“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 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 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.”