“As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to the false reality we all create for ourselves. Mine was extreme, but it didn’t take me long to see that most people live in their own worlds of delusion. Not so different from Balinda’s, really.”
“Observant.” She smiled. “Sometimes I wonder what my delusions are. Is your faith personal?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. The church is a system, a vehicle for me. I wouldn’t say that I know God personally, no. But my faith in a God is real enough. Without an absolute, moral God, there can be no true morality. It’s the most obvious argument for the existence of God.”
“I grew up Catholic,” she said. “Went through all the forms, never did quite understand it all.”
“Well, don’t tell Father Bill Strong, but I can’t say I do either.”
Sitting next to him now, just a few minutes since his confession, Jennifer had difficulty placing Kevin in the context of his youth. He seemed so normal.
He shook his head. “This is incredible. I still can’t believe I just told you all that.”
“You just needed the right person,” she said.
The sound of feet running on the pavement sounded behind them. Jennifer twisted around. It was Galager.
“Jennifer!”
She stood and brushed her skirt.
“We have another riddle!” Galager said. He held a sheet of notebook paper in his hand. “Mickales just found this on the windshield of Kevin’s car. It’s Slater.”
“My car?” Kevin jumped to his feet.
Jennifer took the note. Yellow pad. The scrawling was black, familiar. The milk jug from Kevin’s refrigerator. She read the note quickly.
3+3 = 6.
Four down, two to go. You know how I like threes, Kevin. Time’s running out. Shame, shame, shame. A simple confession would do, but you force my hand.
Who escapes their prison but is captive still?
I’ll give you a hint: It isn’t you.
6 A.M.
Kevin gripped his hair and turned away.
“Okay,” Jennifer said, turning for the street. “Let’s get moving.”
20
SAMANTHA WAS TIRED. The Pakistani had insisted they meet at a Mexican restaurant five miles out of town. The light was too low, the music was too loud, and the place smelled of stale cigarettes. She stared the witness directly in the eye. Chris had sworn that Salman would cooperate and he had. But what he had to say wasn’t exactly what Sam wanted to hear.
“How do you know it was a dagger if you never saw it?”
“He told me it was. I have the tattoo on my back, and he said he had one like it on his forehead.”
“Did you see any scarring or discoloration that might indicate he had the tattoo removed?”
“Perhaps. He wore his hair over his forehead. Didn’t matter—he said he had it removed and I believed him.”
They’d been over all of this at least once; he’d already described the tattooed man with remarkable detail. Salman was a tailor. Tailors notice these things, he said.
“And this was while you were in New York, four months ago. And you saw him five or six times at a bar named Cougars over the course of about a month?”
“That is what I have said. Yes. You may check with the bar owner; he may remember the man as well.”
“So according to you, this man who had a dagger tattoo and who called himself Slater was in New York while the Riddle Killer was killing victims in Sacramento.”
“Yes, definitely. I remember watching the news while I was in New York the very night after I had talked to Slater.”
Salman had spilled enough details in the previous hour to make his testimony credible. Sam had been in New York four months ago. She knew the pub Salman referred to, a low-class joint frequented by your typical mix of unsavory characters. A CIA task force had set up a sting at the joint to flush out an Iranian whom they suspected had ties to a bombing in Egypt. The man had exonerated himself.
“Okay.” She turned to Steve Jules, the agent who’d accompanied her from the Houston office. “I’m done. Thank you for your time, Mr. Salman. It was invaluable.”
“Perhaps I could make you a suit,” he said with a grin. “I have a new shop here. There aren’t so many tailors in Houston as in New York.”
She smiled. “Maybe next time I’m in Houston to escape the heat.”
They left the bar in Steve’s car. This wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. In fact, it was downright dreadful. What if she was right about the rest of it? Dear God, dear God.
She wanted only one thing now: to be with Kevin. Kevin needed her more now than ever. The despondent look on his face as she sped off to the airport haunted her.
Her childhood friend had grown into quite an incredible man, hadn’t he? Tormented by his past, perhaps, but he’d escaped that hellhole he called a home and flourished. Part of her wanted nothing more than to run back to him and throw herself in his arms and beg him to marry her. Sure he had his demons; everyone did. Yes, he had a long struggle ahead of him; didn’t they all? But he was the most genuine man she’d ever known. His eyes shone with the excitement and wonder of a child, and his mind had absorbed the world with stunning capacity. His progress was nearly superhuman.
On the other hand, she could never marry Kevin. Their relationship was too valuable to compromise with romance. He saw that too, otherwise he never would have allowed room for any attraction to Jennifer. Their occasional romantic innuendo was simply teasing. They both knew that.
She sighed.
“Tough interview,” Steve said beside her.
She picked up her cell phone and punched in her boss’s number. It would be late, but she had to get this to him. “I thought it went pretty smoothly,” she said.
Roland picked up the phone on the fourth ring. “It’s midnight.”
“He was two hours late,” Sam said.
“And?”
“And he knew Slater.”
“Our guy?”
“Very possible. Tattoo like that is extremely unusual. But he claims to have known Slater in New York.”
“So.”
“So it was four months ago. Over a period of about a month. The Riddle Killer was in Sacramento then, killing Roy Peters.”
“So Slater’s not the Riddle Killer.”
“That’s right.”
“Copy cat?”
“Could be.”
“And if Slater is the boy, he’s no longer walking around with a dagger tattoo on his forehead because he had it removed.”
“So it seems.”
Roland covered the phone and spoke to someone—probably his wife unless he was in a late meeting, which was entirely possible.
“I want you back in Sacramento tomorrow,” he said. “If Slater isn’t the Riddle Killer, he’s not your concern.”
“I know, sir. I have three days left on my leave, remember?”
“We called you back in, remember?”
“Because we believed that Slater was the Riddle Killer. If he’s not, the trail’s cold.”
Roland considered her argument. He wasn’t the most reasonable man when it came to time off. He put in eighty hours a week and expected his subordinates to do the same.
“Please, sir, I go way back with Kevin. He’s practically family to me. I swear, three more days and I’ll be back in the office. You have to let me do this. And there’s still the chance that I’m wrong about Salman’s testimony.”
“Yes, there is.”
“It’s still possible that Slater knows the Riddle Killer.”
“Possible.”
“Then give me more time.”
“You heard about the library?”
“The whole world heard about the library.”
He sighed. “Three days. I expect to see you at your desk Thursday morning. And please, tread lightly down there. This is unofficial. From what I’ve heard the whole scene is one big snake pit. Every agency in the country has a stake in this.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Roland hung up.
Sam considered calling Jennifer but decided it could wait until morning. She could tell her only that Slater wasn’t the Riddle Killer. She needed to satisfy herself as to the rest before she said anything that might do Kevin more harm than good.