Even if he went down today, he was going to have to go down swinging.
This was the only shot he was going to get.
He couldn’t waste it.
He was pouncing forward the moment the footsteps strayed into the room, and for a moment he even had the horrifying thought that he’d moved too fast. But the twin was there, just a fraction of a step ahead of him, his back to him. He didn’t see him coming. Didn’t see the knife.
He plunged it into that spot on his lower back that he’d been reading about, angling the knife up, twisting before pulling it out as fast as he could.
It was surprisingly easy. The first two had been, too. It turned out that with a sharp enough knife you could slice anything. He hadn’t expected that. It still threw him just a little. So, too, did the twin’s reaction—just a grunt, a small noise of surprise—and then he was spinning him around to plunge the knife into him again, this time into his throat.
It had to be the throat. He had to cut off any shout or scream that he might make. That was necessary. But it also had another effect: the blood pouring down, over his hand, splattering what seemed like everywhere as he withdrew the knife to stab again and again.
The twin slumped to the floor, and he leaned over him, finishing his work. Making sure. But then he registered the noise of the body falling, the fact that it might have been audible out in the hall. That the police might be concerned.
He looked down at himself and panted for breath, seeing how he was dark with it. The blood. His black clothing was soaked, the front of his shirt and his jeans saturated with it. So much blood. Until now it had only been spatters, but this had gushed right out, and—
It didn’t matter. He had to get out of here either way. The worst thing would be to get caught here, standing over the body with the knife in his hand. He could stick to the shadows out there, try to avoid being seen. The first thing was to get out.
There was a heavy knock at the door. “Are you all right in there?” someone shouted, loudly enough that he could hear it. He couldn’t hesitate any longer.
Not daring to reply in case his voice might be recognized, he found the bathroom window he’d climbed in through and slipped out that same way, jumping most of the way to the ground, jolting his ankle. Not badly enough to delay himself. He shoved the knife away into a sheath and then his waistband, running forward as quickly as he could, keeping low to the ground and against the wall.
Out front, there was a cop car parked up against the side of the road. There was no one in it. He gave it a last glance and then ran in the opposite direction, trusting the gathering darkness to hide him well enough.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Laura paced through the living room nervously, unable to stay still any longer. It was fully dark outside now, a pale sliver of moon rising through the apartment’s windows. It was getting later. She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they’d packed Wurz off to the precinct. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe longer. She checked her phone, but there was no message from Frome yet. The other apartment had been further from the precinct. Maybe they hadn’t gotten there yet.
She had no idea what time he would come, she realized. Maybe later. Maybe he wouldn’t strike until the early hours. They only had two data points to go off. And if his plan was to strike the other twin first, maybe he wouldn’t get here until after that was done.
Or he wouldn’t get here at all, because the local cops would catch him there, and it would all be over.
She could only hope.
Except that she’d gotten to a point where she only trusted herself to get the job done, and she fervently wanted it to be here the killer struck—so she could take him down without the risk of him killing anyone else or getting away.
She stuck out the fingers of her left hand in the darkness, brushing them lightly against the wall of the living room. Nothing happened. She trailed around the room, letting her hand settle on the side of the sofa, a cushion, a bookcase. Trying to see if something would trigger. A vision of something that would happen in this apartment in the near future.
Nothing.
Maybe that was good. Maybe it meant nothing bad was going to happen here.
Or maybe it just meant that she had no control over her visions, and once again, they were proving to be frustratingly spotty.
“Do you really think someone’s coming tonight?” Nate asked, the first thing he’d said since the other officers left with Wurz in tow.
Laura looked at him, almost startled by hearing his voice. It was beginning to feel like she didn’t hear it often, especially when they were alone. “I don’t know,” she said, keeping her voice low and quiet. She didn’t want to be overheard, not if the killer was making his way inside even now.
“You said to trust you that the killer would go after these twins,” Nate said. It was almost an accusation, but not quite. Just far enough on the other side to be deniable.
“I stand by that,” Laura said, trying not to snap. She wanted to, but it wasn’t going to help the situation. They were already at each other’s throats as it was. “I just don’t know if he’ll show up now that we’re here. He might have seen the police car outside, seen them taking his victim away. He might have overheard us coming in or even managed to catch sight of us before breaking in, and run off instead. Or maybe he went to the other twin’s place first and they’re arresting him now. I don’t know.”
Nate gave a grunt that could have been an agreement, or could have been scorn, or could have meant nothing at all. They lapsed back into uncomfortable silence again, waiting for a man who might not even show up.
***
“He’s been gone a while,” Frome said, looking at his watch. Not to check the time. In all honesty, he hadn’t clocked what time it was when they arrived, so knowing what time it was now was useless. But it was a gesture of frustration, because he knew he was right: Kenneth Wurz had been gone a long while.