Page 68 of Chameleon Killer

“Many murders are deliberate.”

“Not like yours.”

A pause followed.

I had given him something he wanted, although I couldn’t tell whether it was the distinction or the acknowledgment.

“The earlier victims were selected,” I continued. “Researched. Documented. You didn’t simply kill them. You built cases against them.”

“Did I?”

“The evidence attributed to you did.”

“Your qualifiers are returning.” There was just a suggestion of a tsk in his voice.

“They keep me out of court.”

“Have they kept you safe?”

My fingers stilled against the tabletop. “That wasn’t the question.”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

The quiet stretched. How did he do that? Take every question I asked, and turning it until the sharp edge faced me.

I looked at the glass wall we’d papered over. I’d even written notes on it and so had Flint.

“Why did you choose your targets?” I asked again.

“What are you willing to do for the answer?”

The change in direction was so abrupt I almost missed its significance. “This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“What do you want?”

“What do you want, Ms. McBryan?”

“The truth.”

“That is an ambition, not an answer.”

I leaned back, studying the reflection of the board in the dark window. “What are you asking?”

“How far are you willing to go for your story?”

My grip tightened around the receiver.

There were questions reporters pretended had simple answers.

How much risk was acceptable?

What could be justified in pursuit of the public interest?

Where did persistence end and obsession begin?

Most journalists developed careful responses for panels, lawyers, and ethics seminars.