Page 55 of A Talent for Murder

“It doesn’t make it an accomplishment,” I said.

“You weren’t proud of what you’d done to that pervert when you were fourteen?”

I thought about it. “I was happy, but no, I wasn’t proud.”

“You’d done something special.”

“Not really. It was murder, and that’s not particularly special, and it’s not particularly rare, either. Not in the history of our species. Or any species.”

“It is rare when it’s done well.”

“Getting away with murder doesn’t make it special,” I said. “Besides, it’s clear that you eventually want to get caught in some way. That’s why you’ve made your list.”

“I think it will be of interest.”

“Where did you put it?”

He didn’t say anything immediately, and I turned my head slightly. “Do you think there’s a chance I’m going to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You hesitated about telling me where you hid your list.”

“I didn’t want to hide it in too secure a place. I have a hollowed-out copy of a book in my office library at my house in Philadelphia. It’s in there. Every name, date, and place. It will be found.”

“What book did you choose?”

“The Stories of John Cheever.”

“So you are like a hunter, after all. You want heads on your wall eventually. You want people to know what you did.”

He didn’t say anything immediately, so I said, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It is a kind of art, isn’t it?”

I propped myself up on an elbow. “Killing?”

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

“That sounds a little delusional,” I said. “Art adds something to the world.”

“What about all the great art there is about death? I’m sure you’re a fan of Artemisia Gentileschi? Judith Slaying Holofernes?”

“But that actually is art,” I said. “What you’re doing, and what I did to Chet, that was just butchering, really. Getting away with it doesn’t make it art. It might make you smart, or clever, but that’s all it is.”

Ethan was quiet, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, if he was going to get up and come over and slit my throat. I closed my eyes and accepted that possibility.

“We can’t control other people’s opinions,” he said at last. “I suspect that when people know what I’ve done there will be varying takes on it.” He sounded resigned, almost.

“I’m not sure the takes will be as varying as you think they are, but never mind. You’re good at what you do, and you also enjoy it. I suppose that’s the recipe for happiness as a human being.”

“I do want to hear more about you, Lily,” he said. “More about people you’ve killed.”

“I’m tired,” I said. “I’ll tell you later.”

“You’re stalling for time. Do you think there’s someone out there who might rescue you? Who have you told about me?”

“I haven’t told anyone,” I said. “But, yes, I’m stalling. I’m obviously a missing persons case at this point. Maybe someone saw you stalking me in Shepaug. Maybe someone here saw you take me from the trunk and bring me into the house. I don’t know. Maybe you’re about to get caught anyway, for something else you did. Stalling is my only option.”

---