“ Where will you find ghosts? Forget the cemetery. There are nothing but corpses there and believe me-those are very different from ghosts. By far the most common place to find spirits is in funeral parlors or battlefields. But it isn’t the dead that cause them to reside there, rather the living. Most ghosts are nothing but imprints, a memory left behind that occasionally plays itself back. But those imprints are caused by the most powerful energy force in the universe-emotion. Enough of it in a concentrated place and there is no telling what might happen. ”
— Terry Jacobsen, “The Truth About Hauntings”
This is what it feels like to die.
His lungs were screaming for air, his legs begging him to stop running. Behind him there was a steady drumbeat of a horse rapidly gaining on him, one that was desperate for neither oxygen nor rest. In the still cold air, he could hear a ringing, the sound of a sword torn from its scabbard and held aloft. In a moment, it would begin its arc downward with a near-silent swish and its steel would rend his flesh. There is no escape, nor hope of it. He was finished.
Quinn couldn’t stop his mind from racing even as he continued to run, despair filling him. He fought the urge to give up and kept running.
Just as the horse seemed to be on top of him, he darted suddenly to the right, jumping off the road and stumbling down the soft red clay that covered the hillside. Behind him, he heard the rider stop the horse briefly and turn.
Quinn kept himself moving as he came to the bottom of the hill. He dove into the forest, desperate to put distance between him and his pursuer. The trees were a thick knot of pines and as he ran he could feel their dead branches slicing into him.
He was cut, bruised and shaken, but he kept running. There was no time to stop, barely time to breath and he prayed he could find the right direction. He couldn’t think with the sound of his heart pounding.
The moon’s light was obscured through the dense forest, but Quinn pushed on toward what he thought must be north. North was the bridge and his only hope for safety.
Behind him, he heard the crash of the horse coming through the trees. Quinn didn’t know how that was possible. He only moved forward, hearing the ever louder sounds of something large hacking its way through.
He chanced a brief glance back. He could make out a shape moving preternaturally fast toward him.
There had to be a way out. Quinn jerked himself to the left, crouching low to the ground to avoid branches. He tripped and his hand fell onto a large branch as he tried to stop himself from falling. He stifled a scream and kept running.
The bridge. He had to reach the bridge. He plowed on before reaching a small clearing in the woods. He looked behind him, but he didn’t see anything. Worse, he heard nothing. The night was silent.
Where the hell was it? He tried to be quiet and just listen. But he could only hear the sound of his own breathing. There was nothing alive out here, only an endless parade of dead trees.
“Hey Quinn,” a voice said.
Quinn screamed.
He had no idea where the voice was coming from. He looked around the clearing and saw nothing.
“Over here,” the voice said, and it sounded like it was behind him.
He whirled around but there was nothing. Just the dark forest all around him, fencing him in. All of this felt familiar, very familiar, but something was wrong. He was supposed to start running toward the bridge.
He turned to leave.
“Please wait a minute, Quinn,” the voice said, coming from behind him again.
He turned and this time there was someone. A man stood at the edge of the clearing. He was dressed in a black suit, as if he had been to a formal dinner. But Quinn could not take his eyes off the man’s face. He had piercing blue eyes, which reminded him of someone. But the eyes demanded control. They demanded he pay attention.
The man came forward. Quinn tried to step back and found he couldn’t move. This isn’t right. I’m supposed to run for the bridge. The horseman is supposed to chase me. There is no man here.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” the man said.
There was nothing wrong with the man’s appearance. He shouldn’t have been intimidating in the least. He appeared to be Quinn’s height and approximate build. He looked older and his face bore a small scar. But Quinn was afraid. He was almost as anxious to run away from the man as he had been from the horseman.
“What do you want?” Quinn asked. He couldn’t run, move, or even look away. He felt trapped.
“What do I ever want?” the man asked. “To make a deal.”
“No,” Quinn said. It was automatic, reflexive. There were no good deals with this man. He knew it in his soul.
“Come now, Quinn,” the man said, and his voice was gently chiding. “You didn’t hear me out.”
“I don’t need to,” Quinn said. “This is just a dream.”
“No, it’s a nightmare, but I grant you your point,” the man said and he continued staring at Quinn. His eyes bore right through him. “I’m not here to help with that.”
“Then what’s your deal?”
“Well, you will have to learn to deal with your cennad on your own,” the man said, and Quinn had no clue what he was talking about. “I can’t help you there, even if I wanted to. We all have to face our fears by ourselves.”
