A Soul To Steal (29 page)

“He wrote about ten letters, it looks like,” she said. “Though not all of them appear to be here. We are at least missing letters four and six.”

“What do they say?”

“You should read them, but they are quite the ego trip. It turns out Lord Halloween was apparently an anti-development pioneer—way ahead of his time. It’s all about stopping change, and yadda, yadda, yadda.”

 “Maybe he’s part of the anti-development team now?” Quinn asked. “One of the people trying to preserve Phillips Farm, for example.”

“I don’t think so,” Kate said.

“Why not?”

“I think it’s all a show,” she said. “I think he was trying to give a motivation to Anderson that would be somewhat sympathetic—however crazy—to people who read his stories. He’s like an eco-terrorist on steroids. But I don’t think he meant a word of it.”

“He might have meant some of it,” Quinn said.

“Everything about these letters is over the top,” Kate said. “Just like the man himself, I assume. I think ‘Lord Halloween’ itself is a put-on, a sham, something designed to scare the kiddies. The man behind it probably thinks it’s all in fun.”

“Then what’s the point of the letters?”

“To establish a mythos,” she said. “To create buzz around him. He’s not just a killer. He’s a serial killer bent on destruction and chaos. But my point is, he feels about as real as a comic-book villain. Yes, he kills people, but the whole, ‘she screamed delightfully’ while she died.”

“The editor in me noted that you can’t really scream delightfully,” Quinn said.

“Exactly,” Kate said. “It’s a put-on. He’s trying to make himself bigger than he is, some kind of arch-fiend. He’s not. He’s just a guy who gets off on killing people. That’s it.”

“But he also seems to want a certain kind of press,” Quinn said, flipping through the letters.

“Yeah, that’s the other point of the letters, I think,” Kate said. “It’s about control. He’s trying to get around the police muzzle about his existence and using a reporter to do it. When the reporter doesn’t do it…”

“He kills him,” Quinn said.

“Very likely,” Kate said. “Though that last letter has thrown me a bit. Maybe it was meant to throw other people, I’m not sure. But one letter seems to imply he killed Anderson’s girlfriend. That’s a place we ought to start looking. Who was she? Did she work for the
Chronicle
? It’s too bad you couldn’t steal more files.”

“I’ve had another disturbing thought,” Quinn said. “Why does Laurence have all those files anyway? If it were Buzz, I wouldn’t think twice…”

“I wonder if it’s him,” Kate said.

“Him?”

“Maybe Laurence is Lord Halloween,” she said. “This is his way of tracking his victims, enjoying the thrill.”

Quinn laughed out loud.

“You aren’t serious?” he said. “Have you met Laurence? There’s no way. He can’t even stand up to Rebecca.”

“So maybe he acts out in other ways, Quinn,” she said. “You don’t really know people: not ever. Maybe he’s just a nice guy on the surface and underneath…”

“No way,” Quinn said. “I just don’t see it.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said.

She looked at her watch. It was past three in the morning.

“I should get back to the hotel,” she said.

“You can stay here,” Quinn said.

They looked at each other. For a brief moment, Kate saw the Tarot card lying on Madame Zora’s table: a man and a woman with the Devil standing between them. But she was far too tired to be thinking that way.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Quinn rushed to clarify. It was good that Janus had already gone home. He would have mocked Quinn—in front of Kate, no doubt.

She was also too tired to argue. She nodded. He rushed off to get towels and generally get his room in order. Within fifteen minutes, they were both asleep.

LH File: Letter #8

Date Oct. 23, 1994

Investigation Status: Closed

Contents: Classified

Dear Tim,

I think it’s about time we used each other’s Christian names, don’t you? That last article—that was what I wanted all along. Was that so hard? The police are inept, no one can find me, and I’m killing with impunity. If that doesn’t frighten the huddled masses, I don’t know what will.

I confess I thought our partnership was a failure, but here we are, finally working together. I’m sure the police are thrilled. Maybe you don’t want to hand this letter over? Just a suggestion, but how long do you think it is before they begin to suspect you? Think about it: Maybe you’re just a reporter who wants attention. Maybe you’re writing these letters to yourself. You could even have multiple personalities and not know it. Sure, it’s crazy, but the police are desperate, Tim. How long before they go looking for a scapegoat? Hey, it can even be the same reporter that called them names. Think of how excited they would be.

Is your blood pumping yet, Tim? I could help them, you know. I know where you live, I know where you eat, I know everything about you. I’ve even been in your room while you slept. Bet you didn’t know that, did you? I came to kill you, but thought better of it. You’re good at what you do. I’m good at what I do. There should be room in the world for two people of talent, don’t you think?

But our time is fading. By Oct. 31, my time here will be up—at least for this year—and you… You could be in jail. Or dead. Or just mentally unhinged. Part of this is up to you. Your next article should hit the police even harder. They have suspects, I will tell you that. My favorite is Charles Holober, a paranoid schizophrenic that lives in Ashburn. The guy keeps dead fish in his drawer, Tim. He’s married, but there are all kinds of domestic trouble. He even cut her.

Or there is always Mike Taylor down in Sterling. He’s been arrested for armed burglary twice in the past 10 years, so he knows how to get into houses. He could be their man.

This county is filled with sickos and psychos, fools and fall guys. They’ll find someone that fits their bill. It won’t be me, but I can pretend, Tim. I know a lot about pretending.

