Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  The note had felt like a jolt to his system. He could only imagine what it felt like for her. The guy knew. Somehow he knew who Kate really was.

  He kept turning the possibilities over in his head. The first was that Lord Halloween could have just seen her at some point, recognized similarities and done some research. That seemed implausible, however. How would you recognize someone after 12 years out of the blue, especially when they were a kid when you saw them last?

  The second was that someone Kate had told had passed that information along to someone else. Or perhaps she had told the killer himself.

  But Quinn knew that was a limited few, of which he was one. Since he knew he hadn’t done it, he mentally marked himself off that list. He would just have to hope she did that too.

  Janus clearly suspected Kate had a history here, Quinn considered briefly, but pushed the thought to the back of his head. For starters, Janus was his best friend and incapable of being a murderer. A pain in the ass, yes. But he was no psychopath.

  But how, he thought, do you know anyone for sure? He supposed the real murderer had friends he must hang out with, people he must know. Did they suspect? Quinn doubted it. Whoever did this kept that part of himself buried. And it was possible it was so buried the killer didn't know himself. Quinn had heard of people with multiple personality disorder, ones who weren't aware of what their other personalities did.

  Even aside from that, Janus was not a logical suspect. Janus was... what? 30? 31? If he was the same murderer from more than a decade ago, he would have to have been killing as a teenager. Possible, but likely? Sure, there were kids in schools who started shooting people, but this was a different deal. This was vicious murder of a very personal nature.

  Quinn sat up and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Could he really calmly be assessing whether his best friend was a killer?

  He got up and walked the few steps to his kitchen. It was a mess, of course.

  If he had known Kate would stay the night again, he might have cleaned up.

  But the idea had never occurred to him. Not in the end-of-a-date romance kind of way and certainly not this one.

  He idly fixed himself a cup of coffee, still keeping one eye on the door.

  The guy could have followed them back. A worse thought suddenly occurred to him. If he knew who Kate was, he undoubtedly knew who Quinn was. And almost certainly knew where he lived.

  Quinn would have to find someplace else to stay, he decided. They both had shied away from Kate’s hotel, but Quinn wasn't sure why. They had hardly discussed it.

  Quinn thought he heard a noise and paused for a moment. It was a soft clicking coming from his bedroom. It took him a minute to recognize the sound—someone was typing. Kate must be using his computer, he thought. He walked down the hallway and paused outside his door to be sure.

  The typing stopped. Quinn waited and heard nothing.

  He thought about tapping on the door, but decided he was imagining things. He turned to walk away and then the typing started again.

  He cautiously opened the door.

  Kate sat there fully dressed at his computer.

  When the door opened, she practically jumped out of the chair.

  “Quinn,” she said.

  “You couldn’t sleep?” he asked and moved over to look at the computer. She hurriedly was closing windows on the screen. But Quinn caught a brief look at one.

  It took him only a moment to figure out what was going on.

  “Either you are now hiding your secret love of Internet porn, or you’ve been doing research—on me,” he said.

  Kate looked at him for a moment. He wondered if she had slept at all. She was dressed in the same clothes from last night.

  “What makes you say that?” she asked.

  “I caught a glimpse of my old paper on the screen as you were shutting down,” he said. “Plus, you just look guilty.”

  Kate studied him for a moment more.

  “I was doing research on you,” she said finally.

  Quinn sat down on the bed.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You were trying to figure out if I was the killer? Or if I might be in league with him at any rate?”

  “You were the only one I told, Quinn,” she said. “I told you who I was and nobody else. So if he now knows...”

  Quinn nodded.

  “That’s logical,” he said. But he felt like he had been cold cocked nonetheless.

  “It isn’t that I think you're him, I just...”

  “Had to be sure,” he finished.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Sure?” he asked.

  She looked back at the computer screen briefly and laid her palm on the desk.

  “No,” she said. “I found nothing in there that helped me.”

  “I thought not,” he said.

  “I have to say—you are taking this pretty calmly,” she said.

  “So is that a strike for or against me?” he asked, with an air of resignation.

  “I don’t know,” Kate replied.

  He leaned on his knees.

  “It hurts a little, you know,” he said. “I have all this... I don’t know. Since you came here and I met you, I’ve felt... Oh screw it.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. He was tired. She was paranoid. What was there to say?

  “You felt what?” she asked, but she looked away from him.

  “A connection,” Quinn replied. “Like you and I were supposed to be together or something. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “I know you think you know me,” she began.

  He cut her off.

  “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t think I know you at all. I just know I want to. But I can’t do that if you don’t trust me.”

  “I think you will agree our circumstances are a little different,” she said.

  “Of course,” he replied. “And probably if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t trust anybody either. But I don’t know how to convince you. I’ve been as honest with you as I know how.”

  Kate sighed.

  “Here’s the thing,” Kate said. “How do you know another person really is who they seem to be?”

