“I’ll just run my eyes over the neighborhood, see if anything stands out. I’ll see if Tina can think of anyone else Holly might have gone to meet. Other friends. Maybe someone secret she wouldn’t tell her folks.”
“It’s ground we’ve already covered, but I guess there’s no harm in seeing if anyone’s remembered anything more. Is there anything you need us to do?”
“You’ve checked her route with K-9 units, is that right?”
“Earlier this morning,” Hall said. “The weather hasn’t helped, though.”
“No trail?”
“Some, but it was confused and we couldn’t get a clear abduction point. The handlers say her traces may have faded out a couple of blocks from the Aitkens’, but they weren't certain. We’ve had forensics take away anything they could find from the roadside at that point.”
Agostini drummed his fingers on the kitchen worktop. “You have any luck with that?”
“No. Nothing promising anyway.”
“In that case,” I said, “keep on trying to trace anyone else Holly might have gone to see, or anywhere she might have gone on her own. If she’s just with a boyfriend or something and hasn’t caught the news, I’d be very happy.”
“Probably too young for a boyfriend,” Hall said.
Agostini shook his head. “Hey, my kid sister had her first crush when she was, like, ten.”
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no boyfriend that we know of.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, in addition to that, get anything you can dig up on traffic in this area last night. Vehicles, drivers, anything and anyone we can put in the right place at the right time. Particularly the point where her scent trail went cold. Keep us posted on anything interesting.”
“Sure,” Hall said.
Agostini looked at me. “What about me? What do you want me to do?”
“Drive up to the Aitkens’ house and wait for me there. We’ll need the car. If you don’t mind the rain, you can walk back to meet me on the way. Once we’ve spoken to them we’ll play it by ear. See what comes up.”
“What do you think our chances are?”
I didn’t answer him. Let the silence do the talking.
“Shit,” he said.
I stepped back outside and the storm hadn’t let up at all. Driving pellets of rain sliced through the air like buckshot, slapping into my suit jacket. Agostini looked at me like I was crazy again as I waved away the offer of an umbrella. In the wind, it wouldn’t have held up anyway. I passed the news vans and left the sad gathering of vehicles outside the house behind.
The neighborhood felt closed-off, abandoned, like the streets in some disaster movie after the killer plague had hit and everyone but the lone survivor was dead. The houses looked to be mostly family residences; people with similar jobs, similar kids, similar lives. Similar times for going out and staying home. The small yards were pleasant, but boxed-in. Most had hedges, or a couple of small trees, or a fence — something to form a barrier between each property and the public street. Even down the cross-streets I couldn’t see any bars, clubs, late-night malls, anywhere local people might go after work. At nine on a weeknight, I doubted there’d be anyone much out at all. People who had to go out of their way to catch a movie or get drunk tended to make a night of it if they could. Otherwise they’d stay indoors and watch TV. In a crime-free neighborhood like this, too, who’d give a second glance to traffic on the streets?
Holly Tynon’s abductor had chosen his area well, if he’d deliberately chosen it at all and wasn’t just passing and got lucky.
The spot where the K-9 teams thought her scent might have gone cold was fairly obvious, at least now I knew what to look for. Despite the rain, it was easy to see the five-yard stretch of gutter by the curb swept clean by forensics techs looking for any kind of trace evidence. Twenty-five feet or so from the nearest intersection. I pictured the driver pulling up, asking for directions, asking the time, offering a ride. Hitting Holly, knocking her out cold so she couldn’t scream for help. Pulling a knife. Pulling a gun.
My cell phone rang, Agostini’s number on the screen. I picked up, said, “Yeah?”
“Alex, I’ve just heard from the cops. They’ve found Holly Tynon’s wallet in a park a mile or so away. Whereabouts are you?”
“The likely abduction site.”
“I’ll come pick you up.”
Less than a minute later, Agostini’s Town Car stopped beside me and I hopped in, realizing for the first time just how soaked I was. He glanced at me once, then pulled away from the curb and headed north without passing comment.
