“He’s convinced Evandro Arujo or Alec Hardiman,” Angie said, “or both, that killing is good.”

“It seems so.”

“So how does that profile apply to either Gault or Glynn?” I asked.

“Gault pointed you to Diandra Warren. Glynn pointed you to Alec Hardiman. From a benign perspective, such actions would suggest that neither man could be involved since he’s trying to help. However, remember what Dolquist said—this guy has a relationship with you, Mr. Kenzie. He’s daring you to catch him.”

“So Gault or Glynn could be Arujo’s mystery partner?”

“I think anything’s possible, Mr. Kenzie.”

The November sun was fighting a losing battle with the encroachment of thickening layers of slate in the sky. In direct sunlight, you felt warm enough to remove your jacket. Outside of it, you were ready to look for a parka.

“In the letter,” Bolton said as we crossed the schoolyard, “the writer said some of the victims would be ‘worthy’ and others would meet the reproach of the guiltless.”

“What’s that mean?” I said.

“It’s a line from Shakespeare. In Othello, Iago states, ‘All guiltless meet reproach.’ Several scholars argue that this is the very moment in which Iago passes from a criminal with motive into a creature beset by what Coleridge called ‘motiveless malignancy.’”

“You’re losing me,” Angie said.

“Iago had a reason to wreak vengeance on Othello, slim as it was. But he had no reason to destroy Desdemona or gut the Venetian army of talent and officers the week before a Turkish onslaught. Yet, the argument goes, he became so impressed with his own capacity for evil that it became, in and of itself, enough motive to destroy anyone. He starts the play by pledging to destroy the guilty—Othello and Cassio—but by the fourth act, he’s set on destroying anyone—’all guiltless meet reproach’—simply because he can. Simply because he enjoys it.”

“And this killer—”

“May be a similar creature. He kills Kara Rider and Jason Warren because they are the children of his enemies.”

“But killing Stimovich and Stokes?” Angie said.

“No motive at all,” he said. “He does it for fun.”

A light, misting rain speckled our hair and jackets.

Bolton reached into his briefcase and handed Angie a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

Bolton squinted into the mist. “A copy of the killer’s letter.”

Angie held the letter away from her, as if its contents might be contagious.

“You wanted in the loop,” Bolton said. “Right?”

“Yes.”

He pointed at the letter. “Now you’re in the loop.” He shrugged and walked back toward the schoolyard.

30

patrick,

the issue is pain. understand this.

initially, there wasn’t any grand plan. I killed someone almost by accident, really, and I felt all those things you’re supposed to feel—guilt, revulsion, fear, shame, self-hatred. I took a bath to clean Myself of her blood. sitting in the tub, I vomited, but I didn’t move. I sat there as the water stank with her blood and My shame, the stink of My mortal sin.