“What do you mean? Who are you?”
The man waved his hand as if it was unimportant.
“Not the point and it doesn’t matter, at least not yet,” the man said. “I’ve come to offer help.”
“Somehow I know I don’t want help from you,” Quinn said.
“Only because you aren’t thinking clearly,” the man said. “Let me tell you how it’s going to go. If you leave now, you will wake up as you always do and remember nothing but the usual nightmare. And when Lord Halloween comes after you and Katrina, he will kill you.”
“Are you Lord Halloween?” Quinn asked.
The man laughed at that, a full-throated belly laugh.
“No,” he said. “I’m something much worse.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been in your shoes before,” he said. “And I’d like to move this little game forward. As it is, I’m a little worried my two favorite players are going to be taken off the field before we can really get moving. Lord Halloween knows all about dear Trina, Quinn, and he knows you love her.”
“Wait a second, I mean…” Quinn started. “I just met her.”
The man shrugged.
“I know what I know,” the man said. “And what if I told you she feels the same way? What if I told you she is right now having a dream about you-and it’s not this kind of dream. She’ll wake up blushing, I promise you that.”
“How do you know this?”
“I know a lot of things, Quinn,” the man said, and he began walking around him slowly in a circle. Quinn had no choice but to follow, slowly turning around him.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You won’t remember much, but keep this in mind. Don’t leave Trina alone, even while she sleeps. She doesn’t think she trusts you, she will try to keep you away, but she is in grave danger. She isn’t the only one, though. Lord Halloween will come for you first.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s his way. He has already been tracking you two and you have no clue who he is.”
“Tell me, if you know,” Quinn said.
“Oh, I know,” the man said. “But as with our nightmares, there are some things you have to face yourself. I can’t give the whole game away. I will give you a hint, if you accept my deal.”
Quinn hesitated.
“What’s the deal?” he asked.
Suddenly Quinn found he was free to move again.
“That’s better,” the man said. “A little bit more civilized, I think. Now you are ready to hear. Your only chance to beat Lord Halloween is by embracing what you are. You don’t understand what I’m saying and that’s okay. When the time comes, you will know. You are far more dangerous than your opponent. He is, at his core, just a man.”
The man walked behind him now. Quinn looked up at the moon above and noticed its light wasn’t white anymore. It had turned slightly red. A dark maroon moon hung over the sky.
“It’s never been like this before,” Quinn said.
“No,” the man said. “And this is just the beginning. Lord Halloween is a man, but you are something else. Are you scared now?”
And Quinn knew he should be. He could still hear a horse out in the woods somewhere, waiting for him. But suddenly the horse didn’t seem to be his enemy. It was calling to him. He could imagine being on the horse, riding through the black darkness, a blood moon guiding his way.
“That’s it,” the man said. “You can be so much more, Quinn. You can be the thing others are afraid of. You can be the nightmare that lurks in the shadows.”
And Quinn felt power surge through him. Suddenly, he could sense everything around him. He could count the pine needles on the ground, hear the wind whistling through the branches, the worms in the earth. This was his time. The horse was coming for him, but not to harm him. To pick him up. To set him free. This was what he was born for.
“What do I have to do?” Quinn asked.
“It is your only chance to save Katrina, Quinn,” the man said. “Embrace what you are, or I promise he will gut, torture and kill you both.”
“What do I have to do?” Quinn repeated.
“Follow your instincts,” the man said. “If you get another chance to kiss Katrina, take it. Don’t hesitate. Face your fears. If you succeed, you will be offered a gift. Take it. It’s not free, you will find that out in time, but it is yours to take. Use it.”
“How?”
“You’ll know when the time comes,” the man said.
“What’s in it for you?” Quinn asked.
The man smiled. It was a cruel smile, the smile of someone who has lived for centuries and watched countless innocents fall into darkness.
“Everything,” he said, and that was the only explanation Quinn was going to get.
He shivered.
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. The urge to say yes had been overpowering, but he faltered. Whatever he was being offered wasn’t free-the man had said so himself-and Quinn wondered if the price was too high. What he had experienced didn’t feel like something good. It felt like a weapon, one that would corrupt him.
The man took a step forward.
“You don’t have to make a decision yet, Quinn,” he said. “All I wanted was for you to consider the deal. And understand this: there is no other way to save her than to take what will be offered to you. If you don’t want her to die like her mother, this is the only way.”
