Kill Switch

by Neal Baer

  “No, it’s okay,” Lewis interjected. “I want to answer that.”

  He turned to Claire. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to know that your father violated and murdered a little girl? Can you even imagine what that kind of shame feels like?”

  “Have you ever touched a little girl?” Claire asked him pointedly.

  “Of course not!” Lewis shot back angrily.

  “Do you ever have urges to?” Claire asked, leaning toward him.

  Hart shut off the videotape. “Doctor, with all due respect, I think you’re crossing the line here with Mr. Lewis, who has cracked your case—our case—wide open and bears absolutely no responsibility for his father’s deranged actions.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” Claire said, turning to Lewis. “You are not your father. You’ll never be like him. You don’t have to be afraid that you are. You can live your life without worrying that you’re going to hurt someone. And Detective Hart is right. The sins of the father don’t automatically pass down to the son. Whatever guilt you’re carrying, you need to let go of for your own sake.”

  Lewis softened. “Thank you,” he said, “but I can’t. Not as long as you’re telling me that you saw my father kidnap your friend. When was that?”

  “In July of 1989,” answered Claire, “probably on that same stormy day he didn’t come home.”

  “Do you have any evidence proving my father kidnapped and murdered this little girl Amy?” Lewis asked Hart.

  “Only what Dr. Waters told us when she was a kid,” Hart replied. “The color and make of the car are the same as the one your father drove, and she’s now identified him from your photograph, which matches the description she gave to the police.”

  “Not to mention the name he used—Winslow,” Nick added. “It’s not a coincidence.”

  Lewis looked down. Made his decision.

  “Then let’s ask him,” he said.

  Claire looked at him incredulously. “Ask him? But you said he died of a heart attack.”

  “I had to be sure,” Lewis said. Then, for the first time, he leaned toward Claire. “Do you want closure, Doctor?”

  “Yes. For me and for Amy’s parents.”

  “My father is in prison in Ontario. If you want, I’ll get you in to see him.”

  It took Claire only a second to answer.

  “Please,” she said.

  CHAPTER 23

  Kingston Penitentiary rises like a monolithic stone fortress on the northern shore of Lake Ontario, as if guarding the city whose name it bears. In fact, it’s known as Canada’s Alcatraz, the country’s toughest maximum-security prison, housing its most dangerous convicts, nearly half of whom are serving out life sentences. As Claire approached the dual Doric columns at the doors to the visitor’s entrance, she glanced at the guard towers on either corner of the stone wall enclosing the prison.

  At least the bastard is where he belongs, she thought.

  The bastard, of course, was Peter Lewis, the man who called himself “Mr. Winslow” when he kidnapped Amy instead of her more than two decades earlier.

  Claire glanced to her right at the bastard’s son, Doug Lewis, grateful he volunteered to take her to the father he hadn’t seen for nearly twenty years. They had traveled together to Kingston from Rochester, a three-anda-half-hour drive. As their journey began, Doug shut down any attempts Claire made at small talk, and she understood why, perhaps better than anyone. He had successfully buried his past and was now being forced (or forcing himself) to confront it once more. It was an unspoken bond between them. Carrying the burden of his father’s horrible crimes was a hell like the one she had experienced.

  As she and Doug crossed King Street, the two-lane thoroughfare fronting the prison entrance, a sense of foreboding washed over her. She wished Nick had come with them. But she knew there was a purpose to his absence.

  The purpose was expediency. A request from the Rochester Police to interview Peter Lewis in a Canadian prison would have to be channeled through the U.S. Department of State, a process fraught with the real possibility of ending in failure if the Canadians refused to cooperate or if Lewis lawyered up.

  But how could Lewis refuse—or the Canadian authorities refuse him—the chance to see his only child after so many years? Especially when that child was a citizen of Canada as well as of the United States?

