of his skull. He shot him first.”
Cowan’s face compressed in a wince, his eyes squinting at the floor. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“What I’d suggest is that you look as hard as you can for the shooter from now until dawn. You won’t find him, but you might learn something you’d like to know about him. Then find out who would have paid to have one of these people killed, and get that person into a very small room. Offer him a deal that he can’t pass up.”
“A deal—on thirteen people?” Cowan was shocked.
Millikan shrugged. “It’s the way you get a hired killer.” His eyes turned away from Cowan and returned to the front wall of the restaurant. He bent over and walked the length of it.
“What are you looking for now?”
“Holes.” Millikan gestured at the door. “None there, either, except the ones that went through somebody. None anywhere. He comes in the back, silently takes out the dishwasher—”
“He was the cook,” said Cowan. “Or one of them. The others went home when the last meal of the night was delivered.”
“All right, the cook. He does him with a knife he finds. It doesn’t affect him at all. He puts the knife in the sink to let the prints soak off. The waiter comes in and surprises him, but not enough to do any good. He gives the waiter’s neck a twist and drops him on the way into the dining room. He pulls out the gun he brought. His hand is absolutely steady—no fear, not even any nerves. He pops eleven people, with no misses, and at least one fatal round for everybody.” Millikan paused and looked into Cowan’s eyes. “No misses. Ever see multiple handgun fatalities with no misses before? Once the first round goes off, people are running, dodging. Then he steps back out, and he’s gone.” Millikan looked around him again, then sighed. “Maybe the deal isn’t such a good idea, but it’s worth a try. I don’t think this is a guy I’d rat out for a shorter sentence. I’d take my chances on an appeal.”
Cowan’s jaw was tightening and opening, chewing on nothing. “Because he’s a good shot?”
“No,” said Millikan. “I’m a good shot, you’re a good shot. It’s because he’s got no more feeling about any of this than a pike snapping up a few minnows. As soon as he thought of it, these folks were dead.” Millikan began to button his raincoat. “When your forensics people are done, I’d appreciate it if somebody would send me a copy. I’m curious about him. And tell your D.A.’s office I’ll be happy to fly back and serve as an expert witness if you get him.”
“What could you say in court?”
“Same as I told you. He’s trying to look like somebody who went berserk, but he’s not. He’s a pro. If you get him once, this is a guy you really don’t want to let out again. Not ever.”
“You don’t seem to think we’ll get him.”
Millikan avoided his eyes. “I hope you do.”
Cowan seemed to soften a bit, hoping for some trick, some secret. “We’re doing everything we can right now—going house to house. They called in another shift. They’re stopping people on the streets for a mile around to see if they saw or heard anything. I don’t want bodies dropping all over the place.”
“That won’t happen,” said Millikan. “There’s not enough work in a city the size of Louisville to keep him occupied. He’s had a lot of practice, so if he lived here, you would have noticed. I think he came to town for this.” He looked at his watch. “Can you spare the man who picked me up to take me back to the hotel? I’ve got to check out and get to the airport.”
“Sure,” said Cowan. “He’s waiting out there.” Cowan hesitated. “I appreciate your coming to take a look. You spent practically the whole night here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Millikan. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything more optimistic.”
The two men shook hands at the door, and Millikan muttered, “Good luck.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk. The rain had begun again, so he hurried toward the open door of the patrol car.
Millikan’s plane for Chicago left at seven A.M., but with the delay in Chicago he didn’t reach Los Angeles until seven in the evening. He spent the next two days preparing the final examination he was going to give in a week. He was in his small, cramped office in the basement of an old brick building at the university when the call came.
The voice was a woman’s. She asked for Professor Millikan, then said significantly, “We’re calling from Louisville.”
“This is Daniel Millikan,” he said.
“Is this a convenient time for you to speak with Mr. Robert Cushner?”
Millikan could tell that Robert Cushner was a name he was supposed to know. The woman’s voice had conveyed that there was no question that Millikan would be willing to talk to him, only when. But she had said the only word that was necessary: Louisville.
“Now is fine,” he said.
There was a click and the background noise disappeared. A man’s voice said, “Professor Millikan?”
“Yes?”
“I understand you were called in to examine the scene of my son’s murder.”
Millikan felt a wave of heat rise up his back and stiffen his spine. “Your son?” He recovered. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Cushner. I happened to be at a conference at the University of Louisville. The police knew I was there, because a few of them had attended some of the seminars. One of them called and asked if I would examine a crime scene. The names of the victims weren’t known at the time, so I didn’t recognize your name. Please accept my condolences. It’s very sad that he was in the wrong—”
“He wasn’t,” interrupted Cushner. “He wasn’t some unlucky bystander or inconvenient witness or something. He was the target. Now, I understand you took one look at the mess in there and knew that.”
“Oh,” said Millikan. His son was the young man alone at the third table, the man with the hole through his forehead. “It was only a theory.”
“It’s the theory the police have accepted, but they didn’t see it for themselves. You did. Lieutenant Cowan says so. His bosses had everybody looking for an angry maniac for hours until he could convince them you were right. You picked out my son as the intended victim.”
Millikan began to feel a growing sense of discomfort. “I think Lieutenant Cowan has made me sound more perceptive than I am, and more involved. I was a visiting forensics teacher who was called in to give an opinion. I did that and left. By now the police have moved way past my guesses, and done some real investigation. Any questions you have about your son’s murder should be directed to them.”
“I want to hire you to find the killer.”
Millikan gulped in a breath, then blew it out slowly to give himself time to get the answer right. In Mr. Cushner’s voice he had heard sadness and despair and anger. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m very sorry.”
“I know you’re a professor. You can take a leave, and they won’t fire you. If you’ll take off a year to try, I’ll pay you five years’ salary. If you find him, I’ll double that.”
“I’m sorry,” said Millikan. “I haven’t been a police officer for fifteen years, and being one meant I didn’t do that kind of work on my own. Now I’m a teacher. Your best hope is the police department. They’ll do everything that can be done.”
“I’m not telling them to drop the case,” said Cushner. “But I know how things work in big organizations. It’s everybody’s job, so it’s nobody’s. I need a man who is the equal of this . . . this monster. I want him searching every day, every night, thinking about him and hunting him. My son was a decent, strong man who left a wife and two children . . .”
Millikan stopped listening to the words. He had learned a long time ago that there was nothing to be gained by letting these stories into his mind, because once he did, they never left. There were already too many of them, and they were all true and always the same: a mind, a will, hopes, all blown off like smoke, and the survivors ruined forever. He was aware of the sound, but blocked the meaning and waited. It was like waiting for a train to pass.
He closed his eyes tightly, but when he did, he saw the son, the lone man at the third table, the one who had died first. As he surveyed the rest of the room in his memory, looking at each of the others, he felt the temptation growing but he clenched his teeth, just in case it became too strong. He knew what had given him the thought. It was “a man who is the equal of this monster.” The voice went on, and Millikan could not block out the pain in it. But he knew better than to let that sound convince him.
He considered the voice critically, reasonably. This was clearly a rich, powerful man. He had just offered