Quinn knew he was being manipulated. How many sources did he work with that tried to push you in a certain direction? This pitch was as subtle as a brick to the head.
“What’s your hint? How do I find him first?” Quinn asked.
The man looked at Quinn a long time and he looked satisfied.
“Not every victim of Lord Halloween is among the dead, Quinn,” he said finally. “Your girlfriend is one, but there are others. Look for the one that he trusted.”
The man turned to walk away.
“Wait,” Quinn said. “That’s not enough.”
Without turning back, the man headed into the forest. Before he disappeared, he said one more thing. “Look for the one like you.”
Then he was gone, leaving Quinn standing in the forest. He looked at the moon. Had he thought it was red? It was now just a pale orb hanging in the sky. Quinn shook his head. Had he been talking to someone? Where was he?
He heard a sound in the darkness, a horse neighing. Then he remembered. The horseman. He had to run, he had to get out of here. But he paused on his way out of the clearing.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something different had happened, something new.
It didn’t matter. The road was ahead. He had to make his way back. He had to reach the bridge, or die trying.
He moved closer to a patch of moonlight and saw that it looked like a way out of the forest-a break in the trees and then a hill beyond. He moved silently towards the clearing. He paused and looked around him. Nothing stirred.
When he moved into the light, he could see the road lay in front of him. Emerging carefully, he glanced in both directions looking for any sign of the horse. But there was nothing, except long shadows cast by the moonlight.
He could stay here, but it was possible the Horseman had gone back. Maybe now was his only chance. He knew the bridge was to his right. It couldn’t be that far. With an effort, staying close to the forest on the far side of the road, Quinn started jogging as quietly as he could.
With every step, he started to feel better. The overwhelming presence of his pursuer was gone-that feeling like somehow he was just behind him out of sight. Maybe he would be free this time. Maybe he could reach the bridge.
He saw it now, far down the road. It was approximately a half-mile away-a few minutes, he thought. That’s all I need, Quinn thought, a few minutes.
He gathered up his remaining energy and started to run. It was a dead run, with all the energy he could manage. With every step, the bridge was closer.
That’s when it happened. The pounding of hoof beats exploded out of the forest behind him. Quinn didn’t dare look, he just kept running. Somewhere behind him he could hear the horse kicking up the clay as he pounded his way toward the bridge. A dark hollow laugh echoed high above the trees and Quinn’s blood ran cold.
One minute, he thought-I’m so close this time.
But he knew he wasn’t going to get it. The horse’s gallop sounded ever closer, a noise that was pounding into his brain with every step. The laugh rang out again as Quinn stumbled.
The horse was on top of him. Quinn could hear the blade come out of the Horseman’s sheath. Could hear it positively ringing in the cold fall air as it began its stroke. And Quinn knew where it would be aimed. He could almost feel the blade as it approached his neck.
He could see the bridge, only yards away. But he wouldn’t make it.
Quinn knew he was a dead man.
He knew what it felt like to die.
When he woke up, he was screaming.
Friday, Oct. 13
Quinn came in early in the morning and was again one of the first in the office. He felt tired and worn down but forced himself to start working. It was the only way to get his mind off the nightmares. He checked off several ideas on his agenda. He had to keep following up the Kilgore murder, had to write up that piece on Terry and…
Talk to Buzz, he remembered. See if Buzz could think of anything that happened in the Chronicle building.
After a moment, he found a note stuck to his desk keyboard.
“Don’t forget about the dog story,” it read.
Quinn crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. He didn’t even look at the signature-a loopy giant H. The dog story? He had written the lead of the paper this week and Helen was still forcing a story about dog shit. It was enough to drive you nuts.
He was also surprised to find his voicemail light blinking. Surely Helen hadn’t decided to leave a voice message as well?
But it wasn’t Helen. Instead it was a message from an old source of his asking for a meeting.
Quinn wondered what it meant. Why was Dee calling him now?
He would have to wait until school was out to go meet him, so he spent the remainder of the day working on his Terry story and making calls to find an update on the Kilgore case.
He barely saw Kate, who came in before lunch, but then was off again. Janus told him it was for some profile that Laurence wanted.
At about 2:00 p.m., Quinn left to head over to Loudoun County High School.
Janus grabbed him on the way out.
“You need me to come?” he asked.
