Every Wickedness Read Free

the end of September now, her favourite time of year, but her last nighttime walk was almost a month ago. Anne’s death had changed everything.
    “This city will not mourn another victim,” Kearns promised the audience. “We will all be more aware, be on the lookout for anything that strikes us as unusual. The person who keeps odd hours. The acquaintance who has a stash of sadistic pornography, the boyfriend who—”
    “Boyfriend?” The husky-voiced woman spoke again, her tone raised to near soprano. “You mean this guy could be dating somebody?”
    Kearns nodded. “It’s a possibility. And he’ll go to work, just like you and me, but all the while, he’s a dormant Vesuvius. Then, after the explosion, he experiences a period of intense depression, when he realizes the murder he has committed can’t measure up to his fantasies.”
    Beth shivered again. Someone right now could be having a glass of Chablis with this man. Maybesomeone was picking out the perfect birthday card, telling him a dirty joke, hiring him for a job. No one existed in a vacuum. Someone must know, must sense something. Maybe even someone here. No one could be such a monster without it showing.
    Beth had to believe that the Spiderman wasn’t human. For what sort of human being could stand by while his victims slowly bled to death?

5
    T here was a smell in the room he liked, a mixture of perspiration, urine, and blood, that when blended, equalled fear. He wondered if anyone else detected the scent, then thought not. He had always been acutely sensitive.
    It was a singularly stupid crowd for the most part, plain people asking plainly stupid questions.
    “When will the killer strike again?”
    “Is the FBI involved in the investigation?”
    “Do you have any leads?”
    “How can we protect ourselves?”
    He resisted laughing. Didn’t they know there was nothing they could do? He would strike when he needed to, when he was ready, and he’d fool them all over again.
    “Watch the ones you know,” Kearns replied.
    It was amusing, listening to the profile of the killer. Organized. That word cropped up frequently during Kearns’s presentation. He liked the sound of that, because that’s exactly what he was. An organized, calculating machine — well oiled, smooth running, long lasting. A real Duracell man. And, contrary to what was being said, he’d never pissed the bed in his life.
    Kearns and his henchmen would be prepared, of course. They got enough of it right to predicthe would be sitting here tonight, basking in his glory. He didn’t bother hiding from the cameras, knowing that the jeans, T-shirt, Giants cap, and four day-old stubble altered his looks without resembling a disguise. He’d even pressed a little dirt under his fingernails. Over the next few days, when the police viewed the videotapes and analyzed the male faces in the crowd, they’d come up with nothing. No vicap match, no adult arrest record. He’d even chosen his seat carefully — there was a single woman on his right to whom he spoke from time to time, a couple holding hands on his left. On the tape, they would look like a foursome, just two married couples who’d probably slip out for a few beers after.
    He leaned toward the single woman. “My dad would say it’s time to bring back the lash. Guy like this should suffer.”
    That was good. A little folksy, but good.
    The woman nodded in agreement.
    “Tell ya,” he said, “this makes me wanna rush right home and hug my wife.”
    The woman leaned toward him. He could smell her perfume. “This makes me want to catch a plane for anywhere,” she said.
    “No kiddin’.”
    Amazing. In spite of everything they’d been told tonight, women still talked to strangers, still persisted in being friendly and polite. This one had no idea who she was dealing with.
    He looked up at the podium. Kearns was dishing out more advice. “Band together. Phone someone. Let someone know you’ve arrived safely at your destination.