Description: The Man Who Killed His Brother PART ONE Tuesday Night/Wednesday "The truth is that you upset me when you said there is a connection between the two dead girls. I had not considered that. So I have been reading the files for two years back. I found these." Encino tapped the stack of folders. "I can't permit you to read them. But"--he sighed eloquently--"I must leave the office for a short time. How can I know what happens behind my back? Please use my desk." Five seconds later, he was gone, and I was alone with his files. There were seven folders. Carol Christie's was on the top, and I took it first. By the time I finished, I was dripping sweat on his blotter. My shirt was soaked and sticking to my back, along with most of my jacket. I didn't ask Encino's permission to use his phone--I just grabbed it and dialed Ginny as well as I could with my hands shaking like cowards. "Brew," she started, "what's wrong?" I brushed past her anxiety. "I'm at Missing Persons. You've got to get down here." "Why? What's happened?" "There are seven of them," I said. "I don't care what the cops say, this is no accident." "Make sense, Brew! Seven what?" "Seven thirteen-year-olds. No, five. Two of them were twelve." I knew I wasn't getting through to her, but I couldn't help myself. I was too upset to pull it together. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" I pushed the phone against the side of my head as hard as I could, trying to make that damn inanimate plastic steady me. I wanted to howl, but I couldn't get enough air into my lungs. "Carol Christie didn't drown because she couldn't swim. She drowned because she OD'ed on heroin. And that's not all. Before she drowned, she--" But I couldn't say it over the phone. Carol was only thirteen. There are some things you can hardly say out loud at all. "I'm on my way," Ginny told me. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Then the line went dead, leaving me with nothing but an empty phone to hang on to. Copyright 1980, 2002 by Stephen R. Donaldson

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