Free Valley of Lights by Stephen Gallagher Page B

hour since I'd parted from Woods on the headquarters steps.
    The first thing that I saw when I got in through the door was a folded note that had been pushed through and which was caught between the door itself and the inner mesh screen. I picked it up and opened it out, and saw the words IRA terrorists as I recognised Mrs Moynahan's careful and eccentric handwriting. The IRA terrorists, as far as I'd been able to understand, were a team of Mormons who'd been visiting door-to-door a month ago. I filed the note in my Moynahan Dossier - aka the trash - and switched on the radio to catch the lunchtime news and the Chief's conference.
    The coverage was by the girl from KTAR. I'd seen her at crime scenes a few times; she had sexy green eyes and a good reporting style, and I'd never been able to understand why she hadn't been snapped up for television until Loretta had pointed out to me that TV news organisations preferred their women to be either bimbos or ballbreakers, with no allowance for the reasonable middle ground between. What emerged from the conference was an official theory that the killer had packed his bags and run, end of story. I thought that it was a little early to expect the media people to swallow that one, and apparently so did they; the Chief got a hard time out of it, but came through as if he'd been greased.
    Unlike the Chief I knew that he was going to do it again, either as Woods or as somebody else. Even though I believed that the mutilation took place to satisfy a perverted want rather than an actual need - hence the throwing-up afterwards - I was sure of a repeat performance because I'd made the mistake of asking him to move on. Nobody tells me what to do , he'd said; and now he was going to prove it.
    I heard Georgie getting home then, and I leaned back in my chair so that I could look out of the window without being seen; she was alone, opening the door with a key that was on the end of a long piece of string attached somewhere about her person. When she'd disappeared inside the door banged a couple of times, and I saw her briefly pass the window opposite on her way towards the kitchen. I knew that she'd only walked from the bus to the house, a matter of fifty yards or so, but still the thought of her alone and unprotected made me go cold. I wondered about suggesting to Loretta that she should take a few more days off and we'd go up to Sedona or somewhere, all three of us leaving the city with its prowling beast so that some other mother's child could be taken. But even as I thought of it, I knew that it was a sneaky way out which would solve nothing; and sooner or later we'd have to come back, and when we came back he could still be waiting.
    That was when I heard Loretta's jeep, and I quickly got to my feet. I saw her bounce out of the Renegade and up the wooden steps into her own house; I got a vague echo of her calling through to check on Georgie, and of Georgie's reply, and then Loretta was out again and crossing over towards my porch.
    She came in. She was flushed and all lit up, like someone slightly intoxicated by a taste of success. I said, 'How'd you get on?'
    'I saw you talking to him on the steps,' she said as she went over towards my table. I followed her, and pulled out the chair opposite. 'I'm glad you did that, or I wouldn't ever have recognised him. The picture you showed me didn't even come close.'
    'That's thanks to Lightnin' Leslie. He couldn't draw a crowd if his sketchpad was on fire. Were you spotted?'
    'No way. Want a rundown on the details?'
    'I'm all ears.'
    We sat head-to-head across the baize, and Loretta took out one of those small jotting pads that fold into a little pocket-sized wallet. I'd never thought of them as being useful for much other than shopping lists or very short memory-joggers, but I could see that she'd fitted about a dozen numbered points in tiny writing on the first page. She held it squarely before her in both hands. She was enjoying this.
    'When he left