by Vanessa Skye
“That is unacceptable. This is a first offen—”
“No, Henry, it’s not. This is three very brutal, calculated, violent offenses, two of which are murder. You’re lucky Illinois is no longer a death penalty state,” Berg said.
“I’m not afraid to be returned to the bosom of the Lord,” Richard said, smiling and raising his cuffed hands as well as his gaze toward the ceiling. “I will take a spot on his right-hand side as a reward for doing his work.”
Berg looked at the old ceiling tiles and back at the boy. “Is that so?”
She raised an eyebrow as Arena made the crazy sign and rolled his eyes.
Richard nodded once as he lowered his clasped hands in front of him. “It is.”
“Why did you rape Maggie Robertson?”
“Maggie strayed from the flock, and the only way back is through God.”
“So these women needed punishment that only you could provide, did they?” she said, leaning forward.
“Richard! Do not—” the lawyer ordered.
“Of course they did,” Richard said calmly, resting his hands on the files covering the table. “ ‘Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown in the fire,’ Matthew seven, verses seventeen through twenty-seven. They were whores.”
“Whores?” Berg asked. “How so?”
“ ‘Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous,’ Hebrews thirteen, verse four.” Richard spoke with a clear, even voice. No worry or fear evident in his posture or tone.
“Did God tell you to rape these women?” Berg squinted slightly, looking for any tell.
Richard scoffed. “You cannot rape a whore. Once a woman gives herself over to satisfy a man’s urges outside of the sanctity of marriage, she cannot expect to say no the next time, can she?”
Berg frowned.
“They were whores, and used as such. By the end, they surely understood the error of their ways and were pleased to be welcomed back into the arms of God.”
Conch stood. “My client is clearly not fit to stand trial. I will be filing a motion to have his confession thrown out by reason of insanity. This interview is over until my client’s mental competence has been evaluated!”
Berg ignored the lawyer. “Why did you kill Victoria Lampert?”
“I am the hand of God. If God saw fit to take her, who am I to argue?”
“Why did you kill Mark Reynolds?”
“He showed a grave lack of faith.” Richard shrugged. “We had done God’s work doling out punishments to the impure, but he lost sight of that because of fear for his own hide. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
“If you are so sure you are doing the right thing, why bother even trying to hide the crimes at all, Richard?” Berg asked.
“Humans are fallible. They cannot always see God’s way. We are above human law and recognize only God’s law.”
“Jesus,” Arena muttered.
Berg refused to give in to her urge to sit on the edge of her seat. She remained completely still, watching the young man with morbid fascination. “So tell me, when you, your brother, Mark, and Jack decided to rape Mag—”
“Enough! This interview is over until my client’s mental fitness can be evaluated by a court-appointed psychiatrist!” Conch bellowed. “Do I need to get your captain?”
Berg leaned back and stared at Conch. “No matter. There’s two more of them to go, and I already have more than enough to prove these fuckers knew exactly what they were doing.”
***
“How’d it go?” Smith asked Berg and Arena as they arrived upstairs several hours later.
“Slam dunk,” Berg said. “The ASA isn’t worried, even after Pilu’s lawyer asked for a competency evaluation.”
“Yeah, in the end we didn’t even need his statement. Jack Green’s parents urged him to cooperate for a reduced sentence.” Arena polished an apple on his tie as he and Berg went through all the details. “The evidence matches his story. Pilu’s younger brother was also very keen to ensure we knew Richard coerced him into committing the crimes. Seems Richard was the ringleader and the others followed.”
Smith nodded and smiled. “Good job, both of you. A month ago we had nothing. Now we’ve got convictions in the bag. Did they say why?”
Berg scoffed. “Oh yeah! Richard convinced the three others to attack Maggie because she was on the wrong path,” she explained, using air quotes. “Once she recovered and returned to her life in the church, Richard took it as a sign that they were doing God’s work, and he should continue to teach what he perceived to be wayward women a lesson. So he picked Victoria as their next target. She had rebuffed his advances before she left the church. He thought since it had worked so well on Maggie, Victoria could be turned around, too.”
“Yeah. Richard apparently wanted them awake for the rapes, but he hit them both too hard with a baseball bat—Victoria fatally.” Arena punctuated his comment with a snap as he took a large bite of the now shiny apple.
“What about their fellow choirboys?”
“Apparently Mark planned to confess when he came in for his interview,” Berg said. “But the poor kid told his friends his plans when they were doing chores at Robertson’s church. Green said Richard asked to meet Mark after school at his place. He and Peter thought Richard was just going to talk to Mark, but there was a struggle soon after they got there. Richard said that anyone else who thought about confessing could expect the same treatment.”
Smith scrubbed his hand across his face and sighed heavily, shaking his head. “What a piece of work.”
Arena held up a finger, gesturing no as he shook the half-eaten apple, and swallowed. “He may not be able to participate in his own defense. He’s on a one-way ticket to crazy town, spouting Bible verses every second sentence.”
Berg frowned and chewed the side of her bottom lip.
“You okay, Berg? Everything’s tied up neatly, yeah?” Smith asked.
