The Merchant of Menace

do you think killed that guy?“
    “I haven’t any idea. It could have been anyone. He had a lot of enemies.“
    “But it has to be someone from around here, doesn’t it?“
    “I don’t see why. With all the traffic on the street gawking at the Johnsons’ house, anyone could have come into the neighborhood without being noticed.“
    “But how would they have known where to come?“ Mike asked. “On that short television bit he just talked about ‘a suburb.’ He didn’t say exactly where he was.“
    “Oh, maybe you’re right,“ Jane said. “But someone could have seen the television van and guessed. Or followed him from the station.”
    That was just mother talk, she realized as she was getting ready for bed. The natural impulse to reassure her child—albeit an intelligent adult child—that his neighborhood was safe and he would come to no harm.
    In truth, the neighborhood was less likely to come to harm with Lance King dead. It was an awful and cynical way to view the demise of a human being, but he had been a very dangerous man. A Life Wrecker. How did anyone get to be that way? What kind of background created someone who loved to be hated?
    Jane had always felt it was an essential, bone-deep human trait to want to be liked. Or at least respected. Some people desperately wanted everybody to love them. That was one end of the scale. Most just needed the love of a few people spouse, children, best friend—and respect from a larger number. But if you felt from early on in life that you couldn’t acquire anyone’s love, maybe power was the natural substitute.
    Lance had accumulated more power than anyone needed or was good for them. Probably it was a case of getting a thrill out of seeing fear in people’s faces. Fear could look like respect, Jane supposed.
    She undressed and crawled into bed, shoving the cats aside. They’d left two lovely warm spots. She could hear muffled voices in the John-sons’ yard. The police, and Mel, were going to have a long night of it.
    Mike was right, she thought sleepily. If the obvious conclusion—murder—was right, somebody they knew had probably committed it.
    Jane was up early, having her coffee in front of the little kitchen counter television. She tuned to the station Lance King had worked for. When the local news came on, she was astonished to see Ginger doing a live feed. She’d tidied up her hair and was standing on the street in front of the Johnsons’ house. “Lance King, a familiar and popular reporter for this station, died here last night,“ she said, not sounding the least nervous at her elevation from assistant/gofer to reporter. “In a freak accident, King fell from the roof of this home and suffered fatal injuries. The police are not saying if they’ve determined whether it was an accident or foul play. Further reports will be made on the noon news and this evening we’ll have a report on Lance King’s life and career. Back to you, Ann.”
    Ann and Charles, the morning anchors who could have passed for Barbie and Ken, looked suitably solemn for a few seconds, then Ann smiled and launched into a piece on local children’s activities during the holidays that harried moms and dads could take the kids to. Jane turned off the television and went to the front window.
    Ginger had divested herself of her microphone and was heading for Jane’s front door. Jane opened it for her and invited her in. “I just saw you on the news,“ Jane said, leading the way back to the kitchen. “You looked great and sounded very polished.“ She got down a fresh cup and poured coffee for Ginger.
    “I hope I didn’t flub anything,“ Ginger said. “Do you know anything more that you weren’t saying?“ Jane asked bluntly.
    “No, not really. But I’ve been at enough crime scenes to know what one looks like. I’m sure the police are considering it a murder.“
    “And you believe it was?”
    Ginger nodded. “You can’t go through life making people miserable without somebody fighting back eventually. I suppose it could have just been a tussle and Lance slipped, but I don’t think most people would choose a snow-covered roof to stage a fistfight.“
    “Ginger, I hate to point out the obvious, but at least one person has already benefitted from Lance King’s death.“
    “You mean me. I know. Makes me look suspicious, doesn’t it?“ she said almost cheerfully. “But I never left your house. I stayed inside chatting with people. You have awfully nice