“Nah,” Quinn said. “A source asked for a meeting. Don’t know what it’s about. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Quinn shook his head as he walked down the stairs and out the back door of the building, glancing into the printing press room as he passed by.
He arrived at Loudoun County High School near the edge of town five minutes later. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to go there, but couldn’t. The building was smallish and dull-gray, with a football field and bleachers not far behind it. It had little to distinguish it from countless other schools.
Quinn walked around the edge of the parking lot and entered a back door. Technically he wasn’t supposed to go into the high school, not after the story he had written last summer about its growing marijuana problem. But he also had recently written a glowing profile of the policeman on duty at the school and figured that would ease any complications that might arise if he were caught. It was also after school hours and he thought it unlikely anyone would spot him.
Dee was in the appointed place.
“What’s up?” Dee said, leaning against a locker near a science lab.
“You called and I came,” Quinn said. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been all right,” Dee said. “But I’ve got something to tell you. It’s important.”
Quinn nearly laughed. Dee somehow always had a serious look on his face, like any minute the sky was going to collapse on top of him. Quinn liked him, but it was damn hard to take the kid with anything but a grain of salt.
“Sure, what is it?” Quinn responded.
“Not here, man,” he said and gestured inside an empty classroom.
Quinn sighed. This was probably a waste of time. When they got into the room, Dee shut the door.
“I can’t be seen talking to you,” he said.
“The marijuana article was over a year ago, Dee,” Quinn replied, smiling. “I’m sure they've forgotten about it.”
“No, it isn’t that,” Dee said. “They haven’t forgotten about it either, but that ain’t the point.”
“Then what is?” Quinn asked.
“I know something about that murder,” Dee said, still looking nervously at the door.
“Mary Kilgore?” Quinn said, suddenly taking the entire conversation a lot more seriously.
“Yeah, the chick from Middleburg,” Dee said.
“What do you know, Dee?”
“Like who killed her, man,” he said.
“Everybody knows that,” Quinn said. “The police arrested her husband.”
“It wasn’t him, man,” Dee said. “No way it was him.”
“Look, Dee, just calm down and level with me. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I saw him,” Dee said. “Two weeks ago. Jacob and I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“The guy who killed that woman,” Dee said. “He was dressed up, but I’m sure it is the same guy. I’m sure of it.”
“How do you know he did it?”
“Shit,” Dee said. “I’ve seen some weird things in my time. But I saw this dude try to take Jacob’s head off.”
Quinn was lost.
“Just tell me what you saw,” Quinn said. He wasn’t sure if Dee knew anything at all, but the kid was obviously nervous. He sure thought he had something.
“Jacob and I were out near Purcellville the other week,” Dee said.
“When?” Quinn asked him.
“A week ago Saturday, I think,” he said.
“You were scoring some dope?” Quinn asked.
“Shut up!” Dee said fiercely, looking at the door. “These walls aren't exactly soundproof.”
“Sorry,” Quinn said.
“Yeah,” Dee muttered. “We were out there, doing business, when we heard something coming. We couldn’t tell what it was at first.”
“Where were you?”
“Out along Gallows Road near…” Dee said, looking irritated by the interruption.
“A good place to stay out of the way,” Quinn said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dee replied. “We thought maybe it was a cop, or something. We didn't know what to think. Then I figured it out-it was a guy on a horse. You could hear the sound all around you, man. It sounded like it was hell bent for leather.”
“A horse?” Quinn asked and felt his throat constrict. Almost immediately, his palms started to sweat. Dee didn’t notice.
“It was a horse all right,” Dee said. “You could see him coming down the road, riding like the wind.”
“Could you see who it was?” Quinn asked.
“Are you kidding, man?” Dee asked. “It was the dead of night-and you see some crazy fucker riding straight at you. How likely is it you’re going to get an ID?”
“What was he dressed like?”
“Dressed like?” Dee asked, his face knotted up in frustration. “You aren’t getting it.”
“Getting what?”
“Let me finish my goddamn story and you will,” he replied. “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen, man. The rider had this huge cape and the horse looked… demonic, you know? I could see his red eyes staring right at me. I thought for sure I was going to lose my head.”
“You panicked?” Quinn asked, growing more uncomfortable by the second.
“No, I mean it literally,” Dee replied, looking straight at Quinn. “This dude had no head. He was dressed like the Headless Horseman. You know, the one in that movie?”