Berg nodded briefly, distracted.
“Oh no,” Arena said to Smith. “I know that look. Things are about to get complicated. Walk away. Walk away!” He pushed Smith back into the office then hurried toward the exit himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Berg hopped up and down, bouncing from one foot to the other and watching the entryway, her arms folded.
“Fuck! Took you long enough.” She rushed Arena as soon as he stepped through the door. “I called an hour ago!”
“You called at fucking five o’clock in the morning! I was asleep, like all normal people.” Arena scowled and took another sip from his take-out cup. “What’s so fucking important that it couldn’t wait another few hours?”
“So I—” She narrowed her eyes and peered at his neck. “Wait. Is that a hickey? What are you—fourteen?”
Arena slapped his hand against his neck and turned up the collar of his shirt, his face flaming.
“So I guess you’re over Maroney, then,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Arena snorted. “What? Did you think I’d be celibate all of a sudden?” He crossed his arms, his biceps flexing and twitching under his sport coat. “I’ve got months of fucking to catch up on because I sure wasn’t getting any from her. What’s so damn important that I had to throw a particularly hot young model out of my bed before I got a chance to play a round with my morning wood? It better be good is all I’m saying.”
“It is,” Berg replied, motioning him toward her computer. “Check this out. Something wasn’t sitting right with Pilu’s confession yester—”
“Oh, here we fucking go.”
“Shut the fuck up and listen!”
Arena fell silent but remained standing and crossed his arms once more.
“He said something yesterday that rang a bell, but I just couldn’t place it. So I got to thinking last night—”
“Still not sleeping, huh?” Arena unfolded his arms and slid his ha
nds in his pockets, a look of sympathy on his face.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Anyway, watch this.” She double-clicked a video file on her laptop.
Richard Pilu filled the screen. He was sitting in the interview room in his orange jumpsuit, his expression pious.
“. . . once a woman gives herself over to satisfy a man’s urges outside of the sanctity of marriage, she cannot expect to say no the next time, can she?”
Berg stopped the recording.
“Yep, he’s a fuckwit.” Arena smirked and folded his arms back across his chest. “What of it?”
“Now listen to this recording of our interview with Father Robertson way back when Maggie was first attacked,” she said, hitting a button on her cell.
“. . . once a woman gives herself over to satisfy a man’s urges outside the sanctity of marriage, she cannot expect to say no the next time, can she?”
Arena frowned.
“It’s word for word.”
Arena rubbed his hands through his already mussed hair. “Okay. Just throwing this out there. Is it possible that he may have gotten that from one of Robertson’s sermons? When the boys weren’t touring, Pilu and the others attended Robertson’s church.”
Berg shrugged. “It’s possible, sure. But word for word? Unlikely. And listen to this,” she said, fiddling with the video on her screen until she found a different time code. She hit play.
“Maggie strayed from the flock, and the only way back is through God.”
“Now this.” Berg dragged the timer on her phone and then hit play.
“. . . I’m sure Maggie now realizes she has strayed from the flock and the only way back is through God.”
Arena sat down at his desk, his brow furrowed, and crossed his hands behind his head as he flipped his gaze back and forth between the two recording devices. “You actually think Robertson had his own daughter raped?”
Berg sighed. “Look at the evidence. We have a very religious guy—a minister no less—whose daughter is going against every one of his teachings and sleeping with her boyfriend outside of marriage. He can hardly teach morality to his flock when his own daughter’s not even listening to him. He decides to teach her a little lesson and gets one of his more than slightly crazy parishioners to help him out. He even convinces Richard that he’s doing God’s work—something the kid mentioned several times. After the attack, Maggie drops college, ditches the boyfriend, and becomes a regular little Virgin Mary again. The daughter is back, face is saved, and everything goes on as it should.”
“And Victoria Lampert?” Arena asked, reaching in a desk drawer and pulling out a bag of nuts.
Berg shrugged. “I’m not sure if that was Robertson or just Richard deciding to continue teaching women a lesson on his own. After all, the first time was a roaring success as far as he’s concerned. Plus, Robertson has no connection with the Lamperts’ church, but Richard does through the choir.”
“Wow. That’s cold,” Arena said with a scowl, tossing an almond in the air and catching it in his mouth. “He organized to have his own daughter attacked just for daring to have a life beyond what he wanted for her.”
“What do you think?”
“I think we need to go and get that fucker out of bed and ask him a few very pointed questions.” Arena threw the nuts back in his drawer and grabbed his cell and keys.
Berg smiled. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“Don’t I fucking always?” Arena grumbled.
***
Berg pounded on the Robertsons’ red front door for the fourth time.
“Heavy sleepers,” Arena said with a yawn. “I’m surprised that bastard can sleep at all.”
“Can I hel—” Maggie said, wrenching open the door. “Detectives?” She clutched her nightgown to her throat, sighing and scowling. “I’m getting pretty tired of this. I’ve said repeatedly that I have nothing more to add. Am I going to have to file a complaint with the police department?”
Berg pushed past the girl, barging inside. “We’re not here to talk to you, Maggie.”
