Kate nodded.
“And all reporters are always about two minutes late to everything, right?”
“I guess,” she said.
“A-ha,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “Well, if you set your watch just three minutes ahead, it gets you moving. You look at it and instead of being late by two minutes, you are just in time.”
“Oh,” Kate said.
“It’s very simple, but I can’t tell you how many times it has saved my butt,” Kyle said, still smiling intently.
“I see,” she replied. She paused, waiting awkwardly for something to save her. “Well, that seems very helpful.”
“Of course, you could just leave earlier,” Quinn said.
Kyle grunted in disgust.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “You could, yeah. You make fun of me, but how many times are you late to something, Quinn? Huh?”
“All the time, Kyle,” he replied.
“You see?” Kyle said, looking at Kate in triumph. “You see? I’m never late. I’m always one minute early. It makes all the difference in the world, Kate.”
Kyle jabbed his finger in Quinn’s direction.
“All the difference,” he said again.
“That’s super, Kyle,” Janus said, and put his arm around Kyle to start moving him away. “You’re scaring the poor girl. Worse, you’re scaring me.”
“Did you forget your medication again, Kyle?” Bill asked.
Kyle shook off Janus, gave him a dirty look and stomped away.
“Thanks, Kyle,” Kate called after him, but he glanced balefully at Bill and Janus.
“I’d stay out of his way today,” Quinn told them.
“Nah,” Bill replied. “He’ll get over it.”
“Don’t worry about Kyle,” Janus said. “Something will explode or some robbery will happen and he’ll be happy again.”
Laurence popped his head out of his door.
“Janus, Quinn, good,” he said. “I want you to give Kate the tour, will you? Take her around, show her the place.”
“That’s the first five minutes,” Janus said.
“Yes, well…” Laurence said.
“It’s okay, we’ll do it,” Quinn replied. Laurence retreated back into his office.
“Janus is right, though,” he said afterward. “This won’t exactly eat up your whole day.”
“It’s all right,” she said. She smiled at Quinn.
“Well,” he said. “Uh, I guess you can see the newsroom. If you walk straight ahead, you’ll find the graphics department.”
They walked just a few feet down the hall. As they did, Kate sized up her three companions. Quinn was handsome, though he looked tired. Janus struck her mostly because of his size. He looked no taller than her, at about 5 feet 4 inches, with straight black hair and brown eyes. Given how talkative he had been in the staff meeting, she wondered if he was the kind of guy to have a Napoleon complex. Stepping next to him, she also distinctly smelled the aroma of cigarettes on his clothes.
Bill was a big guy, not quite obese but well beyond chubby, Kate observed. She felt almost mean thinking that because he was so nice. About medium height with brown eyes and black hair, he looked pleasantly cheery, as if someone had recently complimented him. Maybe it was just a good day, but she had the impression he usually looked that way.
“About the only thing worth seeing here is the printing press,” said Janus.
“It’s cool you actually see it,” Kate said. “At the Gazette, we never did. It was all sent off-site.”
“It’s cool,” Quinn said, and he opened the double doors that led downstairs.
They walked down there and saw the paper run just beginning. The rumble of the press would soon be so loud they would have to start yelling to make themselves heard. They watched it for a moment.
In the corner a sign said, “Safety is our number one priority. We have not had an accident in…” and in magic marker it finished, “54 days.”
“Not a very encouraging record,” Quinn said when he saw Kate looking at it. “Come on, you can see back here where it all comes out.”
They walked around the gigantic machine to get to the back.
“The Loudoun Chronicle is a broad sheet,” Quinn said, pointing up. “If you look up there, you can see where the screens come in. Everything is sent electronically from upstairs, then photographed and placed on the screens. It gets sent through in sections, then comes out over there.”
He pointed to a few places.
It took Quinn a minute more before he realized Kate wasn’t watching him. He looked to see her staring at the far corner of the room. There was nothing there that he could see.
“Kate?” he asked. Janus and Bill followed her gaze, looked back at Quinn, and shrugged.
“Kate?” Quinn asked again. She didn’t respond for a minute.
“What happened there?” she said finally.
“Happened where?” Quinn asked, and looked back at the spot.
“There,” she said, and pointed to a spot on the floor. Quinn saw nothing but a very dusty piece of cement.
The three men exchanged quizzical looks.
“There’s nothing there,” Quinn said, feeling a little concerned.
Kate walked up and looked down.
“It’s right…” she trailed off.
Quinn followed her. He looked down and saw nothing.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
She turned and looked at him, then back at the floor.
“Trick of the light,” she said. “I just thought I saw something-that’s all.”
She did not sound convincing, but Quinn let it go.
“Sure,” he said.
“Hey, guys,” Bill said. “Are we done with the tour yet? Anyone up for lunch?”
Kate nodded, said she was hungry, and they headed out the back door. On his way out, Quinn noticed her look back at the corner of the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
She met his gaze.
“Yeah,” she said. “What could be wrong?”
Outside, he noticed her hands shaking, but he knew enough not to say anything.