Quinn felt like he had been punched in the gut. His throat closed in and he had trouble pulling in oxygen. He nodded only briefly as Dee continued.
“He just ran right past me, but I thought I was a goner,” Dee said. “I was seriously toast.”
“Jacob?” Quinn croaked.
“Jacob was fine,” Dee replied. “But I think the guy may have tried to take a swipe at him. He was so close, it looked like he ran through him. Jacob shit himself, I know that. But he didn’t lose his head.”
Dee stopped and looked at Quinn strangely.
“You feel okay, man?” he asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I’m fine,” Quinn managed, still feeling like his head was spinning. “What did you guys do?”
“Do?” Dee asked. “Jesus, man, what do you think we did? We ran like hell after he left.”
“So you didn’t see where he went?”
“We didn’t exactly stick around to find out what the hell was going on.”
“Then what makes you think this horseman killed anyone?”
“What makes me think it?” Dee asked. “Christ, man, I thought you were smart. You asked all those questions when you wanted to do your dope story, made the school look bad. You seemed pretty crafty. Where is your head now? Stuck under a rock? When a dude dresses up like the fucking Headless Horseman and then somebody dies with their head no longer attached to their body, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, you know?”
Quinn still felt short of breath.
“But maybe it was the husband…”
“Maybe, if he liked to get all dressed up,” Dee shot back. “You telling me there is some killer out there as well as some motherfucker dressing up like a ghost? Because I’m not sure what bothers me more. The idea that some son-of-a-bitch is out there taking people’s heads off, or the fact that he is just one of two psychos in the area. It’s the same guy, man. It has to be.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the police?” Quinn asked.
“Oh, well, I’ll just go fucking do that, won’t I? ’Hey, Sheriff Brown, you know when I was buying drugs from your son, he and I just happened to see some whacked out motherfucker dressed up like a guy from that Johnny Depp movie?’ I’m sure they would give me a fucking medal for that, don’t you think?”
“I see your point,” Quinn replied, reaching in his head for something intelligent to say. But all the knowledge had been sucked out somehow. One line kept repeating itself: The dream is real. The dream is real. You thought you heard him the other morning. You were right. He’s real. The Headless Horseman is real.
“Jacob hasn’t talked about it, man,” Dee said. “I wasn’t going to mention it again, but after the murder… I tried to get him to speak up, maybe say something to his Dad. But he…”
“Jacob’s a shit,” Quinn said. “He doesn’t give a damn about anybody but himself.”
“Amen,” Dee said.
“I should have printed his name when I had the chance,” Quinn said to himself.
“You did that, you wouldn’t be in this county anymore. They would have run you out. You were cool, man. You had to play it cool. You know I appreciate that. My guys did too. If our names had been in the paper… Anyway, you have to pull your head out of your ass on this one. Because there is some serious freaky shit going down.”
“More than you know, Dee. More than you know.”
“Seriously, you look like you need a doctor,” Dee said.
“It’s nothing.”
“Look, I don’t want Jacob to know nothing about this,” Dee said. “But I felt like I had to tell somebody.”
“Thank you, Dee,” Quinn replied. “I really appreciate it. I do.”
“Do you?” Dee asked. “You look more sick than excited.”
“Let’s just say you caught me off guard,” Quinn replied.
“But you believe me, right?” Dee asked.
“I believe you, Dee. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
“Good,” he said. “Look, I’ve got to split. I’m done with this, okay? I told you, my conscience is clear. So don’t have no cops show up and ask me about it, okay?”
“It’s off the record, don’t worry,” Quinn said.
“Alright man,” Dee said and shook his hand. Two seconds later, he was out the door.
Quinn sat down in one of the chairs. He needed to think. Someone had actually seen the Horseman. He couldn’t believe it. Although Dee was a pot smoker, he wasn’t a liar and wasn’t inclined toward making stuff up. During the whole weed story, he had been one of the few reliable sources of information.
Quinn put his head in his hands and stared at the desk. So it was real. The dreams had been forecasting something, just as he feared. A voice from the darker part of his mind piped in: What did you think was going to happen? Did you honestly believe it was going to go away? That it was all in your head?
He hadn’t, Quinn realized. He had felt this sense of dread all month and it had been increasing every day. When he heard about the murder, it only confirmed what he had seen coming all along. Hadn’t he slipped up and said something about the Horseman to Gary when he called? But he hadn’t connected the Horseman with the killing. Maybe it was that serial killer or maybe someone who knew the woman. But he hadn’t thought of it. It was just a dream. But what if it wasn’t? Quinn kept wondering what he was going to do.
