Pakula looked over at Maggie and raised his eyebrows.

The woman probably shouldn’t be left on the streets. She obviously needed help but Maggie liked her feistiness and her spirit. As long as she had the shopping cart she was probably safe from their killer. He’d never be able to bump and slice her without having the click-clanking of that shopping cart in the way. It would draw too much attention.

Pakula was pulling out what looked like a business card. He handed it to the old woman.

“You know Danny at the coffee shop on the corner?”

Another raspberry but she took the card. “My God, who doesn’t know Danny. That son of a bitch will talk your damned ear off. I take the coffee he gives me just to shut him up.”

“You need anything,” Pakula insisted, “You hand Danny that card and have him call me.”

“What would I need? Me and Lydia we got everything we need right here.” She tapped the shopping cart and the contents clanked and shifted.

They watched her rat-tat-tat down the street.

Maggie shook her head when Pakula glanced over at her.

“You can’t lock them up,” she told him. Though it would be easier to protect them if they were behind bars.

They started walking again. Past Vivace’s and the aroma of garlic and warm bread made Maggie’s stomach groan. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten. A doughnut that morning in the rental car. No wonder she was running low on energy. She sipped the rest of her hot chocolate.

“And there’s another sorry ass,” Pakula pointed to the homeless man in the ragged long black coat at the corner. “What am I going to do with these people?”

But as the man turned, both she and Pakula recognized the man at the same time.

“What the hell are you doing here?” It was Maggie who posed the question.

Nick Morrelli spun around to face them. With a five o’clock shadow and a torn felt hat with the brim pulled down, he looked like a street performer instead of the homeless man he thought he was portraying.

He simply shrugged at her and said, “You’re not the boss of me.” Then he jumped out into the street causing cars to brake and honk. He ran down the other sidewalk without looking back.

6:15 p.m.

He had the knife with him, the cold metal tucked up into his sleeve.

The old woman had the cart with her again. Damn! But she was so cute. Pulling crap like that on him. In weeks past it would have made him angry, but his confidence was soaring again. And it didn’t really matter. He had ruled her out in just the last hour. He had a new target.

The guy reminded him of himself. A pathetic shadow of himself. That long dirty black coat that once upon a time was probably his power coat. Good looking guy, young. In good physical shape. Or at least he had been. Maybe he had been on the fast-track to success. Not anymore. Somewhere along the line he had stumbled big-time.

He followed the guy for a while and knew the man was plastered or flying high. He’d listened to him talk to several people. He made less sense than the old woman with her imaginary friend. No, this guy would probably be thanking him for doing him the service of putting him out of his misery.

Even earlier when the couple stopped him. They recognized him. Or thought they did. The man danced around. Slung out some curses. Then he ran off, almost getting run over in the street. He was hilarious. A total loser. Nobody would miss this fool.

He watched him. Studied him. The streets were filling up with people. On one corner there was a four-piece band, or rather four teenagers with instruments, clanging out their version of Christmas songs. Horse-drawn carriages were keeping busy, too. Police horse patrol was back. Same as last night. The lighting ceremony had taken place about fifteen minutes ago and everywhere he looked he was bedazzled by tiny, twinkling white lights.

It was frickin’ beautiful. What a lovely night to die.

He stepped out of a doorwell and found his target leaning against a rail, his back to an alley.

He’d have to do him from behind. Not a problem. He knew where to insert the blade. Not in the middle. It’d ram against the spinal cord. It would need to be off to the side. Down below. He’d keep the same angle up. The back tissue would require more pressure but the blade was long enough. He’d still puncture the heart. The only thing he’d miss was meeting the guy’s eyes. Seeing the realization there.

Oh well. Sometimes he had to change up a little.

He headed in the other direction where he knew he could go around and come up that alley. Soon, buddy. I’ll take you out of your misery.

6:18 p.m.

Pakula had to leave Maggie after a phone call from one of his officers. He thought he may have found the Night Slicer. A desk clerk at the Embassy Suites claimed she recognized the driver’s license photo when the officer showed it to her. She said it looked a lot like the guy she checked in on Thursday.

She remembered him because she had complained about her bursitis and he gave her instructions of how long to keep a heat pad on it, followed by ice. His remedy really worked and she was pretty sure he must be some kind of doctor. According to the clerk, he was booked through tomorrow morning. The officer was waiting for Pakula before they paid him a visit.

Pakula promised to call her. She wanted to be there if this was their guy. But it seemed too easy. Was it possible he’d be sitting in a hotel suite within ten blocks of where he’d killed Gino?

Maggie decided to backtrack and see if she could find Nick and talk some sense into him. She saw the old woman with her shopping cart set aside. The woman was staring at something in the snow along the side of a building. She seemed fixated on it even to the point of shooing people to take a wide circle around.

Then Maggie saw Nick. He sat on a rail that in warmer weather probably allowed bike riders to chain up their bikes. His feet dangled. His head wobbled to the music from the street corner behind him. Sometimes the foot traffic got too close and brushed against him, sending his whole body teetering. No one seemed to notice him. Even when they jostled him or bumped him. He was playing his role very well.

She knew if she waved at him he’d ignore her even if he saw her. So instead, she started to walk toward him, going against the flow. She weaved her way through, taking her time and putting up with the occasion bump.

This is how he does it, she thought. And suddenly she knew he was here. She could feel him. Gut instinct. It had never failed her.

She looked at the faces coming toward her. Her arms came up across her chest and she walked like she was chilled and not paranoid that a knife would find its way into her chest. The flow of the crowd continued. She found herself pushed along the wall. And suddenly she felt a stab in her back. She spun around. Then she realized it was an elbow, not a knife.

Paranoid. She needed to stop.

Through a hole in the crowd she could see Nick, smiling, singing with the music. He was still sitting on the rail. Only now she saw a man coming out of the alley behind him. Well dressed. Alone. White ballcap. Focused on Nick. Walking directly toward Nick. His right arm down at his side.

Oh, God, she could see the flash of metal.

She started pushing her way through the crowd.

“Nick, behind you.”

But her voice got drowned out in the noises of the street, the music, the crowd, the traffic. She shoved at bodies. Got shoved back a couple of times.

“FBI,” she yelled but nobody moved out of the way for the crazy woman in the red Huskers ballcap.

She tore at her jacket’s zipper and yanked at her revolver. Ripped at the clasp to her shoulder holster. Damn it!

The man was within three feet of Nick.