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hadn’t already been made, then what happened to Sam Galloway had tipped the scales. Here was someone desperate to leave the troubles of the real world behind, someone who spent his days staring at the pictures on his office wall and dreaming of a time when he could while away his remaining years fishing for marlin and drinking bourbon.
    ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice,’ said Fortier.
    ‘No problem.’
    ‘I’ve got to admit, though, I’m surprised you came at all. When I contacted you, it was a real long shot. I know you usually only deal with serial killers and this guy isn’t a serial killer, but I’d been following what you’d been up to in South Carolina, and since Charleston is only a short plane hop away, I thought what the hell. Nothing ventured. Anyway, anything you can do to help, we’re all ears. Anything you need, just ask.’
    The speech sounded rehearsed, like he’d spent all morning in here practising. ‘Serial criminals,’ I told him.
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘Serial criminals. I deal with them all. Kidnappers, rapists, arsonists, extortionists, murderers. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this guy is a serial killer.’
    ‘How do you figure that one?’
    ‘Because Sam Galloway’s murder was pure theatre. Here’s a question for you: what do you think’s going to happen when the countdown hits zero?’ I could tell by the look on his face that he’d already considered this‚ and that we’d come to the same conclusion. ‘Unless you catch this guy, and catch him quickly, he will kill again, and again. He’s going to keep going until someone stops him. Believe me, he’s just got started.’
    ‘So you don’t think this is a one-off?’
    ‘Not a chance.’
    Fortier seemed to shrink in front of me. He’d clearly wanted a different answer. All the same‚ nothing I’d said had come as a great surprise. If this murder had been a one-off it would have made his life easier. One murder was a headache, but a series of them was a nightmare.
    ‘What’s the situation with the press?’ I asked.
    ‘All quiet on that front. The town has a weekly newspaper, the Eagle Creek Courier . It’s pretty much a one-man show. Harry Spindler, the fellow who runs it, prefers drinking to writing. The next edition doesn’t come out until next week. So long as he’s got something to put on his front page by then he won’t give us any trouble.’
    ‘What about outside town?’
    ‘Shreveport and Monroe are the closest big cities. Nothing much happens in Eagle Creek, so I doubt the media folks there could even find us on a map.’
    ‘Nothing much happened until now.’
    ‘I’m confident that when they come knocking, I can handle them.’
    I didn’t doubt that. In my experience a typical sheriff was five per cent cop and ninety-five per cent politician. Fortier might look like he was on the ropes, but he also looked as though he’d been doing the job long enough that he could successfully run interference with the press without breaking much of a sweat.
    ‘It would be good if we could keep this as quiet as possible for as long as possible,’ I said. ‘This guy’s looking for an audience and if we can deny him that then it might push him into doing something dumb in order to get attention. The dumber they act the easier they are to catch.’
    Fortier smiled and for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of the man he’d been three decades ago, someone with ambitions, and dreams that didn’t end at the rippling line where water met land.
    ‘I’ll do what I can.’
    ‘Same goes for the website. We need to keep that one quiet too. That’s another cry for attention. Who knows about it?’
    The smile slipped, and the old guy who dreamt of marlin and bourbon was back. ‘Too many people. It’s common knowledge within the department, and I obviously told the police chief. And the mayor, of course, he needed to know.’
    ‘Damage limitation’s the name of the game there. Put the word out to