The Avenger

by Jo Robertson

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The next morning Slater set up an incident room for them to work in. Jack asked Waylon Harris and Isabella Torres to join them and had commandeered Deeds and Coleman, two federal agents from the Sacramento office.

  Jack stood at the head of a long conference table, leaning forward on his hands, elbows rigid, and explained to the newcomers what they'd figured out last night. "The killer thinks he's a messenger or prophet of God and the notes are warnings."

  "He's deeply steeped in religious iconoclasty," Olivia added, "but he's warning his victims after the fact."

  "Punishing them for the bad behavior he thinks they've already engaged in," Jack said. "He's a sociopath with a god-like sense of omnipotence, and he believes he can't be touched by the authorities."

  "Religion – that why he crucified two of the victims?" Harris asked.

  Jack nodded. "This is the way I see it." Using the white board at his back, he reviewed each of the cases, along with the notes and their translations. "Any questions?" he asked the newcomers.

  After a moment's silence, Olivia spoke, appearing to choose her words carefully. "I thought about this last night." She flashed a quick glance at Jack, and he knew she was thinking it wasn't all she'd done last night. He'd kept her quite busy after Slater left.

  "I think we've been looking at the notes from the wrong angle," she said.

  "What do you mean?" Slater asked.

  "We've been looking at the meaning of the note in relation to the victim." She shook her head. "But we also need to look at the notes as a whole. The first notes are simple, but the later notes, the ones that are connected to California victims are much more sophisticated."

  "I don't understand how," Agent Coleman said, speaking for the first time, his fresh young face turning pink when all eyes turned toward him.

  "The latter notes are actually constructed," Olivia explained, "and that requires more than a cursory knowledge of Latin grammar."

  "So the second notes are… smarter?" Deeds asked.

  "That's one way to put it." Olivia smiled and looked around the room right before she dropped the bombshell. "I don't believe all the notes were written by the same person."

  "Are you saying we have two killers?" Slater asked.

  Olivia bit her bottom lip. "I'm not positive, but I think so."

  Jack straightened from where he leaned against the wall. Two killers?

  Coleman peered from behind bottle-glassed eyewear. "But according to guidelines this is clearly the work of one serial killer."

  "How can you be sure if there's no physical evidence?" Slater argued.

  "Psychopaths rarely work in pairs," Coleman answered. "Two killers working in tandem is very unusual."

  "But it can happen," Harris interjected.

  "How about if the original killer hooked up somehow with another person," Jack suggested, "and the other person is involved only in the California murders?"

  "Serial killers who work in pairs," Deeds said slowly, "usually start out together."

  "I don't know about any of that, but it's a linguistic certainty that these notes were not composed by the same person," Olivia insisted. "I'd stake my reputation on it."

  "But they both understand the culture and history of the time, right?" Jack asked, thinking that the list of suspects capable of that kind of expertise would be very short.

  "Presumably," Olivia responded.

  "Okay, if we have two killers, and I'm not saying we do," Jack warned, holding up a hand to forestall any objections, "that means the UNSUB picked up his partner here in California." Even as the words came out of his mouth, Jack knew he'd hit on something.

  A partner. Here in California.

  "In my county," Slater muttered.

  "The second person would have to be the submissive partner," Coleman said, "and he may not know what the UNSUB did before they hooked up."

  "Ted Burrows," Jack ground out, slamming away from the wall and slapping the flat of his hand against the table. "That son of a bitch knows something. I felt it during the interview. He was scared about getting caught, blustered about his rights, but I sensed something else too."

  "What are you going to do?" Olivia asked.

  Jack looked across the table at Slater and saw the answer in his eyes. "We're going to re-interview the little bastard."

  Slater turned to Waylon Harris. "Get Burrows and bring him up to interview room two."

  Olivia sat down and leaned across the table toward Jack. "I'm in on this one," she warned.

  Slater intervened before Jack could speak. "She's right. We need her, especially if Burrows throws something at us that's Latin, or Roman, or whatever."

  "You know it's the smart thing to do," Olivia added, looking directly at Jack. "And it's the right thing to do."

