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foot of his unmade bed lay an open pizza delivery box and television remote. On his pillow was the open FedEx package from Georgia, right where Zack had left it. He stepped around the pile of unfolded laundry on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed for a closer inspection. Zack was in the open doorway, leaning against the frame and licking the bright orange residue of a party-size bag of Cheetos from the tips of his fingers.
    “I guess you shouldn’t touch it,” said Zack.
    “Good point, Sherlock. I’d hate to smear one of your paw prints.”
    “Come on, man. I wasn’t being nosy. You told me to open it.” He wiped his hands on his sweatshirt, watching as Mike scrutinized the FedEx invoice—without touching it. “So, you gonna call the cops?”
    Mike sighed. “I’ll speak to the brass at the paper first, but I gotta believe that’s what we’ll do. I mean, if this guy sent the package on Thursday and this Kincaid woman wasn’t attacked until Friday…well, if he isn’t the killer, who else could he be?”
    “Why would he send it to you, though, as opposed to any other reporter?”
    42
    James Grippando
    “For all I know he did send it to others. We don’t know that I’ve been singled out—not yet. Actually, what bothers me more right now is how he knew to send it here, to your condo.”
    Zack stroked his chin, thinking. “That kind of makes me think maybe you have been singled out, dude. Could be his own little power play. It’s his way of saying that he knows you’re separated, that you’re living somewhere other than your usual home address. If you were just another reporter on a long mailing list, I don’t think he’d go to all that trouble to check out your marital status.”
    Mike paused, weighing what his friend had just said.
    “Good point. Actually, when you think about it, it makes some sense that he’d pick me, since I work for the Tribune. ”
    “What’s so special about the Tribune ?”
    “You figure, if he’s going to contact a newspaper, it would probably be in one of the five cities where victims have turned up. Miami’s one of them. And the Tribune has a huge readership.”
    “Yeah, but didn’t one of the killings take place in New York?” Zack said, smirking. “They got something there called the New York Times, don’t they?”
    Mike was about to make a suitable gesture when the phone rang. He and Zack exchanged expectant glances.
    Now what? Finally, on the fourth ring, Mike snatched it up. “Hello.”
    “Did you get my package, Posten?”
    Mike’s mouth opened, but it took a moment for his words to flow. “Who is this?”
    “Rule number one, asshole: no questions.”
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    THE INFORMANT
    Mike glanced at Zack, who moved closer to the phone.
    “Yeah, I got your package,” Mike said. “It’s right here.
    Saw your little note, too.”
    “Impressed?”
    “Yeah, sure. Takes a big set of balls to torture a seventy-eight-year-old woman. Who’s next on your list, day-old puppies with their eyes still closed?”
    “You’re missing the point, smartass. I didn’t kill her. I just predicted it.”
    Mike’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
    “Exactly what I said. I shipped the package to you on Thursday, and the killer whacked poor old Gerty on Friday. I predicted she’d be next, and I was right. I know who the next one’s going to be, too. And the one after that, and the one after that. I’ve cracked the killer’s pattern, and I’m the only one who ever will. Because nobody thinks the way he does—except for me.”
    Mike’s head swirled, but he struggled to stay focused.
    “This is a very sick game you’re playing.”
    “It’s no game. It’s business. There’s something in it for you, something for me. I know you’d love to hear my predictions—get the scoop on the competition. What reporter wouldn’t? I’ll give it to you, and only to you. A nice big exclusive story. All you gotta do is give me something in return.”
    “Like