Kieran hovered inside the laundromat across the street from Roosevelt, waiting for the bell. The washing machines and dryers churned away, along with his tangled thoughts. He rarely liked what he was thinking.
But Robyn was one of the things he had to do. Her whore of a mother made it so.
The school bell ringing across the street shook him out of his mental disarray.
Peering through the laundromat window, he watched the double doors open. Kids began to file out. He recognized some of them from Robyn’s ninth-grade classes. The odd teacher, but no Robyn.
What if she hadn’t come to school today? His heart thumped. He was running out of time.
But then, there she was. He gave a deep sigh of relief.
Today Robyn wore her big checked bell-bottoms again, showing off her slim hips. Short denim jacket, red sneakers. Blond hair blow-dried and fluffy, Farrah Fawcett style. Looking very grown up. A big smile on her pretty face as she said goodbye to her black friend, before she turned with a delightful swirl and headed up Arguello, her folder under one arm, her Charlie’s Angels backpack over one shoulder.
She was going home through Golden Gate Park. She liked to watch the carousel on her way home. He knew this from following her.
He’d get her in the park. Like the other one.
His body tingled with excitement. He checked that his cap was tight on his head, keeping his glasses securely in place. He banged into a plastic chair on his way out of the laundromat.
Outside on the sidewalk, he suddenly felt warm, even though it was overcast and cool. His breathing deepened as he looked around. No blue pickup truck. No fat pig Frank. He was free as a bird. Nothing to stop him.
Maybe it was a sign. That today was the day. He felt a power course through him.
He set off, tailing Robyn, but staying on the opposite side of the street.
* * *
Colleen watched Kieran skulk down Arguello, hunkered down in his knit cap, hands jammed in the pockets of his black warehouseman’s jacket. Traffic clogged the street, parents picking up kids from school. If she followed him in the car, she might be unable to pull over and park if he ducked in somewhere. He was moving fast, as if following someone himself. She fired up the Pinto, rattled down Arguello, keeping track of Kieran’s black watch cap bobbing. He bounded across the four-lane Geary Boulevard. He touched the watch cap. He was wound up tight.
She sensed she was on to something that wasn’t right. Maybe it’s because he was heading in the direction of Golden Gate Park.
Where Margaret had been murdered.