  “You don’t, you just…”

  “No, no, don’t answer quick,” she said. “People can’t see inside each other’s heads. Everyone knows that. But think about how much people really don’t know about their friends and their family. Read the papers. Read our paper. How many child molesters? Rapists? Bullies? Killers? How many of them have families who just see them as friendly old John or Joe?”

  “I know,” Quinn said.

  “People don’t even know themselves. Husbands and wives cheat on each other and even they can’t explain it. They betray, they lie, they steal and sometimes feel like they are watching someone else do these things. Behind each person, there is a monster. A thing that lurks deep in their brain and slithers out every once in a while.”

  “That’s not true,” he replied.

  “It is true and you know it,” she said. “Everyone knows it. I’ve learned the hard way. You can’t trust anybody. You can’t even trust yourself.”

  There was a long pause between them.

  “I don’t believe that,” Quinn said finally. “I believe you can trust people.”

  “But who, Quinn? How can you be sure?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a risk…”

  “Let’s take it out of the hypothetical,” Kate said. “How do you explain how the killer knows who I am? Let’s assume it isn’t you. Then how does he…”

  “There are a few possibilities I was running over in my head,” he said. “For starters, what about your dad’s friend? The cop.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve been trying to do some research on him as well,” she said.

  “He’s a possibility?" Quinn asked.

  “I don’t know,” she s
aid. “He is one of my dad’s best friends. I find it hard to believe...”

  “There is another possibility,” Quinn said.

  “Janus?” she asked. “I know. He could have figured it out.”

  Quinn did not know if he wanted to scream or laugh.

  “This is insane,” he said. “We are paranoid. I thought about it. I want you to know that. I really considered Janus. It’s a possibility, but I don’t think so. He would have been really young the first time around.”

  “Still possible, though,” she said.

  “Very unlikely,” he replied. “Or there’s the paper.”

  “Do they all know?”

  “You blew up in a room full of reporters,” he said. “You could have made someone curious.”

  “So one of the guys could be...”

  “Or one of the women,” Quinn said. “Or they could be working with him. Anybody could have been curious and dug a little.”

  She put her head in her hands.

  “I knew this would happen,” she said. “I just knew he would find me.”

  “He hasn’t found you yet,” Quinn said.

  “How do you know?” she asked. “He could be here right now, waiting outside the door. He could be anyone—even you.”

  “I’m not him,” Quinn said.

  “I know, I know,” she said, and then she laughed to herself. “But how do I really know? How can I trust anybody?”

  Slowly, Quinn reached across and took her hand. She pulled it away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I want to trust you. And I do...”

  “But only so far,” he finished.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sorry. But I’m on my own here. He’s hunting me, not you.”

  Quinn sighed and lay back on his bed. What was he supposed to say? How do you really know somebody else? There has to be some leap of faith, but what if you’re wrong?

  He raised himself up again and looked at her.

  “I believe in you,” he said. “I know it sounds corny. But I don’t think you’re going to be beaten by this guy. He may know who you are, but other than that, he knows nothing else about you.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “You’re not a scared little girl anymore, Kate. You’re not the girl he saw. Don’t let him put you in that position. You grew up. You’re smart, capable and tough.”

  “Plus I have a gun and know how to use it,” she added and smiled a little.

  “There is that, yes,” Quinn said. “You’ll beat him. We’ll beat him.”

  “I hope you’re right, Quinn,” she replied and the smile faded. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Any news?” Janus asked when Quinn and Kate arrived at the Chronicle in the morning. Quinn was used to having most of the newsroom to himself, but he noticed Kyle, Buzz and Laurence were already there too.

  “Hello,” Janus said again, as Quinn stared at the Coke machine in the kitchen. “Any news?”

  “What news?” Quinn asked, and suddenly he was reluctant to share too much information. “Not much help in the files, I’m afraid.”

  “Christ, you are bloody stupid,” Janus said. “Not about that.”

  Janus glanced meaningfully in Kate’s direction, who was already sitting at her desk.

  “Oh,” Quinn said and sat down. God, he was tired. “Not much.”

  “Not much?” Janus asked. “Dude, you guys came in together. And unless I miss my guess, this is the second day in a row where that’s true. Plus you look totally knackered. So what kept you up all night, eh?”

  “Not what you think,” Quinn replied.

  “So she didn’t stay with you?” he asked. “I mean, it’s early in the morning...”

  “She did, but...” Quinn said. “Let’s just say she came by to grab some stuff here last night. What she found was not exactly the stuff of romance.”

  “What?” Janus asked, sitting down in the chair across from him.

  “A note from everyone’s favorite serial killer.”

  “What?” Janus asked. “Are you fucking insane? Shouldn’t the police be here then? What did they say when you called them?”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “We didn’t. It would raise more problems than it would solve.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Janus said. “You have to tell them. What if the guy left fingerprints?”

  “He never does at murder scenes. Why would here be any different?”

