( Read more... )

The cab's a neat little affair ( Read more... )

It's been a while since Paul's been down to Lake Berryessa.

He's lying on a picnic blanket and there's a girl lying next to him.

He knows what happens here.

-- Of course, really.

He wrote the damn article.

They're approached by a man wearing a black executioner's-type hood with clip-on sunglasses over the eye-holes and a bib-like device on his chest ( Read more... )

The Blue Rock Springs Golf Course isn't that remarkable a place. Paul's sitting in the passenger seat of a car parked about four miles from Lake Herman Road, arm slung around the back of the driver's seat. In the driver's seat sits a petite young woman, her blonde hair cut short, hands in her lap rather than on the steering wheel.

"Darlene, right?" ( Read more... )

He can see the two kids in their car (the boy's mother's Rambler ( Read more... )

(he never recalls actually falling asleep)

It's been a while since he's stopping thinking about the Zodiac case - in a manner of speaking, of course.

You never really let it go, do you? No.

You can't.

He still remembers sitting on Graysmith's desk, talking as the other man sketched a rough picture of a survivor's description (what - are you drawing), ( Read more... )

Paul’s door leads, as ever, to the houseboat. (A much improved houseboat in terms of cleanliness, we might add.) It opens out onto the living room, which is no longer a refugee camp for loose papers, but actually a living room. The coffee table at the center has a couple of rolls of wrapping paper on one side, and a few books on the other. The ( Read more... )

The houseboat is a cozy affair. Not too big for one person, not too small for two.

But right now?

It looks fit for maybe a rather unconcerned cat. There are papers everywhere, clothes thrown around haphazardly, and an obscene number of ashtrays and half-empty glasses. (There are also drugs, but these are the first things Paul takes care of upon ( Read more... )

It's been a while since Paul Avery started living with the oxygen tank.

(Besides using it to help him breath, he hasn't done anything else that the doctors told him to.)

He spends his evenings in the bar he used to frequent while under the employ of the Chron, smoking and drinking away his miseries.

Tonight is no different. He's sitting at the bar, ( Read more... )

"Mr. Avery, you've been diagnosed with pulmonary emphysema."

Somehow, he's not surprised, sitting slumped in one of the chairs at the doctor's office.

As for what they're asking (stop smoking stop boozing stop whatever else it is you're doing), he knows he isn't going to do any of it.

(And he knows he's going to destroy himself.

Well, get himself ( Read more... )