“I know what I’m doing,” Quinn replied.
“I hope you’re right,” Janus said. “We don’t know an awful lot about her, you know. And notice how she didn’t answer if she had been here before? I’m not the reporter, but when someone doesn’t answer a question, it usually means there is a story.”
“I know,” Quinn said.
“You dig her?” Janus asked.
Quinn just looked away.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Janus laughed. “So you aren’t going to answer my questions now?”
“I don’t know how to answer it,” Quinn said. “Yeah, I ‘dig’ her.”
“Good,” Janus said. “God knows you’ve needed a girlfriend in the worst way.”
“Leave my personal life alone,” Quinn said.
“Why start now?” Janus asked. “Just be careful about trusting her too far. She’s holding back. That much is obvious.”
“I’ll be careful,” he said.
Janus grunted and they finished the rest of their lunch in near silence.
Kate stood outside on the curb, uncertain exactly what to do. The barrier between her and the door was little more than 10 feet of grass, but it felt like something infinitely more dangerous. As if the grass would swallow her whole if she stepped on it.
Finally, with what felt like a momentous effort, she stepped forward and crossed quickly to the door.
Maybe no one will be home, she thought, ignoring the fact that she would have to come back at some point. Or did she? She could just tell Quinn it hadn't worked out. Her source was no good.
You aren't doing this for him, she told herself. You know damn well why you’re doing this.
Kate rang the doorbell and waited an eternity before it finally opened.
An attractive-looking woman in her late 50s stood there.
“Can I help you?” she began, and then stopped abruptly. “Oh my God. Katrina? Is that really you?”
Kate nodded and the woman hugged her violently before escorting her through the front door.
“I can’t believe it,” the woman said, though Kate could hardly hear her.
She was too busy looking around. She had thought some of this might seem familiar to her, but either the house had changed or her memory was refusing to kick in.
“I can’t believe it,” she said again.
“Hi, Mrs. Redacker,” Kate said finally, still looking around the room. She felt no tingle of familiarity. Her brain's insistence that there must be something here, anything that she should remember only made the place feel more alien and this meeting more strange.
“Call me Sue,” the woman gently said. “Calling me that makes me feel so old.”
And then Kate spotted it. A large photo was on the back wall in the family room they had just walked into. It was an old picture of four adults and two little girls. She didn’t need to look hard to see one of them was herself.
“Well, my goodness,” Sue Redacker continued. “When did you get into town? Your father didn’t say anything about coming down here and Johnny just spoke to him...”
“My dad isn’t here,” she said, more abruptly then she meant it. “I came down here on my own.”
“Oh,” Sue said. “Of course. It’s so hard for me to think of you as all grown up, you know. Are you in town on business, or just touring Virginia? You should have told me. We would have been happy to have you stay here.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Redacker,” Kate said. “I’m all right. I was offered a job here, at the Chronicle.”
“And you took it?” Sue said.
“Yeah,” Kate said, and smiled grimly. “I took it.”
There was silence in the room as Kate continued to look around. There were a few other photos—mostly of the Redacker’s daughter Julia—that looked familiar. But nothing else.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Sue continued. “It’s just your father never wanted to hear the word ‘Leesburg’ mentioned, so I’m surprised...”
“It’s all right,” Kate said and smiled. “Really. I know it’s weird.”
“Then why, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sue asked, and looked at Kate intently.
“I don’t know, to be honest,” Kate replied. “Maybe it was to see the place again. I'm not sure.”
“Well,” Sue said, and let out a breath. “I’m certainly glad you’re here. Will you stay for dinner? I don’t think Johnny will be much longer.”
“I can’t,” Kate said. “It’s my first week and I have a lot of stuff to do.”
“Well, come by later this week then,” Sue said. “I’m just so happy to see you. I talked to Julia last night and I know she would love to see you.”
“That would be great,” Kate said. “I hate to cut right to the chase, though, but I need your help.”
Kate hated herself a little. The Redackers were good people, but being here—standing with this woman—felt intensely painful. Now that she was through the door, she just wanted to leave.
Sue looked startled, but nodded her head.
“Anything, dear,” she said. “You know that.”
“My dad doesn’t know I’m here,” she said. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.”
“But...”
“Please.”
There was a long pause.
“I was your mother’s friend for most of her life and I respect your father a great deal,” Sue replied. “I don't think it’s a good idea to lie to him.”
“I’m not asking for that,” she said. “Just don’t bring me up.”
Slowly, Sue nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “For now. But that’s not what you came for, is it?”
“It’s not, no,” Kate replied. “I need Mr. Redacker’s help.”
Sue waited, but turned slightly away.
“With what?” she asked, and Kate could see she was looking at the photo of Kate’s mom on the far wall. “Did you know he was promoted just a few months ago?”
“There was a dead body found today,” Kate said suddenly. “Out past Leesburg.”
“Oh my God,” Sue said, inhaling.
“Or it might have been found earlier. I’m not sure.”
“How could Johnny help you with something like that?” Sue asked.
“We are working on a story about it,” Kate said.
“Well, he isn’t allowed to talk to the press, dear,” Sue said.
“This isn’t a normal murder, Mrs. Redacker.”
“Then what is it?”
“We don’t know, exactly,” Kate said. “But we hear rumors. That there may be more than a single corpse.”
There was a long pause. Sue looked uncomfortable and Kate fought the urge to just leave the room. She hated doing this, having this conversation. It felt like she was watching herself from a million miles away. She was handling this poorly.
But she had to know.
“Well, I don’t know how he can help you with that.”
“Is it him?” Kate asked her.
“Who?” Sue replied, but she was walking into the kitchen.
Kate followed her.
“You know who I mean,” Kate said.
Sue stopped and slowly turned around.
“Trina,” she said, and Kate winced at the use of her mother's nickname for her. “They caught that man. You can’t just....”
“Does Mr. Redacker really think Holober was the guy?” Kate asked. “He’s told my father that, but does he really believe it?”
Sue didn’t answer.
“I didn’t think so,” Kate said. “And I don’t either. Which means he could still be out there.”
“He’s not,” Sue said.
“Maybe,” Kate said. “But I need to make sure. I need to know what else was found by that body. Notes, clues, anything. Do the police think it’s him?”
Sue walked back into the kitchen.
“I don’t know anything about this,” she said.
“But you can ask Mr. Redacker,�
� Kate said. “He would know.”
“It’s not that simple,” Sue said. “This is crazy. I’m sure it isn’t that man… they caught him.”
“They didn’t, Mrs. Redacker,” Kate said, and moved closer to her. “They didn’t. You know it, I know it, my father knows it. And I feel like I’ve just been waiting for him to show up again.”
“Trina, he’s not coming back. And you can’t expect Johnny to…”
“I know I don’t have a right,” Kate said. “But I think my mom does. Don’t you understand? He murdered her and he’s still free.”
“No,” Sue said adamantly. “They caught him.”
“What if they didn’t?” Kate asked.
“It’s not him,” Sue said.
“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 guys’ 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.
9
“The hour is at hand. How long have we waited, brothers and sisters, 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.
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