I Hunt Killers by Barry Lyga

ex-cons to do to you what your father did to my daughter, and see how you like it when no one comes to save you.” Jazz had actually reported her to the police.
    The incident that resonated with him, though…The worst one of them all…
    Jazz had been picking up his grandmother’s prescription at the drugstore when a kid he didn’t recognize—an outsider—approached him, some unidentifiable emotion swirling in his eyes. Jazz took a step back, on the defensive, checking for the kid’s weak spots already.
    But the kid hadn’t been angry. Or ready to attack. Instead, he’d started crying and begged, “Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you stop him?” over and over until he just collapsed in a pile of anguish and tears, his family rushing over to help him to his feet and take him away.
    What was I supposed to do? Jazz wanted to ask the kid, wanted to ask the whole world. Was I supposed to kill him in his sleep? That would have been the only way to stop him. Kill my own father?
    Maybe that’s what the world had wanted, though.
    It bothered Jazz that he’d never done anything to stop Billy. But on that day, what bothered him more was his reaction to the kid—the way he’d immediately gone on the defensive and started looking for ways to hurt him. And all along, the kid hadn’t been angry or intent on revenge. He’d been wounded and hurt and mournful.
    And Jazz hadn’t been able to tell the difference.
    “I think you can help,” Fulton said now. “I just want to talk to you.”
    “No. No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
    “Please.” Fulton gripped the Jeep tightly, his knuckles whitening. “Just five minutes of your time.” He gagged on his own emotions; tears welled up in his eyes. “I just want…I just want to understand.…”
    “Please leave him alone.” Connie spoke from the passenger seat, her voice quiet but strong. “He didn’t kill your daughter.”
    Harriet Klein. Reddish hair. Green eyes, according to the file, but they were gone when the police found the body, of course. I was worried they’d drop out, what with her hanging upside down all night. So I took ’em out before I left her.
    (At that point in the story, Billy had paused and looked at the ceiling, tapping his chin with one finger, as he often did when thinking hard.)
    Now, where did I…Oh, that’s right—I fed ’em to some wild cats in an alleyway a few blocks away. Almost forgot that part.
    Harriet had been taking night classes to get her law degree; her student ID had made its way into Billy’s trophy collection in the rumpus room.
    “I just want to understand,” Fulton said, now weeping openly. “Her mother—my ex—she’s just blocked it all out. Remarried now, two new kids, like you can just replace one with another, like it’s that easy.” He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand, keeping a death grip on the Jeep with the other. “But I have to know: Why? Why my little girl? Why did he—”
    “He can’t tell you,” Connie said, now with some heat. “Jazz, just go. Drive.”
    Jazz shook his whole body as though waking from a nightmare. He’d been lost in Harriet Klein, remembering the photos, the story Billy had told, the student ID, which he’d touched so many times over the years.
    He gunned the engine, a threat. “We have to go,” he told Fulton, and then reeled off the line he’d so often practiced over the past four years: “I’m sorry for your loss and for everything my father did.” He put the Jeep into gear.
    Fulton’s face fell; he knew he would get no further, and he only became more desperate and more pained. “I’m staying in town. Just for a couple days,” he said, then fumbled in his pocket before bringing out a business card, which he pushed into Jazz’s hand. “If you change your mind, my cell’s on there. Please. Anytime. I don’t care. Anytime at all.”
    Jazz refused to look at him again; he looked straight ahead and hit the gas. Fulton let go of the Jeep.
    “That