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"Kevlar worked pretty good." McGlade handed me the light and crouched behind me. "You go first."

I looked down at my gun hand and saw that I still held the .38. Then I moved, one foot in front of the other.

The water sound increased. I sensed the tube ending, opening up into a much bigger area. The sewer main. I listened, peering into the dark.

"You waiting for Christmas?" Harry nudged me. "Move it."

I flicked on the flashlight, looking for a foothold so I could climb out.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots went into the wall next to me, chips of concrete biting into my face and neck. I jumped, landing on a ledge several feet below, falling partially into the sewage water. My gun skittered off out of sight.

A bright flashlight beam trained on the tube where I'd been seconds ago. It made its way down the wall and hit me in the face. I squinted at the figure behind the light.

The Gingerbread Man grinned, his gun pointing at my head.

"Hello and good-bye, Jack. Looks like the best man won."

Then a shot rang out from the tube above us.

Harry.

The flashlight fell away from my face, and Charles Kork howled in pain. I felt around for my gun, instead finding the keys. I flicked on the key light and Harry dropped to the ledge next to me.

Charles moaned. I put the light on him. He was bleeding from the shoulder, clutching the wound with his good hand. His gun was gone.

I let out the breath I'd been holding.

The Gingerbread Man offered a lopsided grin. He looked small, petty, like the sewer rats that scampered behind him.

"Well, looks like you got me, Jack."

"Stand up, put your hands on your head."

"I can't get up."

I took a step closer. My reserves were almost gone, and my entire body ached and smelled like sewage. But I could honestly say I never felt better.

"Turn over on your stomach. Hands behind your back."

"How'd you find me?"

"You'll find out at the trial. Now turn over."

Charles Kork shook his head. "I'm not going back to prison."

And then he rolled off the ledge and into the river of muck.

The current began to take him away at a surprisingly brisk pace. He floated chest-deep in the sewage, his good arm flopping ahead of him in an effort to paddle.

"I'll see you again, Jack!" he called out to me. "Soon!"

Before I had a chance to consider my next move, there was a terrific boom! and Kork's head exploded in a plume of red.

I looked at McGlade. He holstered his .44 and shrugged.

"He was trying to escape. Were you gonna jump in that shit and go after him?"

The headless corpse of the Gingerbread Man floated off into the blackness on a river of filth. It bobbed in the gentle current once, twice, and then began to sink.

Following him were a swimming legion of rats.

Harry came over to me, eyes serious.

"Hey, Jackie -- you're not pissed, are you?"

I didn't say anything.

"I mean, he was a scumbag. Think of all the money I just saved the taxpayers. Do you know how expensive those high-profile trials are?"

I found Charles's gun. It was a .38. My .38. I took a plastic bag out of my jacket pocket and put the gun inside, lifting it by the barrel with two fingers.

"Jack, you're not really thinking of arresting me, are you?"

"He died in the shoot-out, Harry. That's what's going into my report."

"You had me worried. I thought you were still pissed about me stealing your bust."

"You saved my life, Harry."

"Yeah. I guess I did. So we're even now, right?"

I made a fist and clipped him across the jaw. It was hard enough to stagger him back.

I shook my hand, the knuckles aching wonderfully.

"Now we're even."

Harry wiped at his mouth and grinned.

"It took you fifteen years to finally do that. Feel better?"

I thought about it. "Yeah, I do."

"Then let's get the hell out of this sewer. It offends my delicate sensibilities."

First we spent a few minutes finding my dropped gun. When it was safe in its holster, we took the nearest ladder up to the surface.

A few moments after we emerged through the manhole, a swarm of cops came running toward us. Several cops went down into the sewer after the body. My radio was finally working again, and I contacted Herb.

"The woman is okay," he reported. "Did you get him?"

The words felt so good coming out of my mouth. "We got him."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm perfect," I said, taking a big gulp of cold city air. "Perfect."

"Can I talk to him?" Harry reached for my headset. I let him have it, walking away from the commotion, away from the flashing blue and red lights, into the urban night.

The sky was a huge, black blanket, spreading out in all directions. I looked up, trying to see the stars through the smog. I couldn't make them out.

But I knew they were there.

Chapter 45

I KNOCKED THE EIGHT BALL INTO the corner pocket and Phin grunted.

"That's two more bucks." I let a smile creep onto my face. "What is that, five games?"

"How am I supposed to eat this week?"

"Don't play if you can't pay."

He frowned and rooted around in his front pocket, extracting a bill.

"Can you break a fifty?"

To his chagrin, I could. Then I sent him off to buy me another beer.

It had been three days since the death of the Gingerbread Man, Charles Kork. The papers were still running headlines. Most of them centered on Harry McGlade. He'd become a media darling, though I don't think "darling" is the right word.

How Harry found out about Charles was simple enough. He had a copy of the show at his apartment. After he left the station, he watched the tape and drew the obvious conclusion. Then he called up his buddy Max Trainter, and soon had Kork's name and address.

McGlade had attempted to beat us to the scene and take all the glory for himself. Which, essentially, is what he did.

"That guy was the top layer on the shit cake," McGlade told five networks, plus CNN.

Diane Kork had lost a lot of blood and needed a few dozen stitches, but she was expected to make a full recovery. Physically at least. Mentally she was a mess.

I'd gotten to see her twice since that day, trying to fill in the remaining pieces of the puzzle.

She'd filed for divorce from Charles in May, right after The Max Trainter Show. He'd been neglectful and verbally abusive, but never physically. This may have sounded odd, but Dr. Francis Mulrooney told me later that many married serial killers aren't aggressive within the family unit. They saved it up for their excursions.

Diane had never known about his two stretches in prison, never met his family, and certainly had no idea that every time he sneaked out at night, he was stalking and killing people.

Charles's mother, Lisa Kork, died of cancer shortly after Charles was born. Attempts were made to locate his father, Buddy Kork, but to no avail.

A delve into Buddy Kork's past revealed he'd been arrested twice for child abuse, and acquitted both times. Apparently, his position as a reverend at a local church was enough to justify the beatings he gave his children.

He was fired from the church ten years ago, but a phone call confirmed that Dr. Reginald Booster was a regular parishioner -- the same Booster whom Charles had killed for the Seconal prescription. Booster had known Charles was Buddy's son. Hence the note he left on the pad at the murder scene.

Just to tie up loose ends, Dr. Mulrooney matched the Gingerbread Man's letters to samples found in Charles's home, and to the release form Charles had filled out to appear on The Max Trainter Show.

The search of Kork's rented house unveiled a cache of six hundred pictures and twelve home videotapes. They showed, in detail, Charles torturing and killing animals, children, and women. A task force was assigned to begin matching the victims with missing persons. I was offered the job to head the task force, but after watching one of the videos, I knew I wouldn't be able to sit through the rest of them. I declined.