  “But you don’t know, Quinn.”

  “I know that if we bring the police in, nothing good will come of it,” Quinn replied.

  “If you keep this a secret and they find out later, nothing good will come of that either,” Janus said.

  “Maybe. But some things are better left not broadcast.”

  Quinn was not sure why he and Kate had agreed to keep it secret. After all, the one person whom they did not want to find out her identity clearly already knew it. But there would be questions from Sheriff Brown, not exactly what either of them wanted at the moment.

  “So he left a note?” Janus asked.

  “He did,” Quinn replied. “So she stayed at my place just in case he figured out where she lived.”

  “Where does she live?” Janus asked.

  Quinn stared at him a moment.

  “What makes you ask now?”

  Janus’ eyes widened.

  “Are you crazy?” Janus said. “What—you think I might be behind this?”

  “I don’t know who’s behind it, Janus.”

  “Well, it bloody well isn’t me. And you should keep your paranoia in check.”

  “Just because you are paranoid does not mean they are not out to get you,” Quinn replied.

  “Come on, Quinn, you can’t be serious,” Janus said. “You know I could never do any of this. I was just being fucking inquisitive. Like reporters are supposed to be...”

  Quinn lifted his hand.

  “I don’t think you did it,” Quinn said.

  “Good,” Janus said. Then a long pause. “Why?”

  “Just my intuition,” Quinn said and got up to leave.

  The two walked out of the kitchen to see much of the newsroom now in motion. Nearly all the reporters were at their desks, even Buzz, who made it a habit never to be around when anyone else was.

  “Big crowd today,” Quinn said. “And early, too.”

  “Not hard to see why,” Janus said.

  Quinn looked at him.

  “If there is a killer on the loose, would you want to be sitting at home alone?”

  Quinn looked over at Kate who was working the phones.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” he said.

  Though all the reporters were at the office, most of them were stuck with little to do. Friday was a slow day in their news cycle, the day they were supposed to kick back, check with sources and plan for the next week’s paper.

  Kyle was the only reporter who was busy.

  It was a hard thing for Quinn not to resent. Since crime was Kyle’s beat, he had taken over much of the investigation into the recent murders. Around noon, he loudly mentioned to anyone in ear shot that there was another possible killing in Lovettsville and had to run to check it out. It turned out to be nothing but a wild goose chase, but it was clear the guy was in his element, having fun. He was on the phones all day checking in with people.

  And Quinn had nothing. He had found Tim Anderson—maybe—but he couldn’t go out there today. He worked the phones all day hoping to get some new information on the murders, but he got nowhere. His police sources were terse, barely even polite, and he felt like he was spinning his wheels.

  Quinn watched Kyle stand up and, much to his surprise, the mustached reporter came his way.

  “Quinn,” Kyle said. “I was hoping for some assistance.”

  Quinn’s jaw practically hit the floor. That had simply never happened before. Kyle hated help. He didn’t seek it and he didn’t want it.

  “I know, I know,
” Kyle said. “It’s unusual for me to ask.”

  Unusual? Try unprecedented, Quinn thought.

  “But there is a lot going on here and I can’t keep up with all of it.”

  “What can I do for you?” Quinn asked. It came out sounding more excited than he meant it to.

  “I’m chasing down too many leads,” Kyle replied. “There was the Lovettsville thing and I keep getting calls from people who think they may have seen something. There are just too many to keep track of and I’m already thinking I could be here all night every night for the next week. I thought maybe we could divide some of it up and you could help with the legwork.”

  Quinn sat stunned.

  “You want to be a team on this?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s too much for one person,” Kyle said. “I figured rather than getting beaten by the Post, it would be smarter to get help.”

  “Sure, Kyle,” Quinn said. “You know I’m happy to help.”

  And with that, the two of them sat down and went through a list of more than a dozen phone calls. If he had not already known the panic was coming, Quinn could see it now. It was just a trickle of course, but one more murder would send everyone over the edge. There were calls from all over the county. They divided up the list of leads, with Kyle even allowing Quinn to pick a few. Quinn was still amazed at the sudden shift in Kyle’s behavior. This was a guy who usually wanted the biggest story all to himself. Quinn had been free to pursue his own leads, but the idea that Kyle might share his own tips had never crossed Quinn’s mind.

  Maybe Rebecca or Laurence had talked to Kyle, he thought.

  By afternoon, he was half-way through his list. For the most part they were dead ends: people who heard vague noises outside their house at night and a couple who thought their neighbors, whom they had never liked, were the killers. Quinn would have preferred to go in person, but there were simply too many leads.

  It was the seventh or eighth call that sounded different. It was something in the guy’s voice that did it for him. He sounded too calm and kept apologizing for bothering anyone. Panicked people didn’t do that. They insisted that it was something serious and demanded attention.

  Quinn called Janus and asked to meet him in a neighborhood on the outer edges of Leesburg.