JL02 - Night Vision by Paul Levine Page A

took a hit on the cold Grolsch. “Right. Too early. I try not to cross-examine a witness until I know at least as much as he does.”
    Charlie smiled. He had burned me from the witness stand more than once when my eagerness exceeded my experience.
    “No one knows what Marsha was up to,” I said. “The news director says she was working some investigation on her own, doesn’t know what. She wouldn’t tell him anything about it except she had a confidential source. He didn’t take it too seriously. Didn’t take Marsha too seriously, for that matter.”
    “Uh-huh,” Charlie said. I thought the old wizard had come up with some revelation, but he was just pulling in a small blue-striped fish.
    “Looks like a bream,” I said.
    “No. A damn tilapia. Belongs in somebody’s den in an aquarium. Folks started dumping their exotic fish out here, now they’ve taken over the bedding areas. No wonder you can’t find bluegill.”
    Charlie tossed the fish back, chose another night crawler, and baited his hook. “Maybe Nick Fox didn’t take her seriously either. Maybe she was just a sport—I can’t say it—to him until he found out she was onto something.”
    “But then there’s Mary Rosedahl,” I said.
    “Yes, and unless you’re willing to believe that Fox killed a second time to cover up the motive for the first…”
    “Hold on, Charlie. We have no proof Fox had anything to do with the first. You can’t take this kind of speculation to a grand jury.”
    Charlie smiled and scratched his beard. “Easy, Jake. We’re just postulating. Covering all the possibilities. Stop thinking about probable cause and proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Be a scientist for a moment. Consider every happenstance, no matter how remote. When a person is killed, always ask, cui bono? ‘Who stands to gain?’”
    I drained the beer. It didn’t help my powers of concentration. “That assumes a rational motive and not a crazed psychopath.”
    “And you assume we’re dealing with a psychopath.”
    “Guys who leave nutty notes at murder scenes don’t usually have rational motives, right?”
    Charlie watched his line as little water bugs skittered across the surface. “Unless the messages are purposeful distractions…”
    “That’s what Pam Maxson said about the Ripper note.”
    “Or they could be the product of an irresistible urge to scorn, to goad the authorities.”
    I nodded. “Pamela Maxson said serial killers sometimes do that. They need thrills or something.”
    “Excitement,” Charlie said. “Some psychopaths seek a whirlwind of excitement. Rather than seeking security, they crave risk.”
    I opened another beer. Before I could take a drink, Charlie chuckled and said, “You’ve been quoting Dr. Maxson a lot lately. What should I read into that?”
    “My admiration for her…credentials.”
    “No doubt.”
    I allowed myself a long, cool swallow. I started drinking two a day when I learned the brew might be good for fighting cholesterol. At the same time I cut back to only an occasional bacon cheeseburger and chocolate shake. Now I only eat red meat when doubling the ration of beer. Somehow I’ve convinced myself the arterial arithmetic works out.
    I tried thinking it through, but my head was spinning and not from the beer. “Charlie, best I can figure, we may have a crazed killer or a sane one, or two crazed killers or two sane ones, or one of each. And the Compu-Mate connection either ties the two killings together or not, depending on whether we’re dealing with one nut or two, or two non-nuts, or one of each.”
    “Verus,” Charlie agreed. “Anything is possible, but since the computer club is the only apparent connection, I suggest you pursue the computer business.”
    “Rodriguez is checking out each woman’s calls,” I said.
    “You got the list?”
    “From A to Z, or Android to Zorro, as the case may be. You wouldn’t believe some of their handles.”
    I pulled out two lists that had been personally