A Soul To Steal

by Rob Blackwell

  “If it’s not him, I need details,” Kate said. “There are rumors a note was found by the body. I need to know if that is true.”

  There was no rumor of any such thing, but Kate had to go out on a limb. If it was Lord Halloween, there would be a note. There was always a note.

  “Tell him it’s me who wants to know,” Kate said.

  “So you can put it in the paper?” Sue asked. “That the murderer is still out there?”

  “To warn people,” Kate said. “Don’t you think my mom would want that? Wouldn’t you? If this guy really is back and we don’t tell people, someone could die who doesn’t have to.”

  “But if you run a story like that, people will panic,” Sue said. “It will be like before.”

  “Maybe not,” Kate said. “Maybe this time we’ll catch him.”

  “I’ll ask him, but I can’t guarantee he can say anything,” Sue said. “I can’t guarantee anything, Trina.”

  “I know,” Kate replied. “Just ask. Please.”

  Sue nodded. Ten minutes later, Kate was outside again, gulping down the fresh air. Why had she come back? She swore under her breath. Why didn’t she leave now?

  But she knew she had to know more. Mrs. Redacker had agreed Kate could call later, when her husband was home. He would tell her what she wanted to know-she hoped.

  Quinn was startled by the knock at his door. He closed his Newsweek and looked out the peephole expecting to see Bill or Janus there. They dropped by unannounced semi-frequently. But Kate stood there instead. He opened the door.

  “How do you even know where I live?” he asked, and gestured for her to come in.

  “I’m a reporter,” she said simply. “It’s my job to know stuff.”

  She looked around. It was definitely a bachelor’s pad. Clothes hung over a light brown armchair that looked like it could have been 20 years old. Magazines were strewn about on the coffee table in front of the TV. She noted with some approval that they were mostly good quality magazines, like the Newsweek he had in his hand.

  “Sit down,” Quinn said, at a loss for what to do. Of course, this is the kind of thing he might have dreamed about. But somehow he doubted she was there to confess undying affection for him. “Can I get you something?”

  “No, thanks. You have a nice place,” she said, looking around. She had been in guy’s apartments a lot worse than this.

  “I’m sorry it’s so messy,” he said. “I don’t normally have a lot of visitors.”

  “No girlfriend?” she asked, and it came out more flirtatious than she meant it.

  “Not for a while, anyway,” he replied, and shrugged. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

  “No, it’s all right,” she replied. “Thanks.”

  She moved the clothes to a broken down looking sofa and sat down on the armchair.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked. “When you didn’t show up at the office later, I got a little worried. I asked Laurence about you, but he said you were following up a business profile.”

  “That’s mostly true,” she said. “As well as checking out a lead for you.”

  “Find anything?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said, and pulled a piece of paper from her back pocket. Quinn crossed over to her and picked it up.

  The paper had scribbled notes on it, with one name near the top: “Mary Kilgore.”

  “Who’s Mary Kilgore?” he asked.

  “Your dead lady,” Kate replied.

  “Jesus,” he said. “How the hell did you get this?”

  “Never mind that. Keep reading.”

  Quinn looked it over.

  “This is for real?” he asked in disbelief. “How the hell did you get this? It would have to be someone high in the police department to have these details.”

  “It’s for real,” she said. “But there is a catch.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me who it is?” Quinn asked.

  Kate nodded. “Actually, it’s worse than that.”

  “How?”

  “You can’t print just on this. You have to get the police to confirm. Or someone on their staff…”

  “You have to be kidding,” Quinn said.

  “Look, it’s the best I can do,” she said. “If the guy reads just this, he’ll never talk to me again. I promised I wouldn’t burn him.”

  “But they’ll never confirm all of this…”

  “It’s a start,” Kate said. “Once they know you have details, they might confirm enough.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “Look, it’s a great help. Don’t get me wrong. I called just about everybody I know today.”

  “I figured,” she said. “But keep me out of it.”

  “What?” he asked. “Hey, look, this is good stuff. You should get credit.”

  “No, I don’t want my name near this story,” Kate said, and looked at him so intently Quinn flinched.

  “Why?”

  Kate spread her hands. “I just don’t.”

  Quinn looked at her. In one sense, he felt insanely glad to have her there. She had just delivered more details than he could have dug up in three days. But on the other hand, he felt like she wasn’t really there at all. She seemed angry about something, but if it was Quinn, he couldn’t think why.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Look, I have to go,” she said and stood up.

  “Wait,” Quinn replied.

  “Look, Quinn, I’m wiped out. I don’t want to be rude, but…”

  “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done,” Quinn said. “But I need to talk this through. Just for five minutes.”

  She nodded and waited.

  “So this isn’t Lord Halloween,” Quinn said.

  “Disappointed?” she asked.

  “No,” Quinn shook his head. “It’s just, I’m not sure how your source knows that for sure.”

  “Donald Kilgore has a history of spousal abuse,” she replied evenly. “Hell, he had a citation just a year ago for it. My source says the court records will back that up. The word is she had moved out recently and Donald wasn’t happy about it. The police think he set a trap for her.”