  He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity, but she narrowed her eyes and he felt the full force of her defiance. And the pleading underneath it.

  Annoyed, but resigned, he looked away. "All right then, let's go."

  *

  Unlike the first interview with Theodore Burrows, Jack conducted the second one clearly as an interrogation. As was his right, Burrows had his court-appointed attorney in tow. The man looked barely out of law school, but Jack knew that underestimating the lawyer would be a mistake. Slater had explained that Arthur Landis was a vehement proponent of civil rights.

  Jack figured he hadn't broken Ted's Sixth Amendment right to counsel during the previous interview since the man hadn't seriously squawked for a lawyer. With the magistrate-signed search warrant, they stood on good legal grounds. Burrows wouldn't wiggle out of prosecution on a search and seizure technicality, and the evidence at his house was damning.

  With Burrows' attorney present and advising him, he might incriminate another person to cut a deal. Jack would take care to tread cautiously during this questioning.

  Along with Isabella Torres, District Attorney Charles Barrington watched the interrogation through the observation window. Olivia, Slater, and Jack sat on one side of the table in this larger interview room, Burrows and his attorney opposite them. A deputy stood inside the door.

  Before Slater could switch on the interview tape, Landis threw out his first objection. "Wow, we feel a little like David and Goliath," he smiled, ignoring Jack. "Really, Sheriff, four of you against two of us. Is all this police power necessary?"

  Slater scowled and pushed the record button. "Not if your client has nothing to hide." He spoke into the microphone, stating the date and time, and identifying himself and the others in the room. Then he read Burrows' his Miranda rights. "The primary questioner in this interview," he continued, "is Special Agent in Charge Jackson Holt."

  As Jack opened his mouth to form his initial question, Landis immediately interrupted. "My client invokes his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination."

  Jack didn't have first-hand knowledge of the public defender's ability, but he trusted Slater's forewarning that the man was sharp as a tack in spite of his callow appearance.

  "Further, you have… " Landis made a production of looking at his wristwatch. "Exactly twenty-one hours and sixteen minutes to charge my client or release him."

  Jack saw what Slater meant about the youthful attorney, but the prosecution clearly held the cards in this case. No way was Burrows going to weasel out of the rape charges. Jack wouldn't even be wasting his time on a degenerate like Ted except that he hoped to get a bigger fish – the Dead Language Killer.

  Jack decided charming was the way to go with Landis and Burrows rather than the bulldog approach he preferred. He glanced at Olivia, wondering if he still knew how to do charming. Evidently she thought so because the returned look spoke volumes, and he thought he detected a glint of humor.

  He took a deep breath to begin his interrogation right before Burrows blurted out, "I want a deal."

  His lawyer placed a restraining hand over his client's clenched fists. "Ted, we talked about this," he warned. />
  "Aw, come on, counselor," Jack cajoled. "Your client's dead in the water on the rape charges. Here in California, that's a sentence of… what, Sheriff," he asked turning to Slater, "eight to ten?"

  Slater lifted one eyebrow and his voice was calm. "Nah, unfortunately, three to eight, but he'll get the higher term, that's eight years." He stared off into the reflection of the two-way mirror as if mentally calculating. "Plus the enhancements, the drugs, the tapes. Multiply that by the kidnapping charge and what else we find on the tapes, and Ted could easily do ten years." He paused before adding, "For each victim."

  "Rape? Rape!" Burrows sputtered, starting to leap from his seat. "Those women were willing. I explained that."

  From the corner of his eye, Jack caught the rise in color in Olivia's cheeks. He could feel the heat of her fury as she sat beside him, her hands folded on the table top.

  "Ted!" Landis' voice was sharp and the hand he placed on Burrows' fists tightened in what looked like a death grip, forcing him back down. The deputy edged forward.

  "I don't care, man," Ted shouted. "You're just a public defender. What the hell do you care about my best interests? You probably work for them."

  Landis' eyes were icy and his jaw tight as he leaned to whisper in his client's ear. After a moment, Burrows relaxed and sat back in his chair, although his face still looked pinched, and Jack caught the twitch in his left eye.