“Did they say anything about it?” I said. The route we took ran past the Tynons’ house. Maybe, I figured, the abductor had come this way too.
“Only that someone out jogging spotted it and called the cops. I don’t know if they moved it or not before they called it in.”
“They were out running in this?” I gestured at the water sluicing down the windshield.
“They must take their fitness seriously as hell.”
“You’ve got that right.”
He gestured at my dripping wet suit. “You’re hardly in a position to criticize.”
I let the remark pass without comment and eyeballed the grey-smeared houses and storefronts as they passed by instead. Lightning snapped like a flash bulb in the sky, but more distant now. The storm seemed to be moving away and the rain was easing off.
We hung a left and pulled up next to a low earthen bank topped with an arrow-straight stand of trees. Two police cruisers and a forensics van were parked just ahead, and a uniformed cop in a rain slicker stood on the sidewalk to shepherd the curious away.
“What’s the situation?” I asked, flashing my badge at him.
“Been on the scene for forty-five minutes or so,” he said, and wiped water from the end of his nose. “Crime scene unit confirmed it was the Tynon girl’s wallet ten minutes ago. They should be on their way over by now.”
“Have you started canvassing for witnesses?”
He nodded. “Sergeant Griffin’s been in contact with Detective Hall. I think they’ve got that in hand, sir. But I’m just here to keep people out of this part of the park. They haven’t told me everything.”
“Sure. Thanks, Officer. Have they marked out a route it’s OK to follow?”
“Yes, sir.” He pointed to a gap between two of the trees. “They’ve left a taped trail on the path that enters the park just over there. One of the first things they did.”
I breathed an inward sigh of relief. The clearer they’d kept the area around the wallet, the more chance we had of getting shoe impressions or other evidence. The last few specks of rain hit my face as Agostini and I cut through the grassy bank on the marked gravel path, and then the wind blew dry and fresh.
The park wasn’t huge. An uneven swathe of green a couple hundred yards across, gently rising and falling. Trees and stands of bushes dotted its surface, breaking up its shape, blurring its edges. The far side looked artificially-flattened, maybe for playing ball. The right was bordered by a small stream that wound away to the south-east. A line of yellow tape ran down the path to a beech a few yards from where a couple of forensic technicians in coveralls were working. There was another uniformed cop on duty by the tree. As we got closer, one of the techs stepped over the tape, holding a plastic evidence bag. His counterpart stayed in place and seemed to be marking out possible impressions for later examination.
“Special Agent Alex Rourke,” I said when we reached them. “What have you got so far?”
The first tech held up the bag. Holly Tynon’s wallet, battered pink nylon that bore an equally-battered depiction of Piglet from Winnie-the-Pooh. Cheaply-made, and starting to show threads. It had seen a lot of use, I guessed.
“Jack’s starting to examine the ground for impressions. I’m going to run this back to the lab and we’ll get it fully checked over,” he said.
“Any prints or fibers?�
�
“Not that we could find out here. We’ll know more later.”
I nodded. “Have you confirmed that it is actually Tynon’s?”
“Yes. We opened it — in the bag, of course — and it’s hers all right. Library card from school. Only coins inside, no notes.” He lowered the bag. “It looks like it was thrown away, most likely from the path. I don’t think we’re going to get much on shoe impressions. Probably deliberate.”
“Aiming for the bushes?”
“Couldn’t say. If it was after dark maybe he couldn’t see where it landed. Maybe he just didn’t care so long as it was gone.”
“Is there any way of telling for sure how long it was there?”
He shook his head. “Not possible, especially with the storm.”
I thought for a moment, weighing up possibilities, the reasons why her abductor would choose this place of all places to dispose of her wallet. He could’ve tossed it in the trash or down the nearest grate in the gutter and we’d never have found it. He couldn’t have carried her across the park, even at night. So why here? “Okay, thanks,” I said to the tech and let him continue. I turned to the cop. “Is the entire park sealed off?”
