Safe at Home Read Free Page A

record. Andy, as most of us, needs a sounding board. He wouldn’t usually choose a reporter for that role, but I feel no need to share his conversations with colleagues. When we met, the Titan murders were on my beat, and we stepped all over each other in our investigations, but I don’t normally cover crime. This is not to say that my colleagues who do haven’t tried to get information from me, but I have no conflict in loyalties. Besides, I love the inside stuff so much that I’d be crazy to jeopardize my source, and I like to think that my contributions are useful. As I often remind him, I found the Titan killer before he did. He doesn’t like the reminders much, but still talks to me.
    “We might have a break with this one. There were some signs of struggling. We hope he might have some tissue under his fingernails to link him to the killer.”
    “And the guy might have scratches.”
    “Right. The other two were drugged, and there was no sign of a struggle with either one. Forensics found a mild sedative, like valium, in the stomach contents. That hardly narrows down the field of suspects.”
    “So, what do you think? He slips them a mickey, molests them, then kills them to shut them up?”
    “No. The first boy. Benjamin Goldman, was killed first, then raped. The second, Marc LeBlanc, was raped first. So was this one, with a bit more violence, it looks like. He’s getting more confident.”
    “Oh, God.”
    “They’ve all been killed by suffocating, probably with a dry-cleaning bag. We’re pretty sure it’s the same guy now but we can’t find the connection.”
    “Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it’s just random.”
    “If it is, we’re going to have an even harder time finding him. We’ll just keep looking for the link.”
    “What do you know about the kids? Don’t their parents keep track of them? How could they just disappear?”
    “They were good kids. They’d never been in trouble. There was no reason not to trust them on their own. The one last night was on his way to school from swimming practice. His teachers figured he was home sick.”
    “I can’t stop thinking about their parents.”
    “Neither can I. My own boys take the subway when they come to see me. Why not? I’ve never given it any thought. They’re responsible kids. But next time I’ll pick them up.”
    He rinsed his face and towelled it dry, then stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes caught mine in the glass.
    “I’m going to get this son-of-a-bitch, Kate. I promise you that.”
    He went into the bedroom. I followed him and did my best to deter him from dressing, with little success. I had to be losing my touch. Or maybe it was the flannel nightie.
    “Okay, get off me,” he laughed. “What’s your day like?”
    “It’s going to be crazy,” I said. “Opening day is wild enough, but this one is going to be doubly insane in the new stadium.”
    The equivalent of the gross national product of an emerging nation had been spent by several levels of government and a consortium of corporations to build a palace of pleasure with a retractable roof, all part of Toronto’s obsession with being “world class.” I hadn’t seen it since it had been finished, but by all reports, it was spectacular.
    “Will the roof work?”
    “They say it will. I still have to be convinced. Right now I’m more worried about the press box, and about finding my way around.”
    “Where’s your sense of occasion?”
    “When the occasion is opening day, all I can think about is the drunks in the stands and the streakers on the field. I’ll start enjoying it tomorrow, when the place isn’t filled with event freaks.”
    “Just a typical cynical sportswriter,” he teased.
    “On the contrary, a romantic who doesn’t want strangers sullying the purity of my game.”
    “When will you be done?”
    “About eight, I would think.”
    “I probably won’t be, but I’ll call you later.”
    At the door, he hugged me hard.
    “I’m glad I