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Goss was ridiculous. Goss was the killer. Not him.
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The phone rang. Jack muted the nine o clock Movie of the Week on TV and
snatched it up.
Have you checked your mail, Jack? came the familiar voice.
He hesitated. He knew that stalkers thrived on contact and that any expert
would have told him just to hang up. But he was nearly certain he knew who it
was, and if he could just get him to speak in his normal voice, he d have
confirmation. This is notclever, Goss, Jack goaded. Knock off the funny
voice. I know it s you.
A condescending snicker came over the phone, then a pause followed by a
decided change in tone. You don t know shit, Swyteck. So just shut up, and
check your mail.Now.
Jack blinked hard, frightened by how easily he d set off the man s temper.
Why?
Just check it, the caller ordered. And take the phone with you. I ll tell
you what to look for.
Jack wondered whether it was wise to play along, but he was determined to get
to the bottom of this. All right, he answered, then headed down the hall
with his portable phone pressed to his ear. He looked through the window
before stepping outside but saw nothing. He opened the front door and stepped
onto the porch. Okay, he said into the phone. I m at the box.
Look inside, the caller ordered.
Cautiously, Jack reached for the lid on the mailbox beside the door. He
extended one finger, pried under the lid, and quickly popped it open, jerking
his hand back as if he d just touched molten lava.
Do you see it, Swyteck?
Jack stood on his toes and peered inside from a distance, fearful that he was
about to see bloody gym shorts or torn panties or some other evidence of
Goss s latest handiwork. There s an envelope, he said, seeing nothing else
inside.
Open it, said the caller.
Jack carefully took the envelope from the box. It was plain white. No return
address. No addressee. It had been hand-delivered, which meant the stalker had
been on his porch an unsettling thought. He unfolded the flap and tentatively
removed the contents. What is this?
What s it look like?
He studied the page. A map. A route had been high-lighted by yellow
felt-tip pen.
Follow it if you want to know who the killer on the loose is. Youdo want to
know, don t you, Swyteck?
I already know it s you, Goss. This is a map to your apartment.
It s a map to the killer on the loose. Be there. Meet him at four-thirtyA.M.
tonight. And no cops. Or you ll bevery sorry.
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Jack bristled at the sound of the dial tone, then switched off the portable
phone. At first it didn t even occur to him to actually go to Goss s
apartment. But if Goss were going to kill him, would he do it in his own
apartment? Would heinvite Jack over and give him directions to the scene of
the crime? No, he must be up to something else, and Jack s curiosity was
piqued.
But it was more than just curiosity. He was thinking of the night two years
ago when he d refused to give his father enough privileged information to
stop Raul Fernandez s execution. His rigidity had resulted in Raul s death,
and he was determined not to make the same mistake again. In dealing with a
confessed killer who was continuing his evil ways, hehad to be more flexible
with privileged information.
It was time to issue an ultimatum. Months ago, when he and Goss had been
considering an insanity defense, Jack had pumped him for information about his
past crimes some of which included murder. His client had told him plenty. Now
it was time to confront Goss and let him know that if he wanted to stay out of
the electric chair if he didn t want a prosecutor to get an anonymous tip
about his most perverted secrets then he d better change his ways.
He stepped to the window and looked outside. It was getting dark and starting
to drizzle. A storm was brewing if he was going to meet Goss, there was no
reason to wait until four-thirty in the morning. In fact, it seemed safernot
to wait. He started toward the door, then stopped. He went up to the attic,
opened his footlocker, and found the .38. Downstairs, he spent several minutes
cleaning the gun, then loaded it with bullets.
Just in case.
Chapter 14
"
Rain started to fall as Jack pulled his Mustang out of the driveway. The
downpour was a continuation of a violent Florida thunderstorm that had flooded
city streets that afternoon. The nasty weather didn t bring him down, though.
He was determined to get to Goss s as quickly as possible, before he could
change his mind. He raced his old eight-cylinder down the expressway at a
speed only a fleeing fugitive would have considered safe, exited into a
section of town thatno one considered safe, and screeched to a halt outside
Goss s apartment.
The old two-story building stretched nearly a third of the city block. It was
bordered on one side by a gas station and on the other by a burned-out shell
of an apartment building that some pyromaniac landlord had probably figured
could generate more income in fire insurance proceeds than in rent. Rusty iron
security bars covered most of the ground-floor windows, plywood sealed off
others, and noisy air conditioners stuck out of a few. Weeds popping up
through cracks in the sidewalk were the closest thing to landscaping.
The rain beat loudly on the convertible s canvas top and seeped in where the
twenty-year-old rubber window seals had rotted away. Jack jumped out and
dashed through water that ran in wide rivulets down the street. He was at the
apartment entrance in only fifteen seconds, but that was long enough for the
rain to soak his clothes and paste them to his body. Dripping wet, he stepped
inside the dimly lit foyer and checked the rows of metal mailboxes recessed
into the wall. He had the right place.GOSS, APT 217 , read one of them.
He ran up a flight of stairs to a long hallway lined with apartments on
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either side. It was even darker here than in the foyer, the tenants having
stolen most of the bulbs to light their apartments. Spray-painted graffiti
covered the walls and doors, forming one continuous mural. Most of the ceiling
tiles had been punched out by kids proving how high they could jump. Rainwater
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