Arena followed. “We’re here to talk to your father. Although you might want to hear what we have to say. It’s relevant to you.”
Maggie frowned but didn’t stop them, shutting the door against the early chill. “My parents are not awake yet.”
“You need to get them down here,” Arena said. “Let’s make it a party.”
“It’s all right, Maggie.” Robertson stood at the top of the stairs. “We were just coming down.”
The reverend came down first, followed by his wife, both wearing scowls similar to their daughter’s, warm robes, and slippers. It was close to Christmas, and winter had begun in earnest.
“What do you want, detectives?”
“We want to talk to you about Richard Pilu,” Berg said. “Care to sit?”
“No.” Robertson planted his feet, folded his arms, and looked down his self-righteous nose. “I don’t like to be rude, but we’ve had enough of this harassment. Say what you have to say and get out.”
“It’s not what we have to say, but what Richard had to say, actually,” Berg said.
“Oh?” Robertson said.
Martha moved closer to him—just half a step, but Berg noticed it and frowned.
“Yeah. It seems he and his choirboys were put up to the rape of your daughter. Would you know anything about that?” Arena asked.
“Maggie,” Robertson snapped. “Please go into the kitchen and make our guests some coffees.”
Maggie looked surprised. “But—”
“Now!”
Maggie turned quickly and rushed into what Berg assumed was the kitchen.
“Let’s sit, detectives,” Robertson said, gesturing toward the living room.
Arena and Berg remained standing.
“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding that we can clear up quickly.”
He settled on the couch, his wife sitting next to him. Their scowls had disappeared, replaced by wide eyes and loud swallows.
“I hope we can, Michael, for your sake,” Berg said. “We went through our interviews with you two and the one with Richard Pilu after his arrest, and we noticed something, well, odd.”
The Robertsons looked at each other before once again facing the detectives.
Robertson cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Odd?”
“Yes, odd,” Berg replied.
“He repeated the same things you’d said about Maggie, almost word for word,” Arena said, leaning forward.
“Such as?”
“Such as, ‘Maggie strayed from the flock, and the only way back is through God,’ ” Berg read from her notebook. “And ‘Once a woman gives herself over to satisfy a man’s urges outside the sanctity of marriage, she cannot expect to say no the next time, can she?’ ”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” he said.
“I thought you might say that, so I thought I’d let you listen for yourselves,” Berg said, playing the recordings.
As the audio files went silent, the Robertsons looked at each other again, and the reverend swallowed audibly.
“You remember that, don’t you, Martha?” Berg asked. “He was sitting right there, next to you, when he said it.”
“I-I don’t recall,” Martha said, wringing her hands and looking at the floor.
Berg’s heart sank.
She’s lying.
Until that moment, she had suspected Michael Robertson of conspiring to have his daughter raped as divine retribution for her perceived bad behavior. Now, not only was she sure he had, but she was convinced Maggie’s mother had known about it.
She glanced at Arena, wide-eyed and completely still, and knew he was thinking the same thing.
Fucking hell.
She took a deep breath and went after the rest of her answers. “Do you have any explanation why Richard Pilu might be parroting you, word for word? And please, let me remind you, you have the right to a lawyer, and we can
carry on this conversation in a more formal setting down at the station.”
Father Robertson quickly shook his head and waved off the very idea with his hands. “That won’t be necessary. This is just a simple misunderstanding.”
“Yes. A simple misunderstanding,” Martha repeated.
“Okay, then. Why do you think Richard might be using the exact phrasing you did?” Berg asked again.
“He’s, ah, he’s heard my sermons. He’s, um, he’s very dedicated to God,” Robertson replied.
“See, an inexperienced observer might think that.” Arena stepped closer to the couple. “But we investigators know the difference between someone who might have heard, say, a sermon and rephrased or paraphrased the sentiment, as opposed to repeating it word for word. This kind of parroting only occurs when someone has heard a specific phrase multiple times and learned it by rote—like a teacher with his students. Is that what you consider yourself? A teacher?”
The detectives never broke eye contact with the Robertsons as they squirmed.
Berg, her fists clenched, shook her head and forced a humorless chuckle. “I’ve got to say, I’ve met some scumbags in my time, but you . . . you are a special kind of low, Robertson. You organized to have your own daughter gang raped. And you have the audacity to call yourself a Christian?”
The reverend at least had the decency to look stricken. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was just supposed to be Richard! He wasn’t supposed to put her in the hospital! Just make her realize she was on the wrong path with that boy! Cure her of her sexual—”
“You did this to me?” Maggie whispered from the kitchen doorway.
Robertson jumped up. “Maggie! Maggie, look, I—”
“Shut up!” she shrieked. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? That you would . . . that’s all you care about—God this and God that! Like my only value as a human being was my virginity. And after I decided to have sex with a man I loved, I was nothing more than a whore to you, just like my name!”
Martha moved to stand next to her husband. “Maggie, don’t speak to your fath—”
“You can shut the fuck up, too!” Maggie glared at her mother. “It’s bad enough that he could do this to me, but that you could let him? You’re my mother!”
