Page 92 of Random in Death

She pulled up in front of the apartment building.

“He doesn’t give them any grief,” Eve continued. “He’s quiet, studious, gets exceptional grades. He keeps out of their hair.

“There was a woman in L&W with four kids, ranging probably from four to ten. I bet she pays more attention to every one of them than whoever’s in charge pays to him.”

“You’re going to make me feel sorry for him again.”

“Don’t. They don’t abuse him. They don’t even neglect him. They just don’t see what he is.

“Go crash.”

“Gonna. You know, it’s only weeks now until we move into the house. You can count it in weeks, and I’m so excited. And still, I’m going to miss this place.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“Oh, bet your skinny lieutenant’s ass. Thanks for the lift.”

She drove uptown the way she’d driven downtown that morning. In steady, dreary rain.

She’d deal with the headache, she thought, by crashing herself for twenty or thirty minutes.

Let the worst of the fatigue drain, sleep the fog out.

Then take another good, hard look at where they stood.

She had more, considerably more, than she had when she’d left the house that morning. The picture of the killer had begun to coalesce in her mind.

He hated being short in stature when his intellect was so tall. He hated his clothes, hated his life. He was destined for so much more.

He despised the others his age for their shallow brains, their shallow interests. Despised them for their lack of interest in him, their inability to see all he was and would be.

But more, so much more, he despised what he most craved. The girls who ignored him.

He’d experimented, she thought, refining his weapon against them. A lab rat, a stray cat.

A scientist had to experiment, had to test his methods, the results. Keep records.

Yet whoever kept him, mother, father, guardian, didn’t see.

How did he get out for the events? Did he have a curfew? Didn’t they see the cheap clothes?

Maybe he snuck out. Maybe they trusted him to be compliant and never considered he’d leave the house.

She stopped at a red, closed her eyes. Then shook herself when she nearly nodded off. Though tempted to take the rest of the trip on auto, she knew herself well enough.

She’d end up dead out in the car parked inside the gates.

Maybe she was being too hard on whoever they were. Maybe they encouraged him to go out. Have a good time! Enjoy the music. Be home by midnight.

No. No. It didn’t fit the rest.

So quiet, so polite, so bright.

That’s what they’d say about him. The “they,” and anyone who thought they knew him.

The neighbors, other relatives, shopkeepers, at least most of his teachers or tutors.

And while he desperately wanted them to see him, he made sure they didn’t.