They went to a small Italian deli for lunch and Kate tried to forget about what she had seen, though the thought of it kept coming back. She was surprised at how easy it was to hang out with these people. She had this idea that reporters were supposed to be constantly moving, as they had back in Ohio. No one had time for lunch there.
But she supposed a weekly paper was bound to be different and if there was a more relaxed atmosphere, she wondered why she felt herself missing the all-consuming pressure of a daily deadline.
“It’s different, isn’t it?” Quinn asked.
“What?” Kate said, startled out of reverie.
“Working here,” he replied, and smiled at her.
“You read my mind,” she said, and really looked at Quinn.
In jeans and a red button-down shirt, he appeared casual and comfortable, but she felt some vibe coming off him. He seemed…nervous. Like a guy on his first date or something. It never occurred to her that she might have had something to do with that.
“No, I just know how it goes,” he said. “When I came back here after working on the Hill…”
“You worked on Capitol Hill?” she asked.
“Yeah, for Congressional Quarterly,” he said.
“Nice,” Kate replied.
“I suppose,” Quinn said. “But when I got back here, it was kind of crazy. I had gone from a constant deadline to a paper that just seemed to take its time.”
“Hey, some of us enjoy our relaxation time,” Bill chimed in.
“Too much from the look of it,” Janus said, and patted Bill’s belly. Bill brushed Janus’ hand away with a look of bemused irritation.
Quinn barely acknowledged them.
“Anyway, it was a switch,” he said.
“I’ll bet,” Kate said, and tried again to size Quinn up. She had this nagging feeling that she knew him f
rom somewhere and the more he talked, the more difficult it was to shake it. But she couldn’t place him to save her life.
“So Laurence said something about you coming from a daily paper and I thought I could relate,” Quinn said.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess I’ll get used to it.”
“If you worked for a daily, why did you come down here?” Quinn asked.
That, my friend, is the million-dollar question, Kate thought. She was damned if she knew. Instead of saying that, however, she just smiled.
“I needed a change of scenery,” she said.
“So you came to Loudoun?” Janus asked. “Boy, did you take the wrong train to Clarksville.”
“You don’t like it here?” she asked him.
“Well, I do, yeah,” Janus said. “But I’m a loon, so I don’t think that tells you much. I guess I got my mates here and they pay me to take lovely photos. But I don’t know what anyone else sees in it.”
“You should be in tourism, Janus,” Bill said.
“I just mean it’s a pretty boring place,” he said.
“That wasn’t the impression I had,” Kate said.
“Oh, you just wait,” Janus said, picking up his turkey sandwich and biting into it. “Wait till you have lived here for six years. Then tell me how exciting it is.”
“It isn’t that bad,” Quinn said quickly.
“Then why did you move away, bucko?” Janus asked through a full mouth.
“I moved back, didn’t I?” Quinn replied.
“Why was that, anyway, Quinn?” Bill asked. “I always meant to ask.”
Quinn shot a dark look in Janus’ direction, who held up his hands in a ‘What did I do?’ gesture.
“Just didn’t like it there, I guess,” Quinn replied.
“I would have thought it would be exciting,” Kate said.
For a moment, she saw an odd look cross his face and then it was gone.
“Maybe it was too exciting,” he said, and appeared to want to leave it at that.
“Speaking of excitement,” Janus said, finishing off his sandwich even as Bill got up to get another. “I think you and I need to get going, right?”
Quinn looked at him blankly.
“Where?” he asked.
“I thought Buzz told you-we have to go see that coin-sorting place for the profile, right? Remember? I take the pretty photos and you write your boring article?”
“Oh damn,” Quinn said. “I forgot.”
He looked at his watch.
“We are supposed to be there in 10 minutes,” he said. “We’ll never make it.”
“You know, if you had just set your watch 3 minutes ahead, Quinn,” Janus started.
“Get stuffed,” Quinn said. “Let’s go.”
He looked apologetically at Kate.
“I’m sorry to run out on you, but duty calls,” he said. “We’ll see you back at base, right?”
“Sure,” she said.
“And sorry to leave you alone with Bill,” Janus said, watching as the portly photographer wandered back to the table with another sandwich. “Don’t let him get too fresh.”
“I won’t,” she smiled, and watched Quinn wave before they walked out the door.
As Bill sat down and began to munch on his sub, Kate let out a small sigh.
She wondered again just what she had she gotten herself into.
LH File: Letter #2
Dated: Oct. 5, 1994
Investigation Status: Closed
Contents: Classified
Dear Mr. Anderson,
I confess that I’m disappointed. I wouldn’t say angry-not yet anyway-but disappointed. When I chose you, it was with the expectation that you would make me famous. Instead, you appear to be cooperating with the police in covering me up. Since Ms. Verclamp’s death, I’ve seen two articles on her murder, not one of which has even hinted of my existence.
There is no good reason for this. It can’t be that you don’t believe I’m the killer. I gave you the precise location of her body and I’m told you made the call yourself to police after reading my first missive. So what’s the hold up? Did the police tell you that you would be interfering in an investigation? Did they say my letters would only panic the public? Nothing like a serial killer on the loose to get the blood circulating, right?
