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The killer's last known victim had been killed at noon the day before. William (Billy) Curtis, a twenty-eight-year-old Nebraska construction worker, pushed off the high-rise he'd been working on. At first, police thought it had been an accident...until the coroner found the lone dollar bill in his pocket. While the papers spent little time dwelling on the victim, they were speculating over one thing: had the Feds been tipped off about the killing?
I slapped down the paper. "Just because he forewarned the Feds of the opera house plan doesn't mean he's going to keep doing that. He can't. It'd be stupid."
Jack took out his third cigarette and lit it.
"My guess is that the opera house was tougher than he expected, and that's the last time he's going to pull something like that."
Jack nodded, head tilted, holding the lit cigarette a hairsbreadth from his lips.
"And the problem with that theory is...?" I said.
He took his time tapping off the ash on the picnic table before responding. "Wasn't a warning for Nebraska. Couldn't have been. An occupied building? Sure. Just a construction crew. Nah. They'd have caught him."
"Which proves my point. There was no warning."
Jack stared out across the trash-strewn strip of grass, smoked half the cigarette, then stood.
"Gotta call Quinn."
When Jack returned, he sat down across the table, hand going out for the spot where he'd left his cigarettes, then shaking it off and stuffing the pack into his pocket.
"There was a tip-off, wasn't there?" I said.
"Train. Last night. Promised to kill a passenger."
"But he didn't?"
"Everyone accounted for."
"So either the tip-off was a fake--"
"Quinn says no."
"Then he failed. I can see that. It'd be very hard to pull a hit on an enclosed vehicle. He must have realized he'd overshot and backed off."
"Maybe. Maybe he missed the fucking train. Wilkes never could keep time." He stared off into the distance for a moment, then gave a sharp shake of his head. "Doesn't matter. He fucked up. That's good."
"So are the Feds going to release the note? Make it sound like they managed to abort the attack? That'd be a nice win for them, and right now they could use it."
"Quinn doesn't know. Doesn't think they've decided. They've got another problem. Bigger concern. Another tip-off."
"Another? Goddamn it. That's going to put them in a corner. Did he intend to make the train hit and something went wrong, in which case they should put all their efforts into dealing with this new one? Or are the tips red herrings now, keeping them busy chasing phantoms instead of pursuing the investigation?" I looked at Jack. "Maybe missing the train hit was part of the plan. Get the Feds second-guessing him, splitting up their manpower."
"Could be. That's what they're doing. Main team is ignoring this one. They'll go back to investigating. Put a secondary team and local forces on security detail."
"Where's the hit supposed to go down?"
"Homecoming parade. Late this afternoon. West Virginia."
I was still shooing the dogs from the gate when Evelyn appeared on the back porch.
"Girls," she growled.
They fell over each other getting out of my way. I unlatched the gate, walked in, then closed it behind me.
"Where's Jack?" Evelyn asked.
"He took another flight. He said he had to check something someplace else and he'd meet up with me later."
