of my jacket up. It was colder outside than I had expected. Our breath came out in thin clouds, mingled together and then disappeared.
When we got to Sunset I looked both ways and saw a neon sign over an archway a block to the west that said CAT & FIDDLE BAR. I pointed that way and Rachel started walking. We were silent until we got there.
Going through the archway we entered an outdoor garden with several tables below green canvas umbrellas but they were all empty. Past these and through the windows on the other side we could see what looked like a lively and warm bar. We went in, found an empty booth on the opposite side from the dartboards and sat down. It was an English-style pub. When the barmaid came around Rachel told me to go first and I ordered a black and tan. Rachel then did the same.
We looked around the place and small-talked until our drinks arrived. We clinked glasses and drank. I watched her. I didn’t think she’d ever had a black and tan before.
“The Harp is heavier. It always stays at the bottom, the Guinness on top.”
She smiled.
“When you said black and tan, I thought that was a brand that you knew. But it’s good. I like it but it’s strong.”
“One thing the Irish know is how to make a beer. The English have to give them that.”
“Two of these and you’ll have to call for backup to get me back.”
“I doubt it.”
We lapsed into a comfortable silence. There was a fireplace in the rear wall and the warmth from its fully engulfed fire extended across the room.
“Is your real name John?”
I nodded.
“I’m not Irish but I always thought Sean was Irish for John.”
“Yes, it’s the Gaelic version. Since we were twins my parents decided . . . actually my mother.”
“I think it’s nice.”
After a few more drinks from my glass I started asking questions about the case.
“So, tell me about Gladden.”
“There isn’t a whole lot to tell yet.”
“Well, you met him. Interviewed him. You must have a feeling for him.”
“He wasn’t exactly cooperative. His appeal was still pending and he didn’t trust us not to use what he said to disrupt that. We all took turns trying to get him to open up. Finally, I think it was Bob’s idea, he agreed to talk to us in the third person. As if the perpetrator of the crimes he was convicted of was somebody else.”
“Bundy did that, too, right?”
I remembered that from a book I had read.
“Yes. And others as well. It was just a device to assure them that we were not there to make cases against them. Most of these men have tremendous egos. They wanted to talk to us but they had to be convinced they were safe from legal reprisals. Gladden was like that. Especially since he knew he had a valid appeal still pending.”
“It must be a rare thing that you have a prior relationship, no matter how small, with an active serial killer.”
“Yes. But I have a feeling that if any one of the people we interviewed was set loose like William Gladden, we’d end up hunting for them as well. These people don’t get better, Jack, and they don’t get rehabbed. They are what they are.”
She said it like a warning, the second such intimation she had made. I thought about it a few moments, wondering if there was more she was trying to tell me. Or, I thought, was she really warning herself?
“So what did he say? Did he tell you about Beltran or Best Pals?”
“Of course not, or I would have remembered when I saw Beltran’s name on the victim list. Gladden didn’t mention names. But he did give the usual abuse excuse. Said that he was assaulted sexually as a child. Repeatedly. He was at the same age as the children he later victimized in Tampa. You see, that’s the cycle. It’s a pattern we often see. They become fixated on themselves at the point in their own lives when they were . . . ruined.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything, hoping she would continue.
“For a three-year period,” she said, “from ages nine to twelve. The episodes were frequent and included oral and anal penetration. He didn’t tell us who the abuser was other than to say it was a nonrelative. According to Gladden, he never told his mother because he feared this man. The man threatened him. He was a figure of