  “And made it look like a serial killer?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “It would distract people. He left a note, but the police said it wasn’t consistent with the ones Holober supposedly wrote. He wanted the police to think it was a serial killer.”

  “Do they have him in custody?” Quinn asked.

  “They picked him up an hour ago,” she replied. “That’s why I’m so late.”

  “I can’t believe this,” he said finally, still staring at the sheet of paper.

  “Just protect me,” Kate said. “Tell Janus that I had nothing.”

  “Look, I don’t want to lie to him. We’ve been through a lot.”

  “Then swear him to secrecy,” she said. “I mean it. I don’t even want a hint I was involved.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Why act like you have something to hide?”

  Kate just looked at her watch again.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “It’s late.”

  “Hey,” Quinn said. “You can trust me.”

  Kate shook her head and crossed the room to leave. But she turned at the door.

  “The problem isn’t you,” she said.

  “Oh, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that before,” he replied.

  “It isn’t,” she insisted. “You have to believe that. I just… I can’t, that’s all. I know you are trusting me with a lot, but I can’t. I just need…” She held up her hands.

  “I don’t know what I need,” she said, and pulled open the door.

  “Kate,” he said and walked to the door. “If you do need something-you can trust me.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and was out the door. Quinn was left looking at the yellow, folded sheet of paper.

  Chapter 9

  “ The hour is at hand. How long have we waited, brothers and sister
s, for the feast of Sanheim to arrive? But it is coming, and we will receive our long awaited reward. Come to St. Bede’s chapel by the morning of Oct. 31. You will not be disappointed.”

  — Letter from Robert Crowley, Oct. 5, 1873.

  Wednesday, Oct. 11

  By the morning staff meeting, Quinn had already basked in the glow of a thousand congratulations. Everyone but Kyle had told him how great the story turned out, even advertising employees he barely knew.

  But it all felt hollow.

  It wasn’t the play the story got or even how it turned out that bothered him. First, Kate had not looked him in the eye since Monday, and it was apparent to him that something was bothering her.

  But something else gnawed at Quinn. The story had gone off without a hitch yesterday. By mid-morning, he had confirmed the victim’s name with three others connected with the police department. By the afternoon, the department itself confirmed the victim, her address and that her husband had been taken into custody.

  One police officer whom Quinn had never spoken to had called to confirm details of past arrests with Don Kilgore and explained that he had a longstanding abusive relationship with his wife.

  In short, by Tuesday evening, he had a perfect story-good sources, a great lead and hardly any revisions from the editor.

  But it was his very success that bothered him. It felt too easy.

  Everything had simply fallen into place-confirmations from a police department that on a normal day would barely confirm that the sky was blue, an official arrest in the evening and even an unsolicited call from a brand new source.

  It fit too well. Quinn’s unease increased every time he thought about it. The reporting instinct he had counted on for years-what he jokingly called his “Spidey sense”-was tingling.

  He thought he had been on the story of a lifetime. But now he had the distinct feeling he had been used. The story was so right it felt wrong.

  It was unnerving and the more congratulations he received, the worse he felt.

  What was it Buzz said? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they are not out to get you. Quinn thought Buzz was more than a little crazy, but maybe he was right on that one.

  He leaned forward and stared at his keyboard. From a distance it looked fine, but when he examined it closely, it had crumbs and small hairs between the keys. It looked nasty. It seemed an apt metaphor.

  Almost everyone else appeared happy. Rebecca actually seemed in a good mood, an unusual state for her. And Laurence had already told him twice what an excellent story it was. He acted like some kind of proud father, probably because he knew the paper would sell well today. Murders were more common than they once were-and God knows this town had its own brand of serial killer a dozen years back-but they were rare enough to attract attention.

  But Kate appeared more withdrawn than ever. She complimented him briefly in the morning, but hadn’t said much of anything else. And she had reason to be happy apart from his story. Quinn noticed Kate’s first by-line had ended up on the front page, an exclusive from Martin Heller offering a compromise with the conservationists at Phillips Farm. On any other week, it would have been the lead story. But he could not imagine that Kate would hold that against him.

  Rebecca interrupted Quinn’s reverie when she started rounding everyone up for the staff meeting. Quinn left his keyboard and followed her into the conference room.

  *****

  The meeting was already out of Laurence’s control by the time Ethan Holden walked in. Kyle had spent 15 minutes discussing the poor quality of the photos with his story, which had touched off a fight with Josh, the head photographer, while Alexis complained bitterly about last minute changes made to her story on the new science lab at Park View High School.

  At least two people audibly groaned when they saw Holden open the door and stroll in. He looked at the motley group around the table, smiled briefly, and then walked to the far side of the room.

  “Please continue,” he said in a deep gravelly voice. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  Janus snorted and when Holden looked at him, acted like he had a coughing fit.

  Laurence placed his palms on the table and began for a third time.

  “I think we had a good paper,” he said. “Quinn, I want to make sure we keep a close eye on your story. They may have arrested the husband, but if we have new details by next week, we should make sure to stay on top of that.”

