Chapter 10

Hunter hung around London the next morning to read the newspapers. The Upton Butcher, as they were calling him, was splashed across the headlines. The details were sketchy and police were not releasing how they managed to catch and kill the murdering sociopath.

Hunter finished his coffee and left the paper on the table for the next person. His stomach could not tolerate food yet, but the ritual cup in the morning was reassuring despite the slight sour protest from his stomach.

The detective knew his name and face, undoubtedly having recorded the earlier visit. Hunter was taking a slight chance with a few extra hours in London, but he judged the risk as negligible. He would look like an insurance investigator whose case had just closed. Besides he really couldn't leave London without buying underwear from Spenser & Marks.

His bag with the bloody evidence was already being transferred from the dumpster to the dump truck as he walked back to the Tube station. He couldn't return to Paris through the Chunnel without clothes in his bag, else he would raise suspicions. With the most comfortable underwear in the civilized world in his bag, Hunter went home.

Just after midnight, Paris time, Hunter sat in his brother's family room. He had shown up with two bottles of good French brandy. Usually Hunter would have spent the money on an exclusive call service or a courtesan. His life had changed and so had his tastes.

The kids were asleep. Penny and Burt were halfway through the first bottle while Hunter was only two of three fingers down.

"I think I liked it better when you just sent postcards," Penny said, taking another swallow. "My God, you're describing cannibalism."

Hunter shrugged. "I am telling you about killing a psychopathic killer. The gory details are just a bonus."

He dodged a thrown pillow.

Hunter swallowed the rest of his glass. "I didn't come to tell you my latest adventure, although it feels good to tell someone. I came because I was wrong. That sick fuck wasn't a Child or anything akin. I have to start over again from the beginning and the only viable lead is Buenos Aires."

"You have Katie learning French, not Spanish," Burt said. "You fucked up."

"Shouldn't you be discussing this with Katie?" Penny said. "I'm not complaining but why are you talking to us when the danger revolves around Katie?"

"One, I don't want to scare her," Hunter said. "Two, I need help organizing my plans, which I no longer feel the need to share with my bosses. I'm having difficulties, physical difficulties, which are distracting me to no end. A year ago I would've realized the London anomalies and abandoned the investigation. I've wasted months in London, which we may all end up regretting."

"I'm sure London would express its gratitude for your inconvenience if only it could," Burt said, his sarcasm unmistakable.

The doorbell rang. Before anyone could get up, the door banged open. Hunter was out of his seat in an instant, knife at the ready.

"You're here!" Katie said with an accusatory finger. "Since when do I come second?"

"Lover's spat!" Burt crowed. "I have a front row seat and a drink in hand. Carry on."

"Asshole," everyone else said at the same time.