The Cold Moon

had a good figure, not like those skinny model sorts you saw a lot of in the city. Who’d want somebody like that ?
    Her figure made him hungry.
    Her green eyes made him hungry.
    Even her name, Kathryn, made him hungry. For some reason it seemed to fall into the same category of name as Sally Anne. He couldn’t say why. Maybe it was old-fashioned. Also, he liked the way she looked hungrily at the desserts. She’s just like me! He could hardly wait to get her facedown in the building up the street.
    He sipped the coffee. “So, you were saying you’re from California?” Vincent—well, Helpful Tony Parsons—asked.
    “That’s right.”
    “Pretty, I’ll bet.”
    “Is, yes. Parts of it. Now think back to what you saw exactly. That man running? Tell me about him.”
    Vincent knew he’d have to stay focused—at least until they were alone at the abandoned building. “Be careful,” the killer had said, briefing him. “Be coy. Pretend that you know something about me but you don’t want to talk. Be hesitant. That’s how a real witness would be.”
    Now he told her—coyly and hesitantly—a few more things about the man running up the street and added to the vague description of Gerald Duncan, though it was pretty much what the police knew anyway, since they had that computer picture of him (he’d have to tell Duncan about that). She jotted some notes.
    “Any unusual characteristics?”
    “Hmm. Don’t remember any. Like I said, I wasn’t very close.”
    “Any weapons?”
    “Don’t think so. What exactly did he do?”
    “There was an attempted assault.”
    “Oh, no. Anybody hurt?”
    “No, fortunately.”
    Or un-, thought Clever Vincent/Tony.
    “Was he carrying anything?” Agent Dance asked.
    Keep it simple, he reminded himself. Don’t let her trip you up.
    He frowned thoughtfully and hesitated. Then he said, “You know, he might’ve been. Carrying something, I mean. A bag, I think. I couldn’t really see. He was going pretty fast. . . .” He stopped speaking.
    Kathryn cocked her head. “You were going to say something else?”
    “I’m sorry I’m not more help. I know it’s important.”
    “That’s okay,” the woman said reassuringly, and for a moment Vincent had a pang of guilt about what was going to happen to her in a few minutes.
    Then the hunger told him not to feel guilty. It was normal to have the urge.
    If we don’t eat, we die. . . .
    Don’t you agree, Agent Dance?
    They sipped coffee. Vincent told her a few other tidbits about the suspect.
    She was chatting like a friend. Finally he decided the time was right. He said, “Look, there is something else. . . . I was kind of scared before. You know, I’m around here every day. What if he comes back? He might figure out I said something about him.”
    “We can keep it anonymous. And we’ll protect you. I promise.”
    A clever hesitation. “Really?”
    “You bet. We’ll have a policeman guarding you.”
    Now, there’s an interesting idea. Can I have the redhead?
    He said to Dance, “Okay, I saw where he ran to. It was the back door of a building up the street. He ran inside.”
    “The door was unlocked? Or did he have a key?”
    “Unlocked, I think. I’ll show you if you want.”
    “That’d be very helpful. Are you through?” She nodded at the cup.
    He drained the coffee. “Am now.”
    She flipped closed her notebook, which he’d have to remember to get from her after he was finished.
    “Thanks, Agent Dance.”
    “You’re very welcome.”
    As he wheeled the groceries outside, the agent paid the check. She joined him and they started up the sidewalk where he directed.
    “Is it always this cold in New York in December?”
    “A lot of times, yep.”
    “I’m freezing.”
    Really? You look plenty hot to me.
    “Where are we going?” she asked, slowing down and looking at the street signs. She squinted against the glare. She paused and jotted in her notebook, reciting as she wrote. “The perp was recently in this location, Sherman Street in Greenwich Village.” She looked around. “Went up alley between Sherman and Barrow. . . .” A glance at Vincent. “What side of the street’s the alley on? North, south? I need to be accurate.”
    Ah, she’s meticulous too.
    He thought for a moment, disoriented by the hunger more than the bitter cold. “That’d be southeast.”
    She looked at her notebook, laughing. “Can hardly read it—the shivering. This cold is too much. I can’t wait to get