I have critical information on a serial killer. A face, emblazoned in my memory. A motive, as mind-boggling as it might be. A potential location, as the man’s jacketless dress shirt had suggested he worked in a nearby office. I know what he looks like and how he chooses his victims and where police can start canvassing for an ID. It’d be much more impressive if I learned that as a cop, rather than a victim. No matter. At least I hadn’t actually died.
