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“Not quite,” I said. “You couldn’t resist taking one thing from each victim. Your godawful place is full of phonograph records, champagne, and old newspapers.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” said Shrank, and stopped. He barked a laugh and then made a grin. “Pretty smart. Got it out of me, eh?”
He rocked on his heels, thinking about it.
“Now,” he said, “I’ll just have to kill you.”
I jumped up. I was a foot taller and not brave, but he jumped back.
“No,” I said. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not!”
“Because,” I said, “you can’t lay hands on me. You didn’t lay hands on them. It was all hands off. I see it now. Your logic was to get people to do things to themselves, or destroy them indirectly. Right?”
“Right!” His pride was involved again. He forgot me standing there and looked off at his bright and glorious past.
“Train ticket office old man. All you did was get him drunk? Knock his head on the edge of the canal, maybe, then jump in and make sure he got in the lion cage.”
“Right!”
“Canaries-for-sale old lady. All you did was stand over her bed and make faces?”
“Right!”
“Sam. Gave him enough hard liquor to put him in the hospital.”
“Right!”
“Jimmy. Made sure he had three times too much booze. You didn’t even have to turn him over in the bathtub. Rolled over himself, gone.”
“Right!”
“Pietro Massinello. You wrote the city government to come get him and his ten dozen dogs, cats, and birds. If he isn’t dead now, soon will be?”
“Right!”
“Cal the barber, of course.”
“I stole Scott Joplin’s head,” said Shrank.
“So Cal, scared, left town. John Wilkes Hopwood. Him and his immense ego. Wrote him using Constance Rattigan’s stationery, got him to come naked on the beach every night. Scaring Constance out to drown herself?”
“Indeed!”
“Then got rid of Hopwood by letting him know you had seen him on the beach the night Constance vanished. You added a really terrible dirty letter, calling him everything vile.”
“Everything he was.”
“And Fannie Florianna. Left your ad by her door. And when she called and you made an appointment, all you did was come over, burst in, same as with the old canary lady, frighten Fannie so she ran backward, yes, fell and couldn’t get up, and all you had to do was stand over her to make sure she didn’t, yes?”
He knew better than to say yes to this, to say anything, for I was furious now, still shaky but getting strength from my own madness.
“You made only one mistake all along the way over the weeks. Sending the papers to Fannie, leaving them, marked. When you remembered this and went back and broke in, you couldn’t find them. The one place you didn’t think to look was the icebox. Your newspaper notice put under the jars to catch drips. I found it there. That’s why I’m here. And not about to be the next on your list. Or do you have other plans?”
“Yes.”
“No, and do you know why not? For two reasons. One, I’m not a Lonely. I’m not a failure. I’m not lost. I’m going to make it. I’m going to be happy. I’m going to marry and have a good wife and children. I’m going to write damned fine books and be loved. That doesn’t fit your pattern. You can’t kill me, you damn stupid jerk, because I’m okay. You see? I’m going to live forever. Secondly, you can’t lay a finger on me. No one else has been touched by you. If you touch me, it spoils your record. You got all your other deaths by fear or intimidation. But now if you try to prevent my going to the police, you’ll have to commit real murder, you sick bastard.”
