Michael Connelly - The Poet

I nodded. I was thinking of the first possibility. One person, one killer doing all of this.

"If it is just one guy, who is the real target?" I asked, more to myself than Washington. "Is it the first victim or the cop?"

Washington put the V back in his brow.

"Maybe," I said, "we've got somebody who wants to kill cops. That's his objective, okay? So he uses the first killing-Smathers, Lofton-to draw out his prey. The cop."

I looked around the table. Saying it out loud, though I had been thinking it since I was on the plane, sent a chill through me.

"Spooky, huh?" Washington asked.

"Yeah. Real spooky."

"And you know why? Because if this is the case, there's got to be others. Every time a cop supposedly kills himself the investigation is quick and quiet. No department wants that kind of story. So they go through the motions quick and then that's it. So there's gotta be more of them out there. If the first possibility is the correct one, then this guy didn't begin with Brooks and end with your brother. There's more. I'd bet on it."

He pushed his plate away. He was finished.

A half hour later he dropped me at the front of the Hyatt. The wind off the lake was chilling. I didn't want to stand outside but Washington said he wasn't coming up to the room. He gave me a business card.

"I got my home and beeper on there. Call me."

"I will."

"Okay then, Jack." He put his hand out and I took it.

"And thanks, man."

"For what?"

"For making believers out of them. I owe you one for that. So does Jumpin' John."

Gladden stared at the bright blue screen for several seconds before starting. It was an exercise he routinely followed to help clear his mind of the pressures and the hatred. But this time it was hard. He was full of rage.

He shook it off and pulled the computer onto his lap. He cleared the screen and rolled the ball with his thumb until the arrow moved from window to window on the screen and stopped on the TERMINAL icon. He clicked the ENTER button and then chose the program he wanted. He clicked on DIAL and then waited while listening to the harsh screech of the computer's uplink. It was like birth, he thought, every time. The horrible screech of the newly born. After the connection was complete, the welcome template appeared on the screen.

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WELCOME TO THE PTL CLUB

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After a few seconds the screen moved up and there was a coded prompt for Gladden's first password. He entered the letters, waited while they were acknowledged, then entered the second password when he got the prompt. In a moment his entry was approved and the warning template appeared on the screen.

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PRAISE THE LORD!

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RULES OF THE ROAD

1. NEVER EVER USE A REAL NAME

2. NEVER PROVIDE SYSTEMS NUMBERS TO ACQUAINTANCES

3. NEVER AGREE TO MEET ANOTHER USER

4. BE AWARE THAT OTHER USERS MAY BE FOREIGN BODIES

5. SYSOP RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DELETE ANY USER

6. MESSAGE BOARDS MAY NOT BE USED FOR DISCUSSION OF ANY ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES-THIS IS FORBIDDEN

7. PTL NETWORK IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT

8. PRESS ANY KEY TO CONTINUE

____________________

Gladden pressed ENTER and the computer informed him he had a private message waiting to be read. He lightly touched the appropriate keys and the message from the systems operator filled the top half of the laptop's screen.

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THANKS FOR THE WARNING. HOPE ALL IS WELL AND MOST SORRY TO HEAR OF YOU IN HARM'S WAY. ALL IS WELL ON THIS END. IF YOU ARE READING THIS THEN I ASSUME YOU ARE OUT AND ABOUT. BRAVO! GOOD LUCK AND STAY IN TOUCH WITH YOURSELF AND OTHERS. (HEH, HEH)

… PTL

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Gladden typed in an R and hit ENTER and a reply message template appeared on the screen. He typed out a message to the sender of the first message.

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NOT TO WORRY ABOUT ME. ALL IS TAKEN CARE OF. YOURS TRULY IS NOW OUT AND ABOUT

… PTL

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That done, Gladden typed in commands so that he could move to the main bulletin board directory. Finally, the screen filled with the directory of message boards. Each board was listed with the number of active messages available to be read.

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1. General Forum 89

2. B+9 46

3. B-9 23

4. G+9 12

5. G-9 6

6. All's fair 51

7. Musings amp; Whinings 76

8. Legal Beagles 24

9. Services by city 56

10. Barter Board 91

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He quickly typed in the necessary commands to move to the Musings amp; Whinings board. It was one of the most popular boards. He'd already read through most of the files and had contributed a few himself. The writers were all ranting about how unfair life was to them. How maybe in a different time their tastes and instincts would be accepted as normal. It was more whining than musing, Gladden had always thought. He called up the file marked Eidolon and began reading.

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I think they will know about me soon. My time in the light of public fascination and fear is near. I am ready. Each one of my kind eventually assumes the mantle. Anonymity will be lost. I will be given a name, a designation not reflective of who I am nor of my many skills, but simply determined by its ability to fit nicely into a tabloid newspaper headline and stimulate the masses to thoughts of fear. We study what we fear. Fear sells newspapers and television shows. Soon it will be my turn to sell.

I will be hunted soon and I will be notorious. But they won't find me. Never. That's what they won't realize. That I have always been ready for them.

I have decided it is time to tell my story. I want to tell it. I will input all that I have, all that I am. Through these windows you will see me live and die. My laptop Boswell makes no judgments, cringes not at a single word. Who better to hear my confession than Laptop Boswell? Who more accurate a biographer than Laptop Boswell? I will begin to tell you all now. Turn on your flashlights. I will live and die here in the dark.

Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering.

I didn't write that first but I wish that I had. But it doesn't matter because I believe it. My suffering is my passion, my religion. It never leaves me. It guides me. It is me. I can see that now. I think what is meant by those words is that our pain is the pathway upon which we make our life's travels and choices. It paves the way, so to speak, for all that we do and become. Therefore, we embrace it. We study it and, for all its harshness, we love it. We have no choice.

I have a great feeling of clarity about this, of complete understanding. I can turn and look back on my path and see how the pain made all my choices. I look forward and can see where it will take me. I don't really walk along the path any more. It moves beneath me, carrying me, like a great ribbon through time. It carried me here.

My pain is the rock upon which I make my stand. I am the perpetrator. The Eidolon. True identity is pain. My pain. Until death do we part.

Drive safely, dear friends.

____________________

He read it again and felt deeply moved by it. It touched his true heart.

He went back to the main menu and switched into the Barter Board to see if there were any new customers. There weren't. He typed the G command for good-bye. He then turned off the computer and folded it closed.

Gladden wished the cops hadn't taken his camera. He couldn't risk going to claim it and he could barely afford to buy another one with the money he had left. But he knew that without a camera he could not fill orders and there would be no more money. The anger building inside him felt like razors moving through his blood, cutting him from inside. He decided to wire money out from Florida, then go shopping for another camera.