“I think so, sir,” he said. “We’ve got guys on most of the entrances.”
“Check to make sure.” To Agostini, I said, “Jeff, you get hold of Detective Hall. Tell him to be extra careful about local house-to-house and canvassing. Make sure his officers note anything at all that seems weird or suspicious.”
“Anything weird. Gotcha.”
“Anything at all.”
Agostini nodded vigorously. “I’ll tell him.”
“Do it. This guy could be a local. Could be he wants to watch the show we put on.”
06.
Boston, MA. 2004.
“Long time no see, Agent Rourke,” was the first thing Cody Williams said to me once the door behind closed and we were all alone in the visiting room. His voice was throaty and a little raw. He sounded pleased to see me. Probably knew this is his last time in the limelight and aimed to enjoy it as much as possible.
“That’s right.” I remained standing a couple of yards in from the door, made no move to sit opposite him. No sense letting him get comfortable.
“You still chasing the bad guys?” He examined his fingernails.
“More or less, yeah.”
“And now you’ve come back to see little old me.” He glanced back up, looked annoyed that I hadn’t moved at all, and added, “Now you sit down here with me right now or I’m going back to my cell.”
I stayed where I was. “First I want to know if you’re actually willing to tell me anything or not. If you just want to play a few conversational games, relive the old days and generally dick me around for a few hours, then I’m leaving. It’s not worth my time or effort. If you’re willing to give up information, then I’m willing to stay. But only if.”
“You’d quit? What would you say to all them crying families then? What would you tell them?” He sneered, then broke off into a fit of wet coughing. I didn’t know if it was part of the disease or the treatment for it. He made repeated hacking noises, then spat out a great wad of yellow phlegm onto the floor next to him. “I read that letter they sent to the newspapers. They’re still all so fucking wet-eyed over a couple of little whores. ‘Waa! Waa! Where’s our little baby? Waa! Waa!’” He sniggered at his own joke. “With them like that, and it being on the news, what would your bosses say to you, you walked out of here with dick to show for it?”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
“You don’t like me, do you, Agent Rourke? You never did. Even that first time we spoke, I could tell you’d have been happy to kill me right there.”
“What’s to like, Cody? In all the time I’ve spoken with you, all through the trial, all the TV spots and column inches I’ve read about you, I’ve never heard of one single decent thing you’ve ever done or one redeeming quality you’ve ever possessed. Now are you going to play ball, or do I get to go home?”
He nodded, slow and jerky like a marionette. “Yeah, I think you and I might come to an understanding. Sit down.”
I hesitated for a moment, then got a cup of lukewarm coffee from one of the vending machines in the corner and headed for the seat opposite Williams. Up close, I could smell the rancid sweat cloying beneath his prison uniform, the faint whiff of body chemistry gone badly wrong. His eyes were rheumy, but sharp, although his movements weren't as fast. A couple of small sores next to his bitten lips. Yellow teeth.
“Okay. Where do you want to start?” I asked him.
“I’ll tell you about the girls.”
“The four that haven’t been found yet?”
He smiled and shook his head. “All of them.”
“I don’t need to hear about them all,” I said, trying to work out what he was up to. “I told you I didn’t want you to waste my time, Cody.”
“Have you sneaked a microphone or some shit in here, Agent Rourke?”
“No. What would be the point?”
“No?”
“No.”
“I guess that’s a shame, some ways.” He shuffled in his seat. “You see, I never told anyone my story, how I did what I did, or why. I wanna do that before I die, y’know?”
“If you want me to get a tape recorder in here for you, it’s no problem.”
“No. I don’t want to do that whole ‘memoirs’ shit. I’d like this to be just the two of us, what with all the history between us. What we’ve both done.” Williams smiled again, inhaled noisily. “That way, you can listen to it all, and then you can decide what you want anyone else to know. Like an editor, right?”