  Good. Teddy was getting nervous.

  "What's on the table?" Landis asked.

  "Nothing's on the table yet," Jack answered.

  Slater chimed in. "You see a D.A. in here, Landis?" He looked around as if expecting one to pop in at any minute.

  Good move, Jack thought.

  "No, you don't." Slater paused a moment, then continued, "You wanna know why?"

  Jack jumped in. "No D.A., Ted, because there's nothing to negotiate. Straight up, you're going to do the full time on multiple charges of kidnapping and rape." He shook his head in mock sympathy. "Shouldn't have kept those tapes, Burrows. Pretty damning evidence."

  "Oh yeah, then why am I here?" Ted blustered. "You must want something from me."

  "Maybe, maybe not. The point is, just like we said before, you can do either state time or federal time on these charges. If I decide to kick your case back to the state… "

  Jack paused, let the threat linger, and smiled, feeling like the fox that had just caught the juiciest hen in the house. "See, I'm the one who gets to decide how you'll spend the next thirty years of your life."

  He grinned broadly as the final understanding of his predicament showed on Burrows' face. "That's right. I decide if you get to do your thirty plus years in a state prison instead of Club Fed. Hell, by the time you get out, you'll be too old to be interested in girls anymore. In fact, you might find an increased interest in the fellows."

  "Hey, there," Landis protested, "there's no need for that." But Jack saw in the lawyer's speculative look that he understood the score even if Burrows didn't.

  "Without acknowledging any guilt," Landis said, inspecting his nails, "we want to know what you expect to learn from Mr. Burrows."

  Jack almost laughed out loud. Mr. Burrows. What a joke. As a boy Jack had an old hound dog that treated the bitches around the farm better than Ted had treated these women.

  "Don't know what we'll learn yet. We just want a little conversation." Jack stood, walked around the room, and ended up standing behind Burrows. He leaned over his shoulder, his mouth close to Burrows' ear. "Conversation like… who else knew about Mr. Burrows'… uh, proclivities."

  "No one – " Ted began before Landis nudged him sharply with an elbow.

  "My client admits to nothing. Is that clear?" he asked, glancing toward the recorder. "Off the record?"

  Olivia watched Jack switch off the recorder. Were they going to let Ted get away with what he'd done to all those girls?

  "Sure. Now, who knew?" Jack's growl was a steel rapier that sliced through the room like a clap of thunder.

  Olivia shivered and observed him intently. Now he's going for the jugular, she thought, and Ted didn't have a chance. Jack knew how to handle punks like Ted Burrows.

  "No one," Ted stuttered, floundering under Jack's glower. "Uh, well… I – I don't know. I – I didn't think anyone knew. Maybe another grad student? Or someone in the building?" he suggested as if expecting Jack to supply the answer.

  At that moment Olivia caught the sudden spark of knowledge on Ted's face and knew he was hiding something. That he'd just made a connection in his mind between what he was hiding from them and what Jack wanted to know.

  She rose and moved over to lean against the opposite wall where she could study Jack's face. His eyes met hers across the room and she knew he'd seen the same knowledge.

  "Come on, Ted," Jack said, drawing the words out slowly, "you would've wanted to brag, tell someone about the girls. Another man, I'd guess, someone you could share your interesting extracurricular activities with."

  Ted shrugged, trying to assume a casual pose, but after a long moment, blurted out, "Cur me rogas?"

  A startled moment passed through the room before Jack looked at her. "Olivia?"

  A thrill of shock confused her, but she steadied herself against the cool stucco of the wall. Ted had spoken in Latin. Cur me rogas?

  Why are you asking me?

  Immediately Jack changed his line of questioning. "You know Latin, Ted?"

  A slow fusion of color started at the spot where the white of Ted's shirt met his neck, a dull red that inched its way up to his cheeks. He drew the back of his hand across the corner of his mouth before answering. "Maybe. A little," he amended.

  "Just a little?" Jack asked, looking at Olivia, sending an unspoken message across the room.