The Headless Horseman was riding in Loudoun. His nightmare was real.
Kate came back to her desk, sat down and sighed. She loved being a reporter, but she wondered how she was going to turn that particular business story into a good profile. It bored her, it bored Josh in photography. She had to face it-it was just boring.
She looked around the room for Quinn to commiserate with, but only Alexis and Helen appeared to be there.
With a start, she realized that her voice message light on the phone was blinking. She had not noticed.
She picked up the phone and dialed in. The voice on the other end surprised her.
“Trina, this is Sue Redacker,” the woman said and Kate bristled at the sound of her old nickname. “Johnny needs to talk to you. He said as urgently as possible. But he was a little worried to leave a message himself.”
Mrs. Redacker named a time and place and Kate started to worry.
Since she had pressed Johnny Redacker for information, she had begun to wonder more about him. At first she had trusted his intel about the Kilgore murder, but the more she thought about it, it felt wrong. He had so many details about the case-almost as if he had been waiting for someone to ask.
One hour later, she pulled up in Quarry Park near Ashburn Village. Clearly he had picked the spot because it was remote-very few people came here because it was off the beaten track.
Johnny was waiting in his car when she pulled up.
He got out and they shook hands formally. This was the first time they had actually seen each other in years and he seemed to be appraising her.
“Your father told me you had turned into a beautiful woman, but I thought he was just giving the usual Dad-is-so-proud speech,” Redacker said after a minute.
“Dad has been known to exaggerate,” Kate said.
“Well, not about that,” Redacker replied.
“Thank you. So, what’s up? I assume this is not a social call.”
Redacker shook his head.
“Look, you have to understand that I thought I was telling you the truth,” he said.
“About Mary Kilgore?”
“Yeah,” Redacker said. “I would never have deliberately lied to you, but…”
His voice trailed off. Kate looked over the park area, which felt bare. It was just a field and a few benches.
“But what?” she said.
“Look, they were quite clear,” he said. “Brown called the guys in and told us what had happened-about Don Kilgore and the marriage troubles. How the arrest was going to take place. He said there would be rumors floating around, that maybe it was something else…”
“Someone like Lord Halloween,” Kate said.
“He didn’t say that exactly, but that was the gist,” Redacker said and glanced around nervously. “He said we should tell anyone-anyone-who asked all about Don Kilgore. He said he didn’t care if that got out, but he didn't want any false rumors going around.”
“And you weren’t suspicious?”
“Of course I was,” Redacker said. “I’m no rookie. It’s just-he was so adamant. Said he wanted to keep everyone in the loop. I knew something was wrong with it, but I never thought…”
“You never thought he would lie?” Kate asked. “Come on…”
“I know, I know,” Redacker said and sat down at one of the benches. “I know it seems stupid. But it isn’t like it used to be in the old days. And when you called…”
“You didn’t know if you could trust me?” Kate asked.
“Maybe that was it,” he said and shook his head. “It just caught me off guard. And I didn’t know what to say. All I had was a vague feeling of unease. I didn’t know anything specific.”
“And now you do?”
“There is no case against Donald Kilgore,” he said. “Brown must have known it. The marriage problems were real enough, but the guy was half-way across town with another woman at the time of his wife’s death.”
“And you know that?”
“Not officially,” he said. “But there is no way the case against Kilgore will stand up in court. Some of the stuff we gave your reporter, it wasn’t… It wasn’t for real. I’m pretty sure Stu made some of it up.”
“Jesus,” she said. “That could get him fired. False arrest, falsifying documents…”
Redacker waved his hands in the air.
“Do you think that matters?” he said. “You’ll never nail him down. Who gave the reporter the documents? Would he turn his source in? Stu isn’t a brilliant guy, but he is far from stupid. If you try and come after him, you won’t get far.”
“Why the deception?”
“I think you know.”
“I need you to tell me,” Kate said. “This isn’t something to just assume.”
“We don’t know anything for certain,” he said.
“Just tell me what you do know,” she said.
“Mary Kilgore? Let’s just say she didn’t seem like she was murdered in the heat of passion.”
“Give me details,” she said.
“Look, I don’t think…”
“Details,” Kate said.
Redacker put his hands up.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said.
“Consider me warned.”