“Or a priest.”
“Yeah, exactly,” he said, and I finally thought I understood why he was doing this. He wanted to get back at me in the only way available to him.
If he told me everything he could remember about the killings, every time I had to speak to one of the girls’ relatives, telling them where the authorities were going to find the bodies, I’d have to keep the rest of what he’d said buried. Every sordid detail would be kept forever fresh for me, and everything I didn’t reveal meant another half-truth, another lie. I didn’t know if Williams was aware of the protesters outside the gates, but whenever I heard someone calling for his release, the full knowledge of his crimes would surface in my mind, knowledge no one else possessed. Not only that, but some people would see him as co-operating with the authorities and he’d win extra perks as a result.
Son of a bitch.
But I’d been down this road before. Williams apparently didn’t know that I was no longer an FBI agent and that once our interviews were over, I’d have nothing more to do with him or his case. All I had to do was find out where the last four of his victims were buried, then I could walk away.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” I told him. “How about we start with Katelyn Sellars? She was the earliest victim we haven’t found.”
“I’d rather start with the Abblit girl. She was the first of all.” He smirked, coughs again. Another gob of rancid mucus hit the floor. “Funny, I only know the names because I heard them on the news. And in interviews with you and the cops, of course. Names don’t matter. Who they were don’t matter. Only thing that mattered was what they could be, y’know?”
“No, I don’t.” I sighed, crossed my arms. “I guess we’re talking about your fantasies here, right?”
He laughed, phlegmy and wet, his shoulders shaking and his lank hair dancing. “Yeah, I guess we are. You wanna hear about them? Do you? I could tell you all about them. You got kids yourself?”
“No I don’t, and forget about trying to get a reaction out of me. I’ve talked to more freaks like you than I care to count. Assuming any of the other cons here would even give a child-killer like you the time of day, you must’ve heard plenty yourself. Do they shock you anymore? Or are you just bored by the stories and the people who tell them?” I leaned forwards, rested my el
bows on the table, looked Williams in the eyes. “So you’re a sick fuck. You know it, I know it. Big deal. Let’s get to the point here, Cody.”
“But that was the point for me, Agent Rourke,” he said, smiling. He leaned in closer and I could see a strand of spit in the corner of his mouth stretching white with every word, somehow always holding itself together. “Don’t you want to hear how I fucked her? How I made that little bitch scream for me?”
“No, I don’t.” I stood and walked toward the exit, not even giving him the satisfaction of a black look. My hand was touching the door when Williams started laughing again behind me.
“I’m sorry, Agent Rourke. I’m just messing with you. Couldn’t help it. Come back and we can talk properly.”
I glanced round to see him smiling at me. “Properly?”
“Sure. Come on. Don’t you feel you owe it to me?”
“Okay, talk. But any more screwing around and I’m gone for good.”
“Whatever you say.”
I returned to the table and sat warily in the chair. “Why are you doing this, Cody? What are you getting out of it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it so you can get one last thrill, going over your old crimes, knowing you won’t be touched for admitting them? Explain it to me. I can’t figure out if this is just a personal power trip, or you’re hoping for a release before you die, or what.”
Williams leaned back in his seat. “Why ain’t important, Agent Rourke. Don’t worry about it. Important thing is that I can tell you what you need to know. You and those whining fucks who wrote the letter. And I’m going to start with the Abblit girl.”
“If that’s what you want,” I said, folding my arms. “Shoot.”
“I remember that day real clear.” Williams dropped his eyes, withdrew into an inner world. From the ease with which he made the transition, and the way he licked his lips at the images in his head, I guessed he’d done this a lot over the past few years. And enjoyed it every time. “It was hot, sun shone all day. Hardly a cloud. I had to take a delivery to some guy out past Pittsfield in the morning. I was already thinking about it, even then. You know how you wake up some mornings and you’d just love to get laid?”
The Darkness Inside: Writer