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Full clip in the automatic. He jacked a round into the chamber and laid the pistol on the console, covering it with a T-shirt.

Slowly he drove away—don’t catch the light red—slowly around the corner and into the scattered traffic.

He had to think now and it was hard to think.

It had to be the films. Graham knew about the films somehow. Graham knew where. He didn’t know who. If he knew who, he wouldn’t need personnel records. Why accounting records too? Absences, that’s why. Match absences against the dates when the Dragon struck. No, those were Saturdays, except for Lounds. Absences on the days before those Saturdays; he’d look for those. Fool him there—no workmen’s compensation slips were kept for management.

Dolarhyde drove slowly up Lindbergh Boulevard, gesturing with his free hand as he ticked off the points.

They were looking for fingerprints. He’d given them no chance for fingerprints—except maybe on the plastic pass at Brooklyn Museum. He’d picked it up in a hurry, mostly by the edges.

They must have a print. Why fingerprint if they didn’t have something to match it to?

They were checking that van for prints. No time to see if they were checking cars too.

Van. Carrying the wheelchair with Lounds in it—that tipped them. Or maybe somebody in Chicago saw the van. There were a lot of vans at Gateway, private vans, delivery vans.

No, Graham just knew he had a van. Graham knew because he knew. Graham knew. Graham knew. The son of a bitch was a monster.

They’d fingerprint everyone at Gateway and Baeder too. If they didn’t spot him tonight, they’d do it tomorrow. He had to run forever with his face on every bulletin board in every post office and police station. It was all coming to pieces. He was puny and small before them.

“Reba,” he said aloud. Reba couldn’t save him now. They were closing in on him, and he was nothing but a puny hareli—

“ARE YOU SORRY NOW THAT YOU BETRAYED ME?”

The Dragon’s voice rumbled from deep within him, deep as the shredded painting in his bowels.

“I didn’t. I just wanted to choose. You called me—”

“GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND I’LL SAVE YOU.”

“No. I’ll run.”

“GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND YOU’LL HEAR GRAHAM’S SPINE SNAP.”

“No.”

“I ADMIRE WHAT YOU DID TODAY. WE’RE CLOSE NOW. WE CAN BE ONE AGAIN. DO YOU FEEL ME INSIDE YOU? YOU DO, DON’T YOU?”

“Yes.”

“AND YOU KNOW I CAN SAVE YOU. YOU KNOW THEY’LL SEND YOU TO A PLACE WORSE THAN BROTHER BUDDY’S. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND YOU’LL BE FREE.”

“No.”

“THEY’LL KILL YOU. YOU’LL JERK ON THE GROUND.”

“No.”

“WHEN YOU’RE GONE SHE’LL FUCK OTHER PEOPLE, SHE’LL—”

“No! Shut up.”

“SHE’LL FUCK OTHER PEOPLE, PRETTY PEOPLE, SHE’LL PUT THEIR—”

“Stop it. Shut up.”

“SLOW DOWN AND I WON’T SAY IT.”