A Simple Act of Violence

by R.J. Ellory

  ‘So what do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About what you’ve seen here. About the discussions we’ve had, the conversations with Catherine. About the idea of doing something about what the hell is happening out there.’

  ‘You’re asking me what I think about it in general, or what I think I should do about it?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘In general? Jesus, I don’t know. Something has to be done about it. How is this thing being viewed? Are they looking at this like it might be another Vietnam?’

  Powers laughed. ‘Who is this “they” you’re referring to?’

  ‘I don’t know, the government—’

  ‘A government by the people and for the people. Isn’t that what the Constitution and the Bill of Rights says? Something like that, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about the government, the White House, the president—’

  ‘What they think is unimportant,’ Powers said. ‘At least it’s no more important than what you or I think. Those people are only in Congress and the Senate . . . hell, Reagan is only in the White House because we put him there. You’ve got to start looking at these things like it has something to do with you. Reason this society is so goddam fucked up is because everyone has got the idea that it has nothing to do with them. They go to work, and they think that the job is always gonna be there. They come home. The wife has cooked supper, the kids are playing in the yard, they watch TV. They just sit there while the world implodes and they think there’s someone who’s gonna fix it all up, that the government, the White House, the President of the United States has got this thing all figured out. Well, I’ll tell you something, John Robey . . . the President does not have it all figured out. He only sees the bigger picture. He sees communist infiltration as a realistic threat—’

  ‘You can’t honestly expect me to believe that the President of the United States figures that I can do something about what’s going on?’

  Powers shook his head. ‘President of the United States doesn’t even know who you are - and he didn’t know any of the people that went to Vietnam either, nor those who went to Korea, or who landed at Dunkirk. We are the little guys, John, always have been, always will be. We’re never going to be generals or admirals or whatever the fuck else, but you know something? It’s not the generals or the admirals who win the wars. It’s the little guys - hundreds of thousands of them - that win wars. Catherine understands that—’

  ‘Enough about Catherine, okay? What the fuck is the deal with Catherine Sheridan? Jesus, I barely know the girl . . .’

  ‘Well, she figures she knows you, and you were the one she asked to be assigned with, and I know for a fact that she asked for you for a reason.’

  ‘And, don’t tell me, that reason would be?’

  ‘Balance.’

  I frowned, shook my head, started to laugh. ‘That’s what you said. That’s not what she said.’

  Powers smiled. ‘She said it first. She was the one who suggested we devote some time and energy to you. She said that of all the people she’d met here you were the one who had the most balance.’

  ‘And what the fuck does that mean?’

  ‘You have a longer perspective than most. You’re older than your age. She said you were able to look at something for what it was, not for what you thought it might be—’

  ‘A bit fucking esoteric, don’t you think?’

  ‘What do you want from me, John? What the hell is it that you want from me? You’re here because of your own willingness to be here. Lawrence Matthews spoke to you, he told you something about what we’re doing. This is where it all happens. This is the Central Intelligence Agency. This is the heart of America, where everything you read about in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights has to be maintained as a reality. This is where the people who can’t do anything about the situation they’re in get something done about it, you understand what I’m saying? And if you don’t want any part of it, if you really feel that you’ve made a serious mistake by agreeing to come here and talk about this stuff—’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said. I possessed my own resolve. Powers wouldn’t understand what had happened until much, much later, and neither would Catherine, but by then the months that we’d spent at Langley would be far behind us. The conversations with Dennis Powers and Lawrence Matthews would be so insignificant they wouldn’t even be remembered. ‘I came here because I was interested, ’ I said. ‘I came here because Lawrence said that there was more to our discussions than just discussions, that there might be something I could do with my life that counted for something. That’s why I came here, Dennis, and that’s why I’ve stayed. The fact that I’m still here despite all this talk of murder and assassination, despite watching films about the horrors that are being perpetrated two thousand miles away . . .’ I smiled. ‘Well, that tells you everything you need to know.’

  There was silence between us for a few moments.

  ‘And you?’ I asked.

  Powers laughed. ‘Me? Why do you want to know about me?’

  ‘I’m interested, Dennis . . . interested in the reasons for your decisions.’

  ‘I feel like I came here hypnotized,’ he replied. ‘Like I was inside some protective bubble of ignorance. I had a few of my ideals challenged. Some people made me look at things that people don’t ordinarily look at, and I felt as though I’d been given a perspective on the truth that is very rare . . .’ Powers cleared his throat, for a moment appeared pensive. ‘But it never seemed like it was something I’d asked for. I didn’t want to have my entire view of the world turned upside down. I didn’t ask for that, but I got it, and it seems that once you’ve seen the truth—’ He looked up. ‘That thing that Einstein said, that a mind once stretched by an idea can never again regain its former proportions.’

  He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I knew there were things happening that I didn’t fully understand,’ he said. ‘At the same time I felt like I needed to understand them. I didn’t have anyone I could turn to and say “Hey, what do you think about all of this? Is this real or what? Is this what life is all about, or are we in the middle of some god-awful endless practical joke here?” I wanted to know the answer to that question. That’s what I wanted, and when I had the answer to that question I figured I’d know what I was willing to do.’

