Two people die in Dallas before lunch. One on a bright downtown sidewalk. One in Dealey Plaza, with tour buses still idling at the curb. Single shots. Distance. No shooter anyone can name. And at each scene, a mark that is almost familiar—close enough to wake a city, not close enough to be costume.
Detective Kane has spent too many nights with old case files and worse symbols. His partner Hale would rather chase roofs, cameras, and anyone who dropped a lens cap in a hurry. Their lieutenant wants facts, not a ghost story. The press already has a word it is not supposed to say. The FBI is circling. And whoever is doing this is not copying a dead killer so much as using him like scaffolding.
The victims do not touch. An accountant who corrected other people’s numbers. A student in town for tacos and a train home. Ordinary lives. Deliberate placements. Then the notes start arriving. Then the sequence starts to look like it has a clock.
Kane can work a city. He can work a board. What he cannot work is a hunter who treats the public as part of the weapon—and who already knows how the next hour is supposed to feel.
Dallas is listening now. The phone is about to ring again. And the sequence is not finished.
Cody Walker lives in Ann Arbor and teaches English at the University of Michigan. He's the author of two poetry collections: The Self-Styled No-Child and Shuffle and Breakdown, both from The Waywiser Press. His awards include the James Boatwright III Prize for Poetry from Shenandoah and residency fellowships from the University of Arizona Poetry Center and the Amy Clampitt Fund. A longtime writer-in-residence in Seattle Arts & Lectures' Writers in the Schools program, he was elected Seattle Poet Populist in 2007. His work appears in The Best American Poetry, The New Yorker, Parnassus, Slate, The Yale Review, and Poetry Northwest. He blogs for The Kenyon Review.