  Her mind whirled with the possibilities of Ted's fluency in Latin. She'd have to test him, play him, if she hoped to gain information. Walking back to the table, she sat down, leaned forward, and spoke earnestly to him.

  "Prima facie tu es innocens." At first sight you are innocent, she said, lying straight to his face, willing him to believe her. Jack had explained that lying to suspects was allowed unless she was a prosecutor so she didn't feel a bit guilty about prevaricating.

  Ted's eyes grew round as balls that matched the circle of his mouth. She realized that he didn't know about her own Latin expertise, probably because she wasn't currently teaching a linguistics class.

  "Putasne?" he said carefully. You think so?

  "Dic mihi ab initio," she spoke softly, although she knew the others wouldn't know the translation. Tell me from the beginning.

  "Sum innocens," he pleaded. "Crede mihi."

  You haven't been innocent in a long time, she thought, and there's no way in hell I'll believe you. But she strained to keep her features inviting and receptive.

  "Scio," she said, I know. She pushed false sympathy into her voice. Ted Burrows was everything but innocent, was in fact heinously guilty of acts that were beyond her comprehension.

  "Vera. Cupio vera," she whispered. I want the truth.

  But instead of telling her the truth, he laid his head on his folded arms. "In calamitate sum," he said, his voice muffled within the folds of his shirt sleeve.

  I'm in serious trouble.

  Sine dubio, Olivia thought, giving Ted a speculative look. Without a doubt. Jack's about to trap you and you're going straight to hell where I hope you burn eternally. You're in very big trouble.

  At that moment, a sharp rap sounded on the door and Charles Barrington stepped in, gesturing for their attention. The deputy stayed with the suspect while Jack, Olivia, and Slater met Barrington and Isabella Torres outside the door.

  Without preamble, Barrington said, "No deal for Burrows."

  "What the hell?" Jack said, clearly annoyed at losing the momentum of the interview. He narrowed his eyes and loomed over the little man.

  Barrington took a step back.

  Isabella Torres spoke apologetically. "Charles thinks if Burrows
is the Dead Language Killer, a deal would be bad publicity for the D.A.'s office."

  "I can't risk that," Barrington whined.

  "Prick," Slater mumbled under his breath.

  "Idiot," Jack growled. "I can get him on federal charges without your cooperation."

  "Ted knows somethi – " Olivia began as her cell phone vibrated inside her jacket pocket. She retrieved it and turned away from the others, flipping open the phone before looking at the readout.

  A coarse voice boomed from the tiny receiver. "You gringa bitch. You are dead."

  Jack must have heard the message because he whipped quickly around. "Bill?"

  She shook her head in confusion. "The voice was muffled. I'm not sure, but I don't think so."

  "Shit!" He took the phone from her boneless fingers and scrolled the calls received. Blocked.

  While Barrington slinked off, Isabella stepped forward and put a sympathetic hand on Olivia's arm. "A threat?"

  Olivia nodded while Jack looked as if he'd like to punch someone. He turned to Slater. "That settles it. She has a crazy ex-husband, Diego Vargas, that henchman Santos. Who else?" He rammed his fingers through his glossy black hair, overlong now, she thought irrelevantly. "She can't stay at her place. It's too dangerous. We need to find a safe house for her."

  "Don't talk about me as if I'm not… " But suddenly, a growing buzz in Olivia's ears sounded as if she were clawing her way through a swarm of hornets. Don't throw up, she warned herself as clamminess washed over her.

  Torres put an arm around her waist.

  "You're thinking it was her husband?" Slater asked Jack.

  "My ex-husband," Olivia muttered from a distance.

  Slater shook his head and continued, "Why bother? He's in the wind and can't make good on any threats."

  "Because he's possessive and vicious," Jack snarled.

  "At least we know it's not Burrows." Slater said.

  Olivia steadied herself and took her phone from Jack's hand. "I'll stay in a hotel for a few nights."

  "No, come home with me," Isabella Torres suggested quickly. "I've got plenty of room and only we four will know where you are."