“Yes.”
A knock sounded on the door. Sam started.
“What is it?” Jennifer asked.
“Someone’s at the door.” She walked for the door.
“Who?”
She turned the deadbolt and pulled it open. Kevin stood in the hallway, blinking and haggard.
“Kevin,” Sam said. “It’s Kevin.”
Jennifer lowered the phone and sat hard. The notion that Kevin and the Riddle Killer might be the same man wasn’t only absurd; it was . . . wrong. Sick. Deeply disturbing.
Galager walked by her desk, headed for the lab. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Was it possible?
Her mind spun back to the scene of Roy’s death. Was it possible that Kevin— No! It made no sense.
And why is this such an infuriating prospect, Jennifer? You can’t imagine Kevin killing Roy because you like Kevin. He reminds you of Roy, for heaven’s sake.
Jennifer rehearsed the facts quickly. If Kevin was Slater, then he would have to be calling himself, possible but unlikely. He would also have to have an alter ego of which he was clueless. She had interviewed enough witnesses over the years to recognize sincerity, and Kevin had it in spades. He would have had to plant the bombs long ago, possible, but in both cases he would have had to detonate them without his own knowing.
No. No, this was too much. She began to relax. The man she had comforted in the park yesterday was no killer. The boy, whose blood they’d found in the cellar, on the other hand, could be.
Point was, she had panicked at the thought that Kevin might be the killer, hadn’t she? She should have been ecstatic at the mere prospect of uncovering the killer’s true identity. Which said that she cared far too much for Kevin, an absurdity in itself given the fact that she hardly knew him!
On the other hand, she was bound to him in a way few people ever are. They shared the death of her brother in common—she as the victim’s survivor, he as the next victim.
Jennifer sighed and stood. She was too emotionally wrapped up in this whole thing. The bureau chief was right.
“Galager!”
The man paused at the door across the room. She motioned him back.
“What’s up?”
“We found Kevin.”
Galager pulled up. “Where?”
“Palos Verdes. He’s okay.”
“Should I get Milton?”
He was the last person she wanted to bring in. But she had her marching orders, didn’t she? At least she didn’t have to deal with him directly. She scribbled the information on a notepad, ripped the page off, and handed it to Galager.
“Fill him in. Tell him I’m tied up.”
It was the truth. She was tied up, in knots that refused to loosen.
They sat on the bed in a stalemate. Kevin was hiding something; that much Sam had known since she’d first talked to him. Friday night. Now his lying was more blatant, but try as she may, she could not coax the truth out of him. His story that he’d been wandering through his old neighborhood, thinking, for the past eight hours was simply unbelievable. True, given his circumstances, almost any behavior was possible. But she knew Kevin too well; she could read those clear blue eyes, and they were shifting. Something else was bothering him.
“Okay, Kevin, but I still don’t think you’re telling me everything. I have a plane to catch in a couple hours. With any luck, Slater will take the day to revel in his little victory yesterday. God knows we need the time.”
“When will you be back?”
“Tomorrow morning.” She stood, walked to the window, and pulled back the curtain. “We’re closing in, Kevin. We’re right on this guy’s tail; I can feel it in my bones.”
“I wish you weren’t going.”
Sam turned back. “Jennifer will be here. She’ll want to talk to you.”
He looked past her out the window. “Yeah.”
Dark circles hung under his eyes. He seemed distracted.
“I need a drink,” he said. “You want one?”
“I’m fine. You’re not going to run off again, are you?”
He grinned. “Come on. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are. Hurry back.”
He opened the door to leave.
The beige phone on the nightstand rang shrilly. She glanced at the clock beside it—3 P.M. They had overstayed their checkout.
“Go ahead,” she told Kevin. “It’s probably the front desk.”
Kevin left and she picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Samantha.”
Slater! She whirled to the door. So Kevin couldn’tbe Slater! He’d been in the room when the killer had called.
“Kevin!” He was gone.
“Not Kevin. It’s your other lover, dear.”
How had Slater gotten their number? The only person who knew where they were was Jennifer. Jennifer . . .
“They want my voice, Samantha. I want to give them my voice.
Have you turned the cell phone back on, or are you still playing your idiotic cat-and-mouse game?”
“It’s on.”
The line clicked. Slater’s cell began to ring. She grabbed it and answered.
“There, that’s better, don’t you think? The game won’t last forever; we might as well make this more interesting.”
It was the first time she’d actually heard his voice. Low and gravelly.
“What good is a game that you can’t lose?” she asked. “It proves nothing.”
“Oh, but I can lose, Sam. The fact that I haven’t proves that I’m smarter than you.” Short heavy breath. “I came within a single pane of glass of killing you once. This time I won’t fail.”
The boy. She turned and sat on the bed. “So that was you.”
“Do you know why I wanted to kill you?”
“No.” Keep him talking. “Tell me.”
“Because all nice people deserve to die. Especially the pretty ones with bright blue eyes. I despise beauty almost as much as I despise nice little boys. I’m not sure who I hate more, you or that imbecile you call your lover.”
“You make me sick!” Samantha said. “You prey on innocence because you’re too stupid to realize it’s far more fascinating than evil.”
Silence. Only heavy breathing. She’d struck a nerve.
“Kevin confessed, as you demanded,” she said. “He told the whole world about that night. But you can’t live by your own rules, can you?”
“Yes, of course. The boy. Was that me? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Kevin still hasn’t confessed his sin. He hasn’t even hinted at it. The secret’s much too dark, even for him, I think.”
“What? Whatsin?”
He chuckled.
“The sin, Samantha. Thesin. Riddle time. What wants to be filled but will always be empty?I’ll give you a clue: It’s not your head. It has a number: 36933. You have ninety minutes before the fireworks begin. And please remember, no cops.”
“Why are you so afraid of the cops?”
“It’s not who I’m afraid of; it’s who I want to play with.” The line clicked.
He was gone.
Sam stood still, mind reeling. He’d called on the hotel room phone. Could he have tracked them down so quickly? Or the phone— could he have a way of tracking it once she turned it on? Unlikely. She paced to the end of the bed and back. Think, Sam! Think! Where was Kevin? They had to— “Sam?” Kevin’s muffled voice sounded beyond the door. He knocked.
She ran for the door. Opened it.
“He called,” she said.
“Slater?” His face went white.
“Yes.”
Kevin stepped in, can of 7UP in his hand. “What did he say?”
“Another riddle. What wants to be filled but will always be empty?With some numbers. 36933.” The most obvious solution had already run through her mind. She ran to the coffee table and grabbed the telephone book.
“Call Jennifer.”