THIRTY
Why did everyone think they could fool him? Play games. Tricks. He was the master, after all. Trickster. Trick or treat? I'll have a little trick, sir. You are a little trick, dearie!
Such a peaceful weekend we've had. This town's a loser and I'm here to win. Peace on earth, good will toward men. I know lots of good will. Good Will Oursler, Good Will Shakespeare, good Will James, good Will Bendix, on and on and on.
So four down, five to go. Got to make the next one a real goody. Got to top the last one. Hard to do. Can't let down on the perfection aspect, though. High-quality killings. Keep my standards high. Quality is important in everything we do. Why should it be any different in killing? I'm working on my moves… I'm making front page news. And then there's detail. Every last detail must be considered. I am a stickler for detail. But that must be evident. Surely if they thought about it they'd consider the detail, consider the inspiration behind the detail. But no one thinks anymore. No one knows how to put two and two together because they are too busy dividing four into two. But, oh, the detail. Detail, one, two, three, hup!
Look over the list. Three females gone. One male. It is true that the females are easier. You have to really use an element of surprise with men, have an edge. Well, surprise figures in all of them but the females are a pushover. The kid, too. Didn't like that one. Thought it would be easy. Almost couldn't do it. Getting soft? Easy does it. Cool. Easy. Take it easy. Kiss the sky.
So kill the poison pen. Wordsmith. Scribbler, penman, ink- slinger, scrivener, word painter, hack. Do it. Do it soon. Do it now. And that's an order, son.
Yes, sir. Right, sir. Immediately, sir.
LOOKING BACK-25 YEARS AGO
The talk entitled 'Civic Righteousness' at the Thursday noon luncheon meeting of the Seaville Rotary Club was a program in keeping with the world in which we live today. The speaker was Roger Adams, a retired Lutheran clergyman. In his opening remarks Mr. Adams stated that God had blessed America, whose cities had been spared during two World Wars. Now that we are living in an atomic age, America's hope for the future lies in its moral outlook and the moral strength of its citizens.
THIRTY-ONE
Colin got to the Gazette building at six-thirty Tuesday morning. Annie had set the alarm for five-thirty. They'd had a quick cup of coffee before he set out on foot. It was a gray day. Fog was coming in from the Sound, making everything damp, the sun just a memory.
The office was cool, almost clammy. He snapped the lock on the door and left the pulled green shade in place. His heels made a clacking sound on the hardwood floor.
In his office he flipped the light switch. He dialed information for the number of Wood's Motel. When a woman answered he asked for Room 131.
'You calling for Waldo Hallock?' the woman asked. 'Yes.'
'He ain't here.'
'He checked out?'
'Didn't say that, did I? I said, he ain't here.'
'Do you know when he'll be back?'
'Nope.'
'Do you know where he is?'
'Nope.'
'Did he come back from Florida yet?' 'Nope.'
'Then you do know where he is.' Silence.
'Okay, never mind. Just tell him to call Colin Maguire when he gets in. The number's 777-2561.' Silence.
'Are you there?'
'I'm here.'
'Did you hear me?'
'I heard.'
'Thank you.'
She hung up.
He sat at his desk, wondering why Hallock hadn't gotten back yet. He'd probably tried to get him yesterday but couldn't get through. Maybe Hallock had found out something. Maybe he'd cracked the damn thing, found out who the killer was, found out it wasn't Mark.
He'd managed to put thoughts of the killings, Mark, Babe's story out of his mind while he was with Annie. But he couldn't hide from it any more. Things were closing in on him; he'd have to watch Mark carefully, see what he could pick up. But Babe's story might make it impossible for him to stay on at the Gazette. The reality was that he didn't have any idea what was going to happen next. He'd have to play it by ear.
God, a shitload of work had piled up on his desk. The first thing to do was the Looking Back column. He'd finished the bound volumes with last week's issue and needed to get the next volumes in the series.
He walked to the back staircase and snapped on the light. The steps creaked under his weight. He hated these stairs. They were wooden and open in the back, reminding him of the stairs to the basement in his childhood home. Brian had teased him mercilessly, telling him that monsters would bite his heels as he went down the steps. Often his mother asked him to go to the cellar to get her something. Too ashamed to tell her he was afraid, he went, terrified. Then he'd fallen, breaking an arm. After that his mother never sent him down again and Brian accused him of falling on purpose. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had been right.
In the basement he crossed the cement floor to where the books were kept. He pulled one for twenty-five, fifty, and seventy-five years ago. Each volume held papers for twelve weeks at a time. Colin laid them down on a bench, opened the one for twenty-five years ago, and flipped to the second issue.
He didn't know why he wanted to see the article about the fire Annie's father had been in. Maybe it was a way of being closer to her. After flipping through the pages, he realized he must be in the wrong issue and turned to the next one. There it was on the front page.
There were two pictures. The larger was of the building burned to the ground, with firemen standing around. The second picture showed a row of tarp-covered bodies on the ground in front of the burned-out structure. Under the first picture it said: 'Firemen Ed Lacy and Jarvis Grattan, part of the team who fought a losing battle for hours, view the remains of the new, popular nightclub in Seaville.' The caption underneath the second read: 'The bodies of the twelve people who died in the fire.' The story was on page 2. As Colin turned the page he was stopped by Mark's voice.
'Morning, pal.'
'Jesus, Mark, don't creep up on a guy.'
Mark smiled. 'Sorry.'
'What are you doing here so early?'
'Hey, it's my paper, isn't it?'
Colin didn't like Mark's answer. It seemed odd, defensive. Suddenly he felt apprehensive and wanted to get out of the basement. He closed the book he'd been looking through. 'I was just getting the new volumes for the Looking Back column.'
'You're not going to need them,' Mark said ominously.
'Why not?'
'Don't you know?' Mark's usual good looks, almost pretty in their perfection, seemed sharp, unyielding.
'No.'
