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asked Christine not to say who or where it was over the phone. When she hung up, she was crying. I felt so bad for her; so terrible about what had happened. The call brought back everything that was wrong between us. I kept calling people I cared about. I talked to everyone I could think of who had had some contact with Kyle. I called Jamilla next. My excuse was that I wanted to remind her to be careful - even now. But I think I just wanted to talk to her. She'd been in on so much of this. Unfortunately, she was out when I called. I left a message that I was worried about her, and to please be careful. I warned a few detective friends - Rakeem Powell and Jerome Thurman - who were still on the DC force. I doubted Kyle would go after them, but I didn't know for sure. I phoned my chief contact at the Washington Post, a .writer named Zachary Scott Taylor. Zach was also one of my best friends in Washington. He wanted to interview me, but I told him not to come. Kyle was jealous of the stories Zach had written about me. He had told me as much. For whatever reason, he didn't like Zach. 'This is serious,' I told Zach. 'Don't underestimate how crazy this man is. You're on his shit list, and that's a bad place to be.' I spoke to FBI agents Scorse and Reilly who had worked with me on the kidnapping of Maggie Rose Dunne and Michael Goldberg. They knew about the manhunt for Kyle, but hadn't been concerned for their own safety. Now they were. I called my niece, Naomi, who'd been kidnapped by Casanova. Naomi was practicing law in Jacksonville, Florida. She was living with a good guy named Seth Samuel Taylor. They were planning to marry later this year.'He likes to ruin other people's happiness,'! told Naomi.'Be careful. I know you will be.' I called Kate McTieman in North Carolina. I remembered the meal she'd had with Kyle and me. Did it mean anything more than what it seemed on the surface? Who knew with Kyle. Kate promised to be extra careful, and reminded me she was a third-degree black belt now. Kyle had always liked Kate, and I reminded her of that. Actually, the more I talked to Kate, the more worried I was about her. 'Don't -------------- 279 --------------
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take any chances, Kate. Kyle is the craziest person I've ever met.' I contacted Sandy Greenberg, a good friend at Interpol who had worked with Kyle several times. She was shocked to learn that Kyle was a murderer. She promised to be extra careful until he was caught; she also offered to help in any way that she could. Kyle Craig was a cold, heartless murderer. My partner at times, my friend, or so I'd thought. I still couldn't believe it. Not completely. I tried to make up a possible hit list for Kyle. 1. Myself 2. Nana and the kids 3. Sampson 4. Jamilla I realized I was making the list from my point of view, and although Kyle seemed focused on me, his obsessions might extend even farther. I tried another list. 1. Kyle's family - every member 2. Myself - and my family 3. Director Burns of the FBI 4. Jamilla 5. Kate McTiernan I sat in my empty house on Fifth Street and wondered what the hell he would do next. It was driving me crazy; I felt like I was running in circles. Kyle was capable of anything.
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He finally called again. 'I killed them, and I don't feel a thing. Nothing at all. You will, though, Alex. In a way, you're to blame. Nobody but you. I didn't even want to kill them, but I had to do it. That's the way the horror story has to go. It's out of control now. I'll admit that.' The horrifying confession came at quarter past five in the morning. I had been asleep about three hours when the phone rang. Panic raced through my body. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. 'Who did you kill?'I asked Kyle.'Who? Tell me who it was. Tell me: 'What difference does it make. They're dead, slaughtered. It's someone you care about. There's nothing you can do now - except catch me. I suppose I could help you. Isn't that what you want to hear? Would that make this more interesting for you? Would it make it fair7' He started to laugh uncontrollably. Christ, I had never seen him lose control. I let him go on. Inflate his ego. That's what he wanted and needed, wasn't it? Who had Kyle killed? Oh God, who was dead? It was more than one person - slaughtered. 'We always worked as a team. In a way, it would be my crowning moment, to catch myself. I've thought about it, actually. Fantasized. What better challenge could there be? I can't think of one. Me against myself.' He started to laugh again. I had to force myself not to ask again who he had murdered. It -------------- 281 --------------
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would just make Kyle angry. He might hang up. Still, my mind was grinding. I was incredibly afraid. Christine? Kate? Jamilla? Someone at the FBI? Who? Oh God, who was it? Jesus, have some mercy, have pity. Show me that you're human, you bastard. 'I'm not a highly trained psychologist like yourself, but here's one amateur's theory anyway,' Kyle said. 'I think this whole rage thing might be about sibling rivalry. Could it be? You know, Alex, I have a younger brother. He came along at the height of my Oedipus complex, when I was a mere lad of two. He displaced me with my mother and father. Check into it, Alex. Consult with Quantico. Could be important.' He was so calm, and he was ridiculing me - as a detective and as a psychologist. My hands were starting to shake. I'd had enough.'Who did you kill this time?' I yelled into the phone. 'Who is it?' Kyle broke my heart. He told me in great detail about the murders he'd just committed. I was certain that he was telling the truth. Then he hung up, even as I cursed him to hell. Minutes later I was in my car, bleary-eyed, numb, rushing across Washington to the terrible murder scene.
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No, no, no! It was like a knife thrust into my heart, then twisted until I screamed. Kyle had hurt me badly, and he wanted me to know something: there was worse to come. This was just the beginning. I stood silent and transfixed in the bedroom of Zach and Liz Taylor. My eyes were blurred by tears. Two of my dearest friends were dead. I had been to their house dozens of times before - for parties, dinner, late-night talks. Zach and Liz had visited on Fifth Street many times. Zach was Godfather to little Alex. My only consolation was that they had died quickly. Kyle was probably nervous about getting caught. He knew he had to get in and out of their apartment in the Adams-Morgan section of Washington quickly. Whatever his reason, he had killed the Taylors with single gunshots to the head. He hadn't bothered to mutilate the bodies. I thought the message was clear: This wasn't about them. It was about the two of us. Zach and Liz Taylor hadn't mattered one way or the other to him. Maybe that was the worst thing of all. How easily he could kill. How much he wanted to hurt me. This was just the start of it. It would get worse. There was no evidence of rage, no passion at this crime scene. I almost got the sense that once he was inside their bedroom he'd had second thoughts. Oh Kyle, Kyle. Have mercy on us.
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I made mental notes - no need to write any of this down. I knew every horrifying detail by heart. I would never forget any of it until the day I died. The gunshots had blown away the sides of their faces. I had to force myself to look. I remembered how in love they had always seemed to me. Zach had once told me that 'Liz is the only person I know who I enjoy being with on a long car ride/That was the test for him. They never ran out of things to say to one another. I felt incredibly hollowed out as I stared at them. They were gone now. What a terrible waste, what a horror show. I walked past their bodies to a large casement window that looked out on the street. I was feeling so unreal. I saw the marquee sign for Cafe Lautrec, closed now. I thought about Kyle on the run, what he must be thinking, where he might go next. I wanted to catch him, to stop him. No, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to hurt him in the worst way possible. Someone from the Crime Scene Unit edged up to me, a sergeant named Ed Lyie. 'Sorry about your loss. What do you want from us, Detective? We're ready to get to work here.' 'Sketch, video, photograph,'! told Lyie. But I really didn't need any of it. I didn't need any more graven images, or even any evidence. I knew who the killer was.