So you wrote two very drab pieces, the first on the death and the second a profile of the victim. Though the profile was touching-I note with pride you used my suggested color-the whole thing feels pedestrian. I wanted to make a big splash with my first kill and now everyone is probably assuming Ms. Verclamp had an angry boyfriend. They don’t even know I’m out here.
This makes me unhappy, Mr. Anderson, and I wish to warn you upfront that a second mistake of this nature will not be tolerated lightly. Consider this my second gift to you-I’m letting you off easy this time. I’m not threatening you, Mr. Anderson-I have no wish to see you harmed-but you must understand my position. I aim to make a name for myself, and see you as my partner. And right now, my partner isn’t pulling his weight.
Let’s hope things improve this time around. The next body is lying on the outskirts of Ida Lee Park, in the woods behind the tennis court. The police will identify him as Michael Weissman, a promising 16-year-old who attended LoudounHigh School. So that police can be sure I’m the killer, I’ll offer the following tidbits. He wasn’t killed where his body is now located-and he tried to fight his attacker. He failed, of course, but I give him credit for trying. I stabbed him in the lower abdomen and watched as he tried to crawl away. He bled to death eventually, but I have to admit it took longer than I expected.
I’ll leave you to find out more about his background. We didn’t have much time to talk. Did he have a girlfriend? What did he want to be when he grew up? How hard do you think his parents will take it? I’m tempted to give them a call myself-that would really give you something to write about: “Killer Taunts Dead Boy’s Family.”
But perhaps that can wait. Fear is a contagious thing, but sometimes it’s best to let it spread slowly. I trust that in this next article, you will mention me properly. Feel free to quote from my letters to you-they are on the record, as always.
Oh, and you might want to get a move on. It’s only Oct 5 ^th, and I have a lot more killing to do before the month is up. I’d prefer it if my victims knew who was gutting them, so I’m trying to keep things slow until the word gets out. Please don’t disappoint me again. I promise you that you will regret it.
Yours Sincerely,
Lord Halloween
Chapter 4
“ As far as serial killers go, Lord Halloween was more flashy than scary. True, he terrified the area he haunted, but it seems impossible, when compared with some of the more famous killers of the 20 ^th century, that this person should stand out. Yes, LH murdered with impunity. Yes, LH tortured several victims. But his fetish with Halloween is so trite that I give him lower marks than many of his contemporaries. About the only thing that gives me pause is that he got away with the murders. Most killers secretly want to be caught. It’s clear LH didn’t. ”
— Arnold Cosgrove, “Stop Me Before I Kill Again: Serial Killers in History.”
Lord Halloween could wait forever. It was hard to say how long he had been standing alongside the road. He didn’t move or speak or show any other signs of life. He just stood there, looking in front of him. Patience was one of his virtues, he knew. Probably the only one.
He had waited 12 years. He thought that was long enough. There was some consideration, even as late as this morning, that he should wait one more year. After all, 13 had great significance among the superstitious. But everything was prepared and he didn’t have the heart to put away the tools of his trade for one more year. The truth, he knew, was that he didn’t want to wait another year-didn’t want to dream about this for another 12 months.
On the road, nothing stirred. Somewhere there was a faint rustling of leaves as the wind blew them around in the darkness, bu
t everything else was still. He certainly did not move. He would wait for the right moment. He had waited this long, he could afford the time now. If today wasn’t the day, well…
He stopped himself. Today would be the day. His hands twitched with the thought of it and he smiled faintly. He stared out at the road. Today had to be the day. He felt it in his bones.
He waited in the darkness.
Mary Kilgore felt the car sliding to the left and fought with the steering wheel to bring it under control. She felt a flurry of panic, fearing it would careen into the woods beyond the road. But just as that seemed inevitable and the trees loomed above her, the car suddenly came back to the right.
She pumped the brakes furiously and successfully brought the car to a stop. She sighed in relief at first, happy to be safe. But it occurred to her soon after that something serious had happened to her car and that she might not be able to get it moving again.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. Certainly she hadn’t hit anything-there hadn’t even been a bump in the road. She wondered if it was the transmission, or engine failure and cursed herself that she didn’t know more about cars. That had always been Donald’s arena and now he was gone.
She sighed again and walked to the front of the car. Mary took one look at the battered front right tire, and even to her untrained eye, she could see what the problem was. The tire looked like it had come apart. She thanked her stars at least she had been able to bring her car under control before she crashed. But when was the last time she had changed a tire?
It took no time for her to think about Donald again. If he were here…
But he isn’t here, Mary told herself. He is not going to come to the rescue this time, or any other time. She felt a wave of self-pity coming on and struggled to throw it off.
She looked back at the road. It was deserted, of course. It was the very reason she had come this way-a short-cut to get to the Middleburg town meeting on time, for once. But now she wished she had stuck with her normal route. If she had, she could have flagged a dozen cars down. Right now, the prospect of any showing up seemed farfetched.
She went back into the car and pulled out her cell phone. She flicked it on and waited to see if she would get a signal. She didn’t. Instead, the phone simply displayed a message, “No service.”
A Soul To Steal Page 3