  So Claire and Nick made a decision: This would be a stealth mission. After secret meetings involving the police chief and district attorney, Detective Hart took a few personal days off from work so he wouldn’t be officially on duty should some part of the plan go south. He and Nick would drive up to Kingston in Hart’s beat-up old Subaru Outback so they wouldn’t be pegged as cops. Claire and Doug would drive up separately in Doug’s Ford SUV, all to avoid the red flags that three men and a woman in the same car crossing the international border might raise. Nick and Hart would check into a hotel on the waterfront in downtown Kingston, where Claire and Doug would meet them immediately after their encounter with Lewis for a full debriefing.

  As she and Doug proceeded through the prison’s metal detectors and underwent pat-downs for contraband, Claire was relieved she hadn’t tried to smuggle in her miniature flash recorder, because it undoubtedly would have been discovered and resulted in their expulsion from the facility.

  Though Lewis was assigned to the segregation unit, whose inmates lived in solitary confinement and were allowed out of their cells only one hour a day for exercise, his good behavior had convinced a review board that his first visitors in twenty years need not be cloistered with him in closed, closely guarded quarters. And so Claire and Doug were escorted into the visiting room, a large space with several dozen metal tables at which inmates sat with their various family members. Prison guards peppered the room’s perimeter, waiting to pounce on any convict who tried to stick his hand up a girlfriend’s shirt or down her pants or, as had happened, attempted to have sex in front of the other visitors.

  Claire and Doug were brought to a table near one of the room’s walls and sat beside each other, two guards in close proximity. Claire was strangely calm now. She looked over at Doug, who was doing a poor job of hiding the fact that he was a nervous wreck.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” she asked him, touching his shoulder.

  “No,” Doug answered, “but I’ll be okay.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said, brushing the hair from his forehead with her fingers. The physical contact was part of the plan to convince Lewis that they were engaged, but she could tell her touch calmed him down. When was the last time anyone touched you?

  He was about to say something when a door opened at the far end of the room, and two prison guards escorted in a thin, gray-haired man. Claire felt a wave of nausea, for though “Mr. Winslow” had aged, she recognized him instantly. He was shackled at the feet and cuffed at the waist, the two restraints attached by chains that allowed him to merely shuffle across the brown linoleum-tiled floor. He saw his son and a smile broke on one side of his face, lasting only as long as it took him to realize his boy was sitting with a woman.

  A woman who now grabbed his son’s hand, their fingers intertwined. Like lovers.

  Claire and Doug rose as Lewis found his way to the opposite side of the table. A guard pulled out a chair for him.

  “Douglas,” Lewis said, almost emotionless, as he sat down.

  “Peter,” Doug returned, never letting go of Claire’s hand.

  “You used to call me Dad,” said Lewis.

  “You haven’t been my father in a long time,” Doug replied flatly.

  An uneasy silence followed. Then Lewis looked at Claire. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asked, turning back to Doug.

  “This is Claire,” Doug said. “Claire, this is Peter.”

  “My pleasure,” Lewis said, sticking out a shackled hand as far as he could.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Claire said, only now unclasping her left hand from Doug’s and gras
ping Lewis’s outstretched hand with both of hers. The sensation sent a chill up her spine, which she somehow managed to hide.

  But what she made no effort to hide was the diamond ring she wore on her left hand. Which Lewis saw immediately, causing him to pull back.

  “That’s the ring I gave your mother,” he said to Doug, never taking his eyes off Claire.

  “Yes,” his son said plainly, putting his arm around Claire’s waist. “Claire’s my fiancée. We’re getting married.”

  Lewis showed no emotion. He just sat there, staring at the two of them. “I guess I should know something about you,” Lewis said, turning to Claire. “Are you from Pickering as well?”

  “No, I’m American,” Claire answered as respectfully as she could muster. “I grew up in Rochester.”

  “What a coincidence,” Lewis said, squinting his eyes as if remembering his days there long ago. “I’m sure Douglas told you we lived in Rochester before we moved to Canada.”

  “Claire and I met in Rochester,” said Doug. “I moved back there after college.”