  Powers opened his eyes and looked directly at me.

  ‘Unfortunately, in a game like this, it works the other way round. Unfortunately for us we get to do it backwards. We go out there first. We look. We see. We decide first, and then we act. We gain our experience in hindsight.’

  ‘So what are you telling me . . . you want me to make a decision based on nothing but what I have right now?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to go out there and kill people?’

  ‘We don’t want you to go out there and kill people. At least not right away. There’s training, you know? We do train people to do this stuff.’

  ‘So until then, what is it you do want me to do?’

  ‘We want you to go with Catherine Sheridan. We have people out there, people who will be working behind the lines, so to speak. We need people who can gather information on things that are happening within the government structure. We need people—’

  ‘Who can tell you who needs to die. That’s what you need, right? That’s what you need me and Catherine Sheridan to go out there and do.’

  Powers inhaled slowly, exhaled again. ‘You can leave if you wish, John. You can pack your things and head back to college, and do whatever you were planning on doing with your life.’ He started to rise from his chair. ‘Send me a postcard from wherever you wind up. I can’t obligate you to do anything, and I’m certainly not going to attempt to force you. This is the way it works. It doesn’t work any other way. We need people. We always need people. Where do we get those people from? We recruit them. W
e have readers all over the country. They keep their eyes and ears open. They figure out who might be in the running for doing something a little more important than a nine-to-five in Pleasantville, change the car every three years, vacations in the Rockies, that kind of shit. They’re on the lookout for people who don’t mind getting a little bit of dirt under their fingernails in the belief that what they’re doing might count for something in the grand scheme of things. There are no medals for what we do. We can work all our lives for the greater good and we can’t even tell our next-door neighbor what a fucking hero we are. And hell, John, even if we did tell them they wouldn’t believe us. We can’t have kids. We try not to get married unless it’s within the Agency, and even then it’s a tough road because one of us might get sent to Colombia while the other one goes to London. It’s a fucked-up life, John, a really fucked-up life, but it is a life. That much I can tell you. It really is a life, and there’s something about what’s happening here that will be remembered by certain people in the years to come as the one thing that really made a difference. You either want to help, or you don’t. It’s not complicated, John, it really isn’t complicated.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘What now? Well, you’ve either made your decision already and you’re going to stay and learn something about this business, or you’re gonna go take a walk and use some of that objective balance and perspective that Catherine Sheridan believes you have, and you’re gonna weigh things up and make your decision, and then tomorrow, maybe the next day, you’re gonna come find me and let me know whether you want a bus ticket or a berthing.’

  He walked to the door, hand on it ready to leave.

  ‘And if—’

  ‘Enough questions, John. All your questions have to be answered by you now.’

  Dennis Powers opened the door. He looked up at the ceiling and smiled. ‘Don’t forget to turn the light out when you leave.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Marilyn Hemmings sat down. Miller stood against the wall to the left of the door, Roth perched on the edge of a low filing cabinet. Hemmings did not apologize for the lack of space. As was the case with all visitors, Miller and Roth were transient additions to her day.

  ‘I couldn’t say,’ she said. ‘I said what I said. That was my opinion.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I watch CSI and live the dream, you know?’

  ‘I know it was your opinion,’ Miller said. ‘There’s never been a question about that.’

  ‘The first three were what they were,’ Hemmings said. She looked at Miller, at Roth, back to Miller as she spoke. ‘The first three were the same guy. This I don’t doubt for a moment. The fourth one, Catherine Sheridan . . .’ She paused, breathed deeply, slowly shook her head. ‘God, I don’t know. There were enough similarities, and then there were enough differences. You’re asking me to make a decision I can’t easily make.’

  ‘And Natasha Joyce?’ Miller asked.

  ‘If the Joyce woman had been fourth instead of Sheridan, then there would be no question in my mind. He beat the hell out of her, and then he strangled her. Okay, so there’s no ribbon, no lavender, but what the hell? We don’t know what happened. Maybe something disturbed him. What can I tell you? The Joyce woman feels like the same guy. It really feels like we have one guy . . .’ Hemmings didn’t finish the sentence. She looked at Miller, her expression one of resignation. ‘So what’s your take on this?’

  ‘My take?’ Miller asked. ‘I’m not the forensic pathologist—’

  ‘I’m not the detective,’ said Hemmings interjected.

  ‘I think Sheridan was a copycat,’ Miller said. ‘I think it was a copycat. And then our guy read the papers, watched the TV, learned who we were, followed us, saw who we were talking to, and then killed Natasha Joyce.’

  ‘That’s Tom Alexander’s opinion as well,’ Hemmings said, ‘but I don’t have it. The one thing. That’s what you call it, right? The signature for this guy? The one thing.’

  ‘I can hope, can’t I?’ Miller said.

  ‘You can hope. Democratic society, Detective Miller. Hell, you can pretty much do anything you please.’

  ‘As our friend has done,’ Roth said.

  ‘He hasn’t done what he pleases here, Detective Roth, he’s done what he needed to do. This kind of thing isn’t done for pleasure. Jesus, this shit is about as far from pleasure as you can get for these people. You ever read any books about this stuff?’

  ‘Only the required reading—’

  ‘Up there,’ Hemmings said, and indicated a shelf above the filing cabinet.

  From where he stood Miller could read the spines of several of the volumes: Geberth, Practical Homicide: Tactics, Procedures and Forensic Techniques; Ressler and Shachtmann, Whoever Fights Monsters; Turvey, Criminal Profiling: An Introduction to Behavioral Evidence Analysis; Ressler, Burgess and Douglas, Sexual Homicides: Patterns and Motives and Egger’s The Killer Amongst Us: An Examination of Serial Murder and its Investigation.

  ‘A little hobby of mine,’ Hemmings explained. ‘Extracurricular interest you might say.’

  ‘So the deal with these people—’ Roth started.

  ‘The deal,’ Hemmings said, ‘is that they have to do this. This is not a question of predilection or anything else. It isn’t like they wake up one day and say, “Hell, shit, of course, I’m gonna be a serial killer. Why in God’s name didn’t I think of this before?” This is not a matter of choice at all. There’s a drive somewhere, a really basic and fundamental impulse, a compulsion to do this stuff, and the vast majority of these people spend most of their time trying to hold all this shit inside. They don’t want to go out and rip people to pieces, they have no decisional concept at all. This, to them, is like putting out the garbage when you’re sat watching a ballgame with a couple of beers. You don’t want to, but you have to.’

  ‘Interesting analogy,’ Miller said. ‘And that helps us how?’

  ‘It doesn’t, except from the viewpoint that you’re looking for someone who needs to do this thing, rather than wants to do it. That’s a different angle, a different perspective to look at. I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m not a clinical psychologist or anything else. Personally, I don’t give a lot of credence to whatever passes itself off as psychiatry. Psychiatry is not a science in the same way as medicine and forensics. You want anything done on this, don’t talk to any psychs. These guys’ll have you inspecting your own navel and wondering whether or not you might have been the one to do it.’

  Miller smiled. ‘That’s a little harsh isn’t it?’

  ‘You don’t see the damage that psych drugs do to people.’

  ‘I don’t, no,’ Miller replied. He stood straight, buttoned his jacket.

  ‘Where to now?’ Hemmings asked. ‘PD admin unit . . . we have to find a disappeared cop.’ Hemmings smiled, followed Miller to the door. Roth was ahead of them up the corridor and, as Miller started to follow him, Hemmings touched the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘You dealing with this thing?’ she asked.

  Miller frowned, smiled quizzically. ‘Dealing with what exactly?’

  ‘What’s happening here . . . this girl, the one you were questioning, the fact that whoever this guy is knows who you are, knows who you were talking to . . .’

  ‘Are you asking if I feel paranoid?’

  She shook her head. ‘Hell, all of us feel paranoid every once in a while. I was thinking more along the lines of threatened.’

  Miller tried to let nothing show in his face. ‘He’s after women,’ he said. ‘He kills women. That’s what he does. He doesn’t kill police.’

  ‘And Natasha Joyce . . . she had a little girl, right?’

  ‘Chloe,’ Miller said. ‘Nine years old.’

  ‘She with relatives?’

  ‘Child Services.’

  Hemmings looked away for a moment, thoughtful perhaps.

  ‘What?’ Miller asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  A moment of something between them. Miller sensed i
t, and felt awkward.

  ‘What did you want to say?’ Hemmings asked.

  Miller glanced at Roth. Roth started to walk back towards them but Miller raised his hand and stopped him.

  ‘Sometime—’ Miller started.

  ‘Sometime you wondered whether we could go out or something?’

  Miller nodded. ‘Or something . . . yes, maybe we could go out and have some dinner or something.’

  ‘You always this sure of yourself?’

  ‘This isn’t a movie,’ Miller said. ‘I’m a normal person. I don’t have a collection of smart one-liners. I’m not a charming person. I’m a beaten-to-shit police detective.’

  ‘Makes the prospect of going out with you very enticing.’

  ‘You’re making fun of me,’ Miller said. ‘Forget I asked the question.’

  ‘You didn’t ask the question. I asked the question for you.’

  ‘You caught me on the back step,’ he said. ‘I didn’t come here to ask you out.’

  ‘Sure you didn’t,’ Hemmings said. ‘You wanna know something?’

  Miller raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Couple of times I’ve been out with policemen . . . and you want to know what I think about them?’

  ‘Go for it.’

  Hemmings smiled at Miller’s sarcastic edge. ‘They spend their whole working lives dealing with all the situations where the police have to be involved, know what I mean?’

  Miller frowned.

  ‘They begin to believe that every situation in the world has something to do with the law being violated, with domestic abuse, with death and suicide and drug overdoses—’

  ‘So what’re you telling me? That I should stop taking my work home? Jesus, I get enough of that from Roth and his wife.’

  ‘I do the body parts stuff here . . . right here in forensics. I spend my working day cutting people up and having a look inside. Imagine what would happen if I took my work home.’

  ‘Think that’s a little bit different—’

  ‘Physically yes, mentally and emotionally no. You carry all this shit around in your head you’re going to—’