And so do you, it seems. I’ve seen your brave face to the public. I also know how you begged your bosses to help you. But you are starting to feel it, aren’t you? The burn, the weariness, the feeling that it will all be for nothing. She’s dead and you can’t bring her back. This story is making your career, but the price you are paying is your soul. Do what I want and you are nothing but a hack. Refuse me and you are nothing but a corpse.

So let’s go out with a bang, shall we? Hit the police even harder, Tim. Pull no punches. Waste no ink. Let’s see what you really are.

Yours Sincerely,

Lord Halloween

Chapter 15

Thursday, Oct. 19

Quinn and Kate were careful not to walk into the office at the same time, lest they start any rumors. Quinn had rustled up some breakfast, drove them both to Starbucks, then let Kate arrive a good 15 minutes before he walked into the office.

Still, as soon as he walked through the door, he could see Janus smirking. He caught Quinn near the vending machine where, after finishing his overpriced espresso, he was heading for a Coke.

“So how did it go?” Janus asked. “You noticed I got out of there pretty quickly. I was hoping maybe a little adventure got the blood pumping and you two…”

“Please silence the porn movie in your head,” Quinn said. “We were exhausted. We went to sleep.”

“Yeah, but she stayed over right? You cuddled a little bit, right? Right?”

Janus stared at Quinn for a moment.

“You didn’t even cuddle, did you? Seriously, dude, everything was right. There was action, drama, a hint of romance—this always works.”

“In the movies, Janus,” Quinn said. “In the real world, these things tend to tire you out.”

But in the back of his mind, he wondered if that was true. They were both exhausted, but hadn’t he continued to feel that spark during their evening together? Should he have made a move? He remembered something then, a voice saying, “Don’t hesitate.” Who had told him that?

“Thanks so much for bringing this up,” Quinn said.

Janus clapped him on the shoulder.

“Next time, make a move,” Janus responded.

“Make a move on what?” Kate asked, walking up to them both.

Quinn had to give Janus credit. If he had intended to embarrass Quinn, he could have easily done so. Hell, he could have simply let an awkward silence reign. Instead he immediately said, “He should have grabbed more files when he had the chance.”

“Come on, he did great,” Kate said. “I thought we weren’t going to find anything.”

With that, the three of them returned to their desks and began to work. They had divided up their investigation into Lord Halloween. Kate was cross-referencing previous victims with their addresses and occupations in an attempt to figure out if any had been killed in the
Chronicle
building and if any were connected to Tim Anderson.

Quinn, meanwhile, was interrupted by Laurence to have a brief conversation in his office about the company’s sexual harassment policy. Glaring at Janus when he finally returned to his desk, Quinn started looking through old clips of Anderson’s and doing some Internet research to find out if the reporter was still alive. One thing was clear: Anderson was not on the official victim’s list. He wasn’t even officially labeled missing. So whatever had happened, no one had made it public.

Since neither was supposed to be doing their investigation during work hours, they both also had to keep handling their normal workload, with Quinn writing up his story on the ghost hunter while Kate finished off the piece on Madame Zora.

After a few hours, Quinn was growing increasingly frustrated. He had gone to the library and managed to find microfiche on the
Loudoun Chronicle
and read Anderson’s work. Quinn thought it was some of the best writing he had ever seen. Anderson should have easily made his way beyond the
Chronicle
to the
Post
or even
The New York Times
. But in a search of Lexus-Nexus later, Quinn found no by-line by that name or others like it. Assuming Anderson was alive, he hadn’t kept writing—at least not under his own name.

He was probably dead, Quinn thought. But something about that last letter from Lord Halloween made him wonder about that. The letter had said Anderson passed some kind of test. It had warned him to leave, but it hadn’t threatened to kill him. Additionally, Lord Halloween was anything but subtle. If he had killed Anderson, wouldn’t he have left a calling card? He did with everyone else.

But if Anderson had left, where had he gone? What was he doing? And if it wasn’t his blood in the basement of the building, whose was it?

An idea popped into Quinn’s head. He got up suddenly from his desk and wandered over to where Alexis was.

“Alexis, I was wondering if you could help me out?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, turning in her chair to face him. “What’s up?”

“That story you did a couple months ago on how teachers are cracking down on kids who use the Internet to copy term papers,” Quinn said. “You mentioned someone was selling software to help catch them. How did it work?”

Alexis was clearly excited. She often felt like she was considered the unimportant part of the paper, but clearly Quinn was reading her work. It mattered to him.

“It’s sold over the Internet,” she said. “It’s just software that detects patterns in a document and looks for it elsewhere. So if a kid copied a term paper from the Internet, it would catch that immediately.”

“But could it also find phrases? Something that literally wasn’t the same exact document?”

“Yes,” she said. “At least, I think that’s the idea.”

“Great,” Quinn said. “Where can I buy it?”

*****

Kate and Quinn met again for dinner that evening and he had trouble taking his eyes off Kate. When he showed up at the hotel, he hadn’t been expecting her to dress up. But she came downstairs looking amazing. He had suddenly felt embarrassed about his own appearance.

He chose the King’s Court Tavern right near the center of town and Quinn was surprised when Kate asked for a romantically lit table in the far corner. Then he figured it out: it was much better to discuss their investigation without being overheard. When the waiter had finished taking their drink orders, Quinn started.

“So I did some digging,” he said. “Thomas Fillmore.”

Kate gave him a blank look.

“Should the name mean anything to me?”

Quinn looked around to ensure no one else could hear.