“So, what is Slater’s objective?” Kevin asked again, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Well, that’s a problem. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. On the surface it seems simple enough: He wants to terrorize you. Men like Slater do what they do for a variety of reasons, usually to gratify some twisted need they’ve grown into over many years, but almost without exception they prey on the weak. Their focus is on their own need, not on the victim.”

“Makes sense. And Slater’s different?”

“I think so. His objective doesn’t seem to be himself as much as you. I mean you specifically.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Take your typical serial offender. Say a pyromaniac bent on burning down houses. He doesn’t care whose house it is as long as it fits his needs. He needs to see the flame engulfing this structure—it excites him and gives him a feeling of power beyond his reach in any other way. The house is important—it has to be a certain size, maybe a certain build, maybe a symbol of wealth. In the same way a sex offender might prey on women he considers appealing. But his focus is on himself, not the victim. The victim is almost incidental.”

“And you’re saying that Slater hasn’t chosen me for what I can do for him, but for what he can do to me. Like he did with your brother.”

“Maybe. But this is playing out differently than Roy’s murder. The Riddle Killer filled his thirst for bloodshed by killing Roy and killing him quickly. Slater is playing with you, over three days now. I’m beginning to question our initial assumption that Slater and the Riddle Killer are the same person.” The Riddle Killer didn’t seem to know his victims, other than Roy, whom he’d selected for her benefit. She rubbed her arms against the cold.

“Unless all that was just a cover-up for what he’s doing now. Unless extracting revenge for what I did to him was the game all along.”

“That’s the obvious assumption. I’m not sure anymore. Revenge would be a simple matter. Assuming Slater is the boy you locked up, he could have found a hundred opportunities over the years to extract his revenge. His most obvious course would have been to hurt or kill you. I don’t think Slater’s interested in killing you. Not anytime soon, anyway. I think he wants to change you. He wants to force your hand somehow. I don’t think the game’s the device; I think the game’s the objective.”

“But that’s crazy!” Kevin stopped and put both hands into his hair. “What is there about me? Who? Who would want to . . . to force my hand?”

“I know it doesn’t all fit yet, but the sooner we narrow down Slater’s true motivation, the higher our chances of getting you out of this mess.”

They were at the back, by the fire escape. A ladder reached up to the second floor and curved into a window. Jennifer sighed and leaned against the tin siding.

“Bottom line is that if I’m right, then the only way to understand Slater’s true motivation is to understand you, Kevin. I’ve got to know more about you.” He was pacing, staring at the concrete, hands still in his hair.

“I want to know about the house,” she said.

“There’s nothing to know about the house,” he said.

“Why don’t you let me judge that?”

“I can’t talk about the house!”

“I know you don’t think you can, but it may provide our best clues now. I know it’s hard—”

“I don’t think you have a clue about how hard it is! You didn’t grow up there!” He paced and smoothed his hair frantically, and then flung his arms wide. “You think any of this means anything? You think this is reality? A bunch of ants running around the globe, hiding their secrets in their deep dark tunnels? We allhave our secrets. Who’s to say that mine have anything to do with anything? Why don’t the rest of the ants have to crawl out of their tunnels and broadcast their sins to the world?”

Kevin was baring himself, and Jennifer needed him to do just that. Not because she would ever exploit him, but because she needed to understand his secrets if she hoped to help him.

And she did hope to help him. More now than a day ago, even if Slater wasn’t her brother’s killer after all.

“You’re right,” she said. “We’re all fallen, as my priest used to say. I’m not interested in your sin. I wasn’t even in favor of the initial confession, remember? I’m interested in you, Kevin.”

“And who am I?” He was desperate. “Huh? Answer me that. Who am I? Who are you? Who is anybody? We are what we do! We are our secrets. I ammy sin! You want to know me, then you have to know my sin. Is that what you want? Every little dirty secret out on the table so that you can dissect it all and know Kevin, the poor tormented soul?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You might as well have, because it’s true! Why is it fair that I should spill my guts when the pastor next-door has as many nasty secrets as I do? Huh? If we want to know him, we have to know his secrets, is that it?”

“Stop it!” Her anger surprised her. “You’re notyour sin! Who ever told you that lie? Aunt Balinda? I’ve seen you, Kevin. You asked me what my profile for you was. Well, let me be more specific. You are one of the kindest, gentlest, most interesting, appealing men I know. That’s who you are. And don’t insult my intelligence or my feminine discernment by dismissing my opinion.” She took a breath and a guess. “I don’t know what Slater’s up to, or why, but I guarantee you’re doing exactly what he wants you to do when you start to believe that you’re trapped. You’ve come out of that. Don’t go back.”

She knew by his blink that she was right. Slater was trying to pull him back to the past, and the thought so terrified him that he was breaking down. Which was exactly how Slater would accomplish his objective. He would trap Kevin in his past.

Kevin stared at her, stunned. It occurred to her then, looking back into his wide eyes, that she didn’t merely like Kevin, she cared for him deeply. She had no business caring for him; she didn’t even wantto care for him, not in that way. Her empathy had risen to the surface, unbidden. She’d always been a sucker for the downtrodden. She had always had a soft spot for men who were hurting in some way. Now her soft spot had found Kevin.

But this didn’t feel like a soft spot. She actually found him appealing, with his ragged hair and his charming smile. And those eyes. That wasn’t empathy, was it?

She closed her eyes and swallowed. God forbid, Jennifer. And when was the last time you dated a man, anyway? Two years ago? That hillbilly from Arkansas who came from good stock, so says Mom?She’d never known the full meaning of boring until then. She would prefer a man with a goatee who rode a Harley and winked frequently.

Jennifer opened her eyes. Kevin was seated on the concrete, cross-legged, head in his hands. The man never ceased to surprise her.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure where all that came from,” she said.

He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Please, don’t be sorry. That was the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” His eyes fluttered open, as if he’d just heard himself. “Maybe nicestis the wrong word choice. It was . . . I think you’re right. He’s trying to pull me back, isn’t he? That’s his objective. So who is he? Balinda?”

Jennifer sat down beside him and folded her legs to the side. Her skirt wasn’t exactly dress of choice for concrete sitting, but she didn’t care.

“I need to tell you something, Kevin. But I don’t want it to upset you.”

He stared ahead and then turned to her. “You went to the house, didn’t you?”

“Yes. This morning. It took a few threats to convince Balinda to let me in, but I saw the place and I met Eugene and Bob.”

Kevin lowered his head again.

“I know it’s hard, but I need to know what happened in that house, Kevin. For all we know, Slater could be someone Balinda hired. That would fit the profile. She wants to change you. But without knowing the whole story, I’m floundering here.”