CHAPTER TWELVE
The bad part about killing that last woman so early in the day was that it left an entire day spread out before him. Not only that, but the more he killed, the easier it became. There had been three so far—and the last two had come less than two days apart. Hell, the third woman—the one that had been feeding the donut to the ducks—hadn’t even been planned. But the opportunity had presented itself and he’d just been unable to resist.
It was so easy. And it seemed to be getting easier.
But even now, as he walked along Canal Street, he could see that there was still much work to be done. There were old fliers and miniature posters in the gutters, candy and snack wrappers on the sidewalks. And seeing it all, one discarded flier caught his attention. He leaned down, picked it
