bit of jeopardy,” Dixon said. “A piece like that might not sit well with your editor. Or the paper’s legal team. Might just put you over the edge.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Scheer said, his glance rotating between Vail and Dixon, no doubt gauging whether or not this was a joke. Or a bluff. “I’ve got a family to support.”
Vail took a step forward. “Tell you what. We’ll ask the woman whose house we just visited back there, and see if she’s in a forgiving mood. Oh, wait. We can’t ask her. She’s dead. Because of you.”
The muscles in Scheer’s jaw contracted, bulging from side to side.
“But,” Dixon said, “if you cooperated and helped us out, tell us who your source was for that article…” She shrugged.
“Then there’ll be no story,” Vail said. “Nothing will jeopardize your job. And you get to keep working at the Register until you fuck it up on your own, and get fired.”
“What do you say?”
“I’d say this is blackmail.”
“No, no,” Dixon said. “Creative coercion.”
Vail lifted her brow. “See? Has a nice ring. Don’t you think?”
Dixon bobbed her head. “I didn’t at first. But it’s growing on me.”
“So, Stephen. What’ll it be?”
Scheer looked up at the black sky. Puffs of white were barely visible, and the moon was somewhere beyond, a glowing disc of stark brightness set against the mottled darkness. “I don’t know who my source is.”
Vail shook her head. “I’m disappointed. I thought he was gonna help us, Roxx.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know.”
“What’d you do, meet some guy on a dark street corner? I think you’ve been reading too many spy novels.”
“I got a text. A series of texts.”
“From who?” Vail asked.
Scheer closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“How’d you confirm the information?” I feel like a trial lawyer. I already know the answer to that question.
“I didn’t.”
Bingo. “So you get a few texts from an anonymous source, and you run with it? You write an article based on unconfirmed and unsubstantiated claims?”
“I don’t believe him,” Dixon said.
“We’re not convinced, Stephen. You’ve been a journalist a long time. Do you see why that’d seem like bullshit to us?”
“It’s not bullshit. You were…you were right. My job’s on the line. I needed something big. And I needed to get the jump on Clay. This first text came in, and I…I jumped on it. I’ve never done that before. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Vail looked at Dixon. “He’s sorry that he incited a serial killer to kill an innocent woman. And her husband.”
Scheer threw his arms up. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because,” Vail said, “that’s what happens with this type of killer. The
