MARA VANCE's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Mara sat by the tall window of the old townhouse. Two nights had passed. She had a target and a place. But she had one weakness, and it gnawed at her. She had chased this killer ten years and never seen his face. In the dark, when he came, any man on the steps might be him. Or might be a neighbor. She could seize the wrong stranger and let the real one walk. She wrote a note and sent for Elara Prentiss. The archivist arrived after dusk with her stained grey gloves and a leather bag on her hip. She crouched by the door and studied the floor before she even spoke. "You've paced here," she said. "You're afraid you'll grab the wrong man." "I don't know what he looks like," Mara said. "Ten years and I never got close." Elara set her bag down. "Faces lie. Habits don't." She pulled out the copied schedule and the old card from her brother's file. "The bartender told you one thing that never changes. He wears the blue coat. Every season. He's worn it thirty years. That's not a disguise. That's a man who won't let go." Mara leaned forward. "So I watch for the coat." "Watch for more," Elara said. She spread her notes on the sill. "He returns to the same families. He plans. A man who plans walks slow and checks the street. A neighbor walks straight to his own door. Look at the hands. He'll carry nothing loose. Both hands ready." A small brown mouse darted along the baseboard. Its blue eyes caught the lamp. Elara froze, then smiled. "Even that little thing knows to freeze before it moves. You do the same. Let him show himself first." Mara took the notes. For the first time she had a picture. Not a face, but a shape. Blue coat. Slow steps. Empty hands. A man reading the street the way Elara read a floor. Elara packed her bag. "I've given you what I can. The rest is your eyes." She paused at the door. "Don't grab the first shadow. Wait for all three signs." She left. Mara returned to the window and waited. An hour before dawn, a figure stopped across the street. He wore a long coat, dark in the gloom. He did not walk to any door. He stood. He looked left, then right. Both hands hung loose and open at his sides. Blue coat. Slow. Empty hands. Mara's chest went tight. The man crossed toward the steps. She rose and moved to the door, sure now. This was him. She would not confront the wrong man tonight. But as he reached the bottom step, he stopped and looked up. Straight at the window. Straight at her. He had seen her first.