The Cold Moon (Lincoln Rhyme 7)

The hunger raged through him now as he looked over Kathryn Dance, sitting only a few feet from him. Her braid, her smooth throat, her long fingers. She wasn't heavy but she had a good figure, not like those skinny model sorts you saw a lot of in the city. Who'd want somebody like that?

Her figure made him hungry.

Her green eyes made him hungry.

Even her name, Kathryn, made him hungry. For some reason it seemed to fall into the same category of name as Sally Anne. He couldn't say why. Maybe it was old-fashioned. Also, he liked the way she looked hungrily at the desserts. She's just like me! He could hardly wait to get her facedown in the building up the street.

He sipped the coffee. "So, you were saying you're from California?" Vincent--well, Helpful Tony Parsons--asked.

"That's right."

"Pretty, I'll bet."

"Is, yes. Parts of it. Now think back to what you saw exactly. That man running? Tell me about him."

Vincent knew he'd have to stay focused--at least until they were alone at the abandoned building. "Be careful," the killer had said, briefing him. "Be coy. Pretend that you know something about me but you don't want to talk. Be hesitant. That's how a real witness would be."

Now he told her--coyly and hesitantly--a few more things about the man running up the street and added to the vague description of Gerald Duncan, though it was pretty much what the police knew anyway, since they had that computer picture of him (he'd have to tell Duncan about that). She jotted some notes.

"Any unusual characteristics?"

"Hmm. Don't remember any. Like I said, I wasn't very close."

"Any weapons?"

"Don't think so. What exactly did he do?"

"There was an attempted assault."

"Oh, no. Anybody hurt?"

"No, fortunately."

Or un-, thought Clever Vincent/Tony.

"Was he carrying anything?" Agent Dance asked.

Keep it simple, he reminded himself. Don't let her trip you up.

He frowned thoughtfully and hesitated. Then he said, "You know, he might've been. Carrying something, I mean. A bag, I think. I couldn't really see. He was going pretty fast. . . ." He stopped speaking.

Kathryn cocked her head. "You were going to say something else?"

"I'm sorry I'm not more help. I know it's important."

"That's okay," the woman said reassuringly, and for a moment Vincent had a pang of guilt about what was going to happen to her in a few minutes.

Then the hunger told him not to feel guilty. It was normal to have the urge.

If we don't eat, we die. . . .

Don't you agree, Agent Dance?

They sipped coffee. Vincent told her a few other tidbits about the suspect.

She was chatting like a friend. Finally he decided the time was right. He said, "Look, there is something else. . . . I was kind of scared before. You know, I'm around here every day. What if he comes back? He might figure out I said something about him."

"We can keep it anonymous. And we'll protect you. I promise."