“She was killed slowly,” he said and looked away from her. “Whoever did it had at least basic medical training and knew how to cut someone without killing them. The doctor couldn’t be positive, but all indications are that he started cutting while she was still alive and conscious.”
“Jesus,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry that I know the truth?” she asked. “I asked you. Goddammit, I asked you if it was him. And you lied straight to me.”
“Kate, it wasn’t that simple,” Redacker said.
“It seems that simple to me,” Kate said.
“We still aren’t sure it is Lord Hal…”
“Bullshit!” she said and stood up. “How can you sit there like that? One person is dead. I don’t know where he has been or what he has been doing, but he is back. I knew it.”
“You can’t know that,” he said. “Your dad and I think it was really Holober. This could be a copycat.”
“It’s not,” she said.
“You don’t know,” Redacker replied.
“I feel it, Mr. Redacker,” she said. “Call it an intuition or superstition, but I feel it. And you do too. You don’t believe this for a second. I know you don’t. I doubt my Dad does, either. But you are so anxious to fool each other and yourselves…”
“Maybe that’s why I told you what Brown asked us to,” he said. “I just…”
“You don’t want it to be true,” she said and looked across the field. A cold wind blew across it-she crossed her arms and shivered. Winter was coming, you could feel it in the air. “Did you find a note?”
“Brown and Stu said Donald Kilgore was just trying to throw us off the track,” he said. “He was trying to make it look like Lord Halloween.”
“Do you think that’s true?” she asked.
He paused. “No,” he said.
“What did it say?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know,” Redacker said.
Kate turned and stared at him.
“Mr. Redacker, I need to know I can trust you,” she said. “I don’t have many allies here. And I can’t trust you if you keep lying about this. I know you are trying to protect me, but you can’t. I’m older. I chose to come back here, remember?”
“Why? Your dad would freak…”
“You can tell him what you want, but you’re right, he would freak,” she said. “But I’m not leaving. Things are just getting started.”
“But that’s crazy. You don’t need to be here. If the guy is out there, we will catch him,” Redacker said.
“You didn’t before,” she replied.
“You know we tried,” he said.
“But it didn’t really cut it, did it?” Kate said. She felt her fingers twitch and gritted her teeth. “I need to know I can trust you. Can I?”
“Yes,” he said, but he put his head down.
She wondered when the change had happened. Kate had always looked up to her father and her father’s friends. They had seemed so strong and commanding when she was young. Now Redacker appeared old and frail.
“Then tell me what the note said,” she said.
He lifted his head.
“It didn’t say much,” he said.
She waited for him to continue.
“It was a small post-it note on her chest,” Redacker said. “It said, ‘Did you think I would stay away forever? I will be making up for lost time. LH.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said.
“Not very frightening,” she said.
“He had it attached to her with a carving knife,” Redacker said.
“Any prints?”
“What do you think?”
“He never left any before,” she said. “He seemed familiar with police procedure.”
“Exactly,” Redacker said.
“And you really believed it was Donald Kilgore? That he stuck a knife through his wife’s chest?”
Redacker looked down.
“Is that it?” she asked. “Is that all?”
“That’s all I know now,” he said. “I…”
The radio in his car squawked for a moment.
“Hang on,” he said and walked back to his vehicle.
“Yeah, I’m out in Ashburn now,” she heard him say. “Yeah, I can head over there. No problem. Five minutes.”
He walked back to her.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’m sorry about before. And maybe we’re wrong…”
“Just be honest with me,” she said. “If not for my sake, then for my mother’s.”
Slowly he nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I promise I’ll do the best I can.”
“What’s your call?” she asked.
“Not sure,” he said. “Some lady wants us to check out her friend’s house. She said her friend was visited by the police last night and she hasn’t been able to talk to her since.”
“Was she visited by police?”
Redacker shrugged.
“I’ll check it out,” he said. “Usually it turns out to be nothing. I should get over there. Are we okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “Just remember your promise.”
“I will,” he said and walked back to his squad car.
She watched him go. She idly brushed her hair out of her face. She would have to go back to work soon. But she saw her hands were shaking.
Now she knew. Suspecting was one thing, but now that she knew, it felt all the more real. But what had she expected?
It was irrational, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before Lord Halloween figured out who she was. He had a county filled with people to target, but Kate would be on the list, she was sure of it. So she wasn’t going to wait around for that to happen. She had to find him before he could find her.