  This was the part of the staff meeting Quinn despised. Laurence did not have a clue what to say now that Holden-his boss-had shown up. He kept glancing in his direction waiting for the inevitable interruption.

  Quinn also hated being told to follow the story. Did Laurence really think he wouldn’t? That he would just walk away? No, he doubted Laurence did. But he had to say something.

  He glanced at Kate, who was the only one not darting glances in Holden’s direction. Instead, she seemed to be staring at the wall.

  Quinn realized with alarm that Laurence had asked him something.

  “Yeah,” he said, hoping it was a yes or no question he had been asked.

  Laurence nodded.

  “I also want to stay on the kindergarten fire,” Laurence said.

  Kyle groaned quietly.

  “What more do you want me to say?” he asked Laurence.

  “Interview the parents,” Laurence said. “Talk to other kindergartens.”

  “I don’t think there will be a rash of kindergarten fires, Laurence,” he said.

  “Laurence is right,” boomed Holden, and Helen and Alexis both jumped in their chairs.

  Laurence looked surprised to have Holden supporting him.

  “Kids,” Holden said. “It is always about kids. Remember that.”

  Kyle nodded. The comment had made little sense to anybody but it was safer to nod around Holden.

  “Kids,” he said again, gravely. “And animals. People love animals.”

  Here it went. The semi-monthly everybody-loves-animals story.

  “We need to put more on the front page,” Holden continued. “People connect with animals. Just the other week, Paul Gibson and I went hunting. He told me how important it was that the local paper emphasize this county’s wildlife. That way people can appreciate it more.”

  “By killing it?” Janus asked.

  Laurence glared at him, but Holden didn’t appear to notice.

  “It’s important we tell people what is unique about this county, particularly the wildlife,” Holden said. “I was hoping we would have a few shots of animals in our special Halloween section, Laurence. Maybe a horse-drawn carriage ride in a pumpkin patch. Don’t you think that would be a good idea?”

  Heads swiveled sharply in Holden’s direction and there was an audible gasp from Alexis. People had been beginning to nod off, but that comment got their attention.

  “What Halloween section?” Rebecca asked, looking at Laurence.

  “Uh yes, Mr. Holden, I was going to talk with you about that,” Laurence replied, and looked away from everyone.

  “Yes?” Holden said and looked at Laurence expectantly.

  “Well, I thought, maybe in private we could discuss it.”

  “No time like the present,” Holden replied gruffly. “Let’s all talk about it. This is going to be a big deal.”

  “Well, sir, I just wasn’t sure that the county is quite ready for this,” Laurence said.

  “Ready? I would say it’s overdue,” Holden replied. “We’ve been doing it in the Fairfax papers for five years. It sells well every time. We need to expand it to Loudoun. None of the other papers even mention…”

  “That’s precisely my point, Mr. Holden,” Laurence replied. “Halloween here is a little different.”

  “I know, I know, the killer,” Holden said. “But that was more than a decade ago.”

  “Loudoun isn’t like other places, Mr. Holden,” Rebecca said. “Since 1994, Leesburg has banned any public celebration of Halloween. Shopkeepers are generally di
scouraged from painting even a pumpkin in the window, much less a ghost. This is not something we want to celebrate here.”

  “Well, I think it is time people got over it,” Holden said.

  “With all due respect, I don’t think you can just…” Laurence started.

  “The paper needs to take a stand,” Holden said. “I’ll write an editorial. It is time to move on, and…”

  “Why, so you can sell a few more papers?” someone said bitterly.

  Helen gasped and the entire staff looked toward the origin of the voice. Kate sat there, glaring straight ahead at Holden.

  Holden coughed abruptly. He was not used to outright defiance.

  “No, of course not,” Holden said.

  “Then why? Why do they need to get over it?” she asked.

  “Kate, I think maybe you should let Rebecca and I handle it,” Laurence said gently.

  Quinn was too surprised to jump in to help her.

  “We can’t live in the past, young woman,” Holden said. “Banning a public celebration of Halloween is poppycock. It’s nonsense. There is no sense tying together the murders with the damn holiday…”

  “Why not?” she asked. “He did. I’d say he connected them together pretty well.”

  “Well, it’s time to let that madman go,” Holden said. “They caught him. He’s dead. People should just move on. What’s done is done.”

  “What about the families of the victims?” Kate asked. “Should they just move on? Forget about it?”

  “Look, I’m just saying…”

  “I know what you are saying,” she said. Holden seemed afraid to look her in the face. “It’s over, let’s just all forget about it. Well not everyone can do that. Do you want to be the one to remind them? To force it down their throats?”

  “Kate…” Laurence said.

  “Young lady, I don’t know who you are or why you care so much about this, but I’m the publisher of this paper and I don’t appreciate your tone,” he said.

  “She’s just trying to say that people haven’t forgotten, Mr. Holden,” Quinn said, and Laurence and Rebecca both glared at him. “She doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

  But Kate had a look of pure disgust on her face. Disrespect appeared to be exactly what she intended.