The Guilty - Jason Pinter [10]
make both of our lives a living hell until the killer is caught.
All differences aside, the story is huge, and it won't go away
just because you tell me to. Whether it's the Gazette, the
Dispatch or the National Enquirer, you're going to have reporters up your ass until this psycho is caught. Do you read the
newspaper?"
He nodded. "So what?"
"So you must have read that story the Dispatch ran last
week. Detective Pedro Alvarez, killed in the line of duty. Did
you know him?"
Lemansky's silence was an affirmative.
"So you know the Dispatch ran a front-page story two
days after his death. About his mistress. Lena something,
right?"
Officer Lemansky sniffed. He shuffled his feet.
"Fucking parasites," he said. "Madeleine deserved better
than seeing her family's name dragged through the mud." He
looked at me. "Alvarez was a good cop and a good husband. If
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Jason Pinter
it wasn't for people like you he'd still be remembered that
way."
I had my opening.
"I don't work for the Dispatch. I'm not interested in smear
campaigns and ruining families to sell papers. If you don't talk
to me, another reporter will get the story. You've read the
Gazette. So you can talk to me right here, right now, or I can't
promise what tomorrow's headline will be in the Dispatch.
But I can promise you what the headline will be in the
Gazette. "
Lemansky was searching my eyes for the truth. Whether
he could trust me. I knew he could.
He nodded. "I give you something, it came from an anonymous source. I get quoted, or you do anything to go back on
what you just said, I don't care if the papers start claiming
we're fucking aliens from Mars, you'll get a mouthful of
broken teeth before you ever get another story."
I said, "You have my word."
He looked around. I thought about Curt. Knew the cops
just wanted to make sure the right thing was done.
"Forensics is saying they found a note scrawled up on the
roof, below the ledge they think the shooter rested the gun on.
They're analyzing it, but they say he wrote in block using a
Sharpie so it's pretty much useless. They're sifting through
about a ton of loose gravel up there, could take days to find
anything else."
"The note," I said, speaking softly, half to calm the cop and
half to slow down my heart. "What did it say?"
The cop looked around again. He reached into his pocket
and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"Some lab rat passed copies around, asked if anyone had
ever heard of someone talking like this before. I didn't know,
The Guilty
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but..." He licked his lips. His eyes danced around, like
somebody was about to leap from the morning shadows.
He handed it to me.
"Get out of here," he said. "And remember what you said."
I nodded, took the paper and walked off.
I waited until I'd gone about three blocks and was out of
the line of sight from the building. Then I opened my hand.
It was a simple piece of paper on which was written a
single sentence. And if Lemansky was correct, besides a
murdered girl, this was all the killer left behind.
I read the sentence. Felt my breath catch in my throat.
Right then I knew why Officer Lemansky was scared. I knew
what my angle was. A chill of fear ran up my spine, similar
to the one I felt last year when I was accused of murder.
And I knew that Athena Paradis wouldn't be the last
victim.
5
I was sitting in Wallace Langston's office as he read a
printout of the article. My palms were coated with sweat
and my eyelids felt like they were being dragged down
with two-ton weights. Evelyn had posted the text of my
article at 4:22 a.m., holding it up just to confirm my source.
When I told her the quote the killer had left at the scene,
she paused.
"Why do I recognize that line?" she asked.
I took a breath before answering. "Because I wrote it."
The slip of paper Officer Lemansky gave me had one
simple sentence on it. It read:
The only difference between the innocent and the
guilty is that the guilty are the only ones who believe
in their cause.
I had written that line several