Exposition!
Meyer explained over bad precinct coffee. “You hit the nail on the head, and you weren’t even trying. The only way we know for sure somebody’s a victim of the Killer is the damned feather. Otherwise?” She scowled at her coffee like it knew what it had done. “Could just be some hopped-up degenerate or thrill-killer.”
“So the Killer’s picking at random?” I spooned more sugar into my cup, which didn’t help. “Just picking anybody off the street? You sure you want me putting that in the papers? Because that’ll start a panic like nobody’s business.”
“Nah, it’s not that bad, Joe. So far, the victims do all have one thing in common: they’ve all been total bastards. Like Khan, there? Married three times, wrecked five other people’s marriages that we know of. Including the coroner’s brother’s, which is why he was whistling as he worked. I guess that in that job, you get through the day by looking forward to seeing somebody you don’t like on the slab.”