Violets Are Blue

Kyle’s vicious hit list — besides me?
    Kyle wanted to exert his will, but he also craved the most exquisite and forbidden pleasures. What had moved him in the past was sex, rape, money—millions of dollars—revenge against those he hated.
    I finally went to bed at one-thirty, but
surprise, surprise
, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing Kyle’s face every time I shut my eyes. His look was smug and confident. He was the most arrogant human being I had ever met. Possibly the most evil. I thought about all our times together, all our long, philosophical talks, anything I could remember. I turned on the bedside light and scribbled more notes. Kyle was methodical and logical, but then he could surprise me with a tactic or strategy completely off the charts. I thought about the raid in Santa Cruz. The vampire murders seemed long ago already. He had wanted me there — so that I could see him be the hero. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? He needed me to see how good he was. He wanted to take down Peter Westin by himself.
    Suddenly, a question popped into my head. A really good one.
    Where had he been unable to exert his will?
    What were Kyle’s darkest fantasies? What were his daydreams? His secret desires? Where had he been thwarted in the past?
    The worst was yet to come, wasn’t it?
He was only starting with Zach and Liz Taylor. Was he about to go on a bloody rampage?
    And then I recalled a particular fantasy that Kyle had shared with me one night after we had finished one of our worst cases. I remembered something he’d said, and couldn’t get it out of my head.
    I snatched up the phone and began to dial long-distance. I hoped that I wasn’t already too late. I thought I knew who he was going to kill next.
    Oh no, Kyle. Oh God, no!

Chapter 112

    MAYBE I was just going crazy. I drove for nearly six hours on I-95, headed to Nags Head, North Carolina. I kept nervously changing radio stations to keep myself alert. I was thinking that Kyle didn’t want this to end — he was having too much fun; he was in his glory.
    I had been in this part of North Carolina before, with Kate McTiernan. So had Kyle. We were trying to stop a sadistic killer named Casanova. He had kept as many as eight women captive in the woods near Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Kyle had been on our team, or so I had believed. But Kyle had also been Casanova’s partner in murder. I knew that much was true.
    I made it to the Outer Banks just before night fell. As I drove toward the ocean, I remembered odd things: the sticky buns from the Nags Head Market; my long walks with Kate McTiernan along Coquina Beach; the lovely, almost supernaturally picturesque beaches in Jockey’s Ridge State Park. I remembered how much I admired Kate. We were still good friends, talked at least twice a month. She sent my kids imaginative presents on their birthdays and Christmas. She was working at the Regional Medical Center in Kitty Hawk and living with a local bookseller she was going to marry. Their home was in Nags Head, only a couple of miles away.
    Kyle had a deep, obvious crush on Kate McTiernan. He’d hinted at it: “I could love that girl if I didn’t have Louise and the kids. Maybe I should dump them for Kate. She could make me a happy man. Kate could save me.”
    He had come to visit Kate in Nags Head. I think he’d come to watch her. It bothered him that he couldn’t have her, that he had been
denied
Kate McTiernan. He also knew how much Kate meant to me.
    Kyle was here, wasn’t he? Or he was coming.
    I had warned Kate, but on the drive down I called again and explicitly told her to get the hell out of Nags Head. I didn’t care how much karate she knew, or how many black belts she had accumulated. I was going to stay at her place. I thought that Kyle might be coming too. I didn’t think he wanted to
watch
anymore. If he was coming here, he wanted to kill Kate.
    I took a deep breath as I finally drove into town. It all looked so familiar, serene and beautiful, like nothing bad should ever happen in Nags Head.
    The worst is yet to come,
I kept thinking.
That’s why he killed Zach and Liz Taylor first. He set up his pattern with them. The Taylors were just the beginning. A warning of things to come.
    I drove down a narrow paved road that weaved its way alongside windblown sand dunes. I was looking for any sign of Kyle. Number 1021 was a two-story clapboard beach house directly across from the ocean. Very quaint and stylish, very Kate McTiernan.