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Authors: Ramsey Campbell
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him.”
“You can call him lucky if you want. Nobody’s ever caught him.”
“Could the cameras have been vandalised?” Patricia suggested.
“That’s right, of course they were.”
“Let’s start with the basics,” Vincent said. “What’s his name?”
“Nobody ever finds out who he is or anything about him.”
“The public needs something to remember him by. They’re going to want to know more, and I am.”
“He’s never had a name,” Dudley said with a frown that Tom’s camera trapped.
“That doesn’t work for me. Let’s think of one that’ll stick in people’s minds. It could be so ordinary nobody would think he was a killer.”
“Like Dudley Smith,” Tom commented, and captured several expressions in fewer seconds.
“I don’t want to think about names just now.”
“I should have asked you in advance,” Vincent said. “Maybe you’ll have an idea when you aren’t trying to. Let’s work on something else, then. How does he get caught?”
Patricia had a notion that the camera was driving its subject deeper into himself. After a pause that a party of Japanese tourists filled with laughter he said “He never is.”
“Even the greatest can make mistakes,” Patricia said, though she felt that was to overrate his character. “Sherlock Holmes caught Professor Moriarty, didn’t he?”
“That was just,” Dudley said and gulped a mouthful of hock, “that was just a film.”
“It was a story first.”
“Right, an old story. Some people have got cleverer since then.”
“You think a lot of yourself,” Tom said.
As Dudley gave him a look that appeared to contain more than simple hostility, Vincent said “There has to be something he’s overlooked. That’s how real killers are caught.”
“He wouldn’t. I know. He never would have.”
“I’m going to tell you this is fascinating,” Walt said. “I’ve never met a writer who was closer to his creation. But listen, I guess you weren’t expecting to be asked to rethink your ideas. We could give you a day, why not a couple of days before the next session. What’s easiest for you?”
“I know what Patricia said you were ace at,” Vincent said.
“What?” Dudley demanded, and she felt as if he was doing so on her behalf.
“Finding places for killing people.”
“He means I said you were good with locations,” Patricia felt bound to translate.
“So tell us a few our character can use. Tell us some he’s used.”
“They won’t be any good for filming. I’ll need to find some new ones.”
Was it possible for an author to be too proprietary about his material? Patricia was wondering if a thought along these lines was behind Tom’s grin when he spoke. “Here’s someone that knows her way around.”
Patricia turned to see Shell tramping over, an inch or two in combat boots above her own five feet tall. She wore a combat outfit as well, complete with a peaked cap tugged low as if to give her permanently flushed face somewhere it could huddle even smaller and observe the world. “Hey, Shell,” Walt cried. “This is a surprise.”
Shell jerked her knuckly chin up, almost raising the shadow of the cap past her eyes. “I thought we’d got to eat at places with ads in the
Mouth
.”
“I guess I said it’d do no harm to support our advertisers. If you’re on your own I’m sure you’re welcome to join us, am I right?” When Patricia and quite possibly Dudley kept their reservations to themselves, Walt said “This is Shell Garridge, Dudley. She’s a comedian and she’s writing a column for us.”
Dudley gave her half a grin. “If I called someone in a story that, nobody would believe me.”
“It’s Shell all right. I made the rest up. It’s a joke.” She watched his grin fail to expand before she said “You’re the one that gets your kicks out of killing women.”
Patricia wasn’t sure how much of the twitching of his face was produced by the flashes of Tom’s camera. “Gee, you’re
“You can call him lucky if you want. Nobody’s ever caught him.”
“Could the cameras have been vandalised?” Patricia suggested.
“That’s right, of course they were.”
“Let’s start with the basics,” Vincent said. “What’s his name?”
“Nobody ever finds out who he is or anything about him.”
“The public needs something to remember him by. They’re going to want to know more, and I am.”
“He’s never had a name,” Dudley said with a frown that Tom’s camera trapped.
“That doesn’t work for me. Let’s think of one that’ll stick in people’s minds. It could be so ordinary nobody would think he was a killer.”
“Like Dudley Smith,” Tom commented, and captured several expressions in fewer seconds.
“I don’t want to think about names just now.”
“I should have asked you in advance,” Vincent said. “Maybe you’ll have an idea when you aren’t trying to. Let’s work on something else, then. How does he get caught?”
Patricia had a notion that the camera was driving its subject deeper into himself. After a pause that a party of Japanese tourists filled with laughter he said “He never is.”
“Even the greatest can make mistakes,” Patricia said, though she felt that was to overrate his character. “Sherlock Holmes caught Professor Moriarty, didn’t he?”
“That was just,” Dudley said and gulped a mouthful of hock, “that was just a film.”
“It was a story first.”
“Right, an old story. Some people have got cleverer since then.”
“You think a lot of yourself,” Tom said.
As Dudley gave him a look that appeared to contain more than simple hostility, Vincent said “There has to be something he’s overlooked. That’s how real killers are caught.”
“He wouldn’t. I know. He never would have.”
“I’m going to tell you this is fascinating,” Walt said. “I’ve never met a writer who was closer to his creation. But listen, I guess you weren’t expecting to be asked to rethink your ideas. We could give you a day, why not a couple of days before the next session. What’s easiest for you?”
“I know what Patricia said you were ace at,” Vincent said.
“What?” Dudley demanded, and she felt as if he was doing so on her behalf.
“Finding places for killing people.”
“He means I said you were good with locations,” Patricia felt bound to translate.
“So tell us a few our character can use. Tell us some he’s used.”
“They won’t be any good for filming. I’ll need to find some new ones.”
Was it possible for an author to be too proprietary about his material? Patricia was wondering if a thought along these lines was behind Tom’s grin when he spoke. “Here’s someone that knows her way around.”
Patricia turned to see Shell tramping over, an inch or two in combat boots above her own five feet tall. She wore a combat outfit as well, complete with a peaked cap tugged low as if to give her permanently flushed face somewhere it could huddle even smaller and observe the world. “Hey, Shell,” Walt cried. “This is a surprise.”
Shell jerked her knuckly chin up, almost raising the shadow of the cap past her eyes. “I thought we’d got to eat at places with ads in the
Mouth
.”
“I guess I said it’d do no harm to support our advertisers. If you’re on your own I’m sure you’re welcome to join us, am I right?” When Patricia and quite possibly Dudley kept their reservations to themselves, Walt said “This is Shell Garridge, Dudley. She’s a comedian and she’s writing a column for us.”
Dudley gave her half a grin. “If I called someone in a story that, nobody would believe me.”
“It’s Shell all right. I made the rest up. It’s a joke.” She watched his grin fail to expand before she said “You’re the one that gets your kicks out of killing women.”
Patricia wasn’t sure how much of the twitching of his face was produced by the flashes of Tom’s camera. “Gee, you’re
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