  Once again, the corner of Lewis’s mouth tilted upward in that sadistic half smile. “Oh,” he said. “And I thought you didn’t come to visit me all these years because you hated me.”

  “I don’t hate you anymore,” Doug said. “Hating you took too much energy. It almost destroyed me.” He looked lovingly at Claire. “Once I stopped hating you, I got my life back.”

  “You mean, it was easier just to cut me out of your life. To pretend I never existed,” Lewis sneered.

  “That’s right,” Doug replied, ignoring his father’s emotion. “And it’s all because of Claire.”

  Lewis turned to Claire. He stared into her eyes. “So this is your doing.”

  Claire feigned embarrassment. “All I said was that once he let go of the past, he’d be free to move on with his future. Our future.”

  “And I suppose part of that process was to come here and throw it in my face,” Lewis shot back.

  “No, sir,” Claire replied deferentially. “Doug agreed to come up here because I wanted to see you.” At least that’s not a lie, she thought. Though she had no compunction about lying to this monster.

  Whether it was the feigned respect or Claire’s response, something about Claire seemed to disarm Lewis. “I’m surprised Douglas even admitted he had a father,” he said.

  “He didn’t at first,” Claire replied, once again clasping Doug’s hand. “He told me you died of a heart attack years ago.”

  “But you didn’t believe him.”

  “She asked to see your grave,” Doug said. “Obviously I couldn’t show it to her. I didn’t want to have a relationship built on lies. Like the lies you told me when I was a kid.”

  “And what lies were those?” asked Lewis, leaning forward.

  “You know, all those ‘business trips’ you said you went on. How you didn’t want to tell me about the places you’d been to so I’d be surprised when you finally took me to see them.”

  Lewis smiled. “Obviously I never got to take you because I—”

  “Cut the crap, Dad,” Doug said, spitting out the words loud enough for the guards to take notice. “You couldn’t tell me about those places because you never saw any of them.”

  Something about this struck a note in Lewis, as if he actually felt guilty. “I never once lied to you or your mother about where I’d been—”

  “But you sure as hell lied about what you were doing,” Doug said.

  “And what do you think I was doing?”

  “Raping and murdering little girls.”

  If this fazed Lewis, he didn’t show it. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

  “Because Claire says a pedophile like you would never be satisfied with just one.”

  “I am not a pedophile. And Claire is hardly an expert on these things.”

  Doug grinned. “As a matter of fact,” he said with great satisfaction, “she is. Claire is a forensic psychiatrist.”

  For the first time, Lewis eyed Claire with contempt. “Now I get it. You wanted to meet me because I’m some sort of science experiment. Something you can pick apart and then write a paper about.”

  “No. I’ve wanted to meet you for years.”

  Lewis caught his breath. “You’re not engaged to my son, are you?”

  Claire leaned forward, inches away from his gray skin and yellowed teeth. “No. I just met your son yesterday, Mr. Winslow.”

  Lewis looked into her eyes and he knew.

  “My God,” he whispered. “Claire . . .”

  He turned back to his son. “She’s trying to manipulate you, Douglas. Shrinks bend and twist the truth. That’s why I’m in here—”

  “You’re here because you murdered an innocent child,” Doug replied, raising his voice.

  “I’m a sick man!” Lewis exclaimed. “I should be in an institution. I hurt only one little girl! I swear on my life I couldn’t help it!”

  “You’re a lying bastard,” Doug said, tears welling in his eyes.

  “No, son, no. I don’t know what made me do it. Something bad inside me, like an urge that wouldn’t let me go. I’m sick, but that shrink convinced the judge I wasn’t mentally ill. That’s why I’m going to spend the rest of my life in this hellhole.”

  “You’re pathetic. You actually want me to feel sorry for you,” Doug said as he stood up. “You disgust me.”

  Lewis looked at Claire with malignant contempt. “She used you, Douglas. She used you to get to me. You know it’s true.”

  Doug left the room, never turning to look back at his father.

  Claire stared at Lewis, who only smirked. Finally, Claire let out the words she’d dreamed of saying all these years. “Where is she? Where’s Amy?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about, Claire,” he said in a friendly tone. “Claire. Claire.” Her name rolled off his tongue as if he could taste it. “What a pretty name for a pretty little girl.”

  Claire didn’t flinch. She continued to look straight into his eyes. “I have a deal to offer you.”

  “I’m in here for life, darlin’. What kind of deal could you possibly offer me?”

  “One that comes straight from the Monroe County district attorney. I’ve positively identified you as the man who kidnapped and probably murdered Amy Danforth. As I’m sure you know, there is no statute of limitations on either of those crimes. The DA has the option of indicting you and filing for extradition, which he will do if you don’t cooperate.”

  Lewis let out a chuckle and shook his head.

  “Is there something funny about what I just said?” Claire demanded.

  He moistened his lips before he spoke. “When I was arrested, and that shrink said I was fit to stand trial, my first thought was to spare my family the shame of having a husband, a father, on trial for such a horrible crime. So I made my own deal. I told the authorities I would plead guilty and agree to life in prison without parole if they would agree to seal the records, make no public comment, and never extradite me to the United States.”

  Now it was Claire’s turn to smile. “And you think the Canadian government will honor that deal? When they find out how many innocent children you murdered on those ‘business trips’ of yours?”

  “If anyone had any evidence against me, I suppose I would’ve found out by now,” Lewis replied.

  “They didn’t, but they will soon,” Claire said. “Your son gave a sample of his DNA.”

  Lewis’s face dropped. “He did w-what?” he stammered.

  “He gave the police and the FBI permission to compare his DNA to any unsolved murder of a little girl. And since half his DNA comes from you, they’ll be able to use it to prove you’re the murdering bastard we all know you are.”

  “You bitch!” Lewis yelled.

  Then he found a sudden burst of energy and, shackles and all, sprang across the table and tackled Claire to the ground.

  “I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” he screamed.


  Claire dug her fingernails into his face, being sure to draw blood. Lewis screamed as three guards pulled them apart, every head in the visiting room now turned in their direction.

  One of the guards hustled Claire out of harm’s way. “Stand back against the wall!” he ordered Lewis.

  Lewis was struggling against the other two guards restraining him. “Get her out of here!” he bellowed, his eyes shooting daggers at Claire.

  Claire showed the first chink in her emotional armor. “Please!” she shouted to Lewis. “Tell me where you buried Amy!”

  “You denied me,” Lewis snarled, “so now I’m denying you. I’ll never tell you! Never!”

  A second later, he was pulled through the door by the guards. And gone with him, Claire feared, was any chance of ever finding Amy’s remains.

  CHAPTER 24

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said quietly. “I screwed up.”

  It was six hours later and she was sitting with Nick, Al Hart, and Doug Lewis back in Rochester Police Headquarters. The plan to meet at the hotel in downtown Kingston had been scuttled as soon as Nick and Hart heard of Lewis’s outburst at the prison. Though Claire was allowed to leave Kingston Pen with little more than an apology from the prison authorities, the two cops didn’t want to hang around in case Lewis told his attorney or, worse, the Canadian police about the “deal” Claire had offered him.

  So the foursome headed immediately in their two separate cars for the nearby border, crossing back into the United States before the Canadians had time to react. Together now, in the cramped room they’d been assigned, Nick tried to relieve Claire’s guilt.

  “You stuck to the plan,” he said, pulling out a metal chair for her. “You didn’t know he would go loony tunes on you.”

  “And you couldn’t have known about his agreement with the Canadians,” Doug added. “Hell, I’m his son and I didn’t even know.”

  “All I know,” Claire said with sadness, sitting down, “is that we’ll never find Amy’s remains.”

  “Then we regroup,” Hart offered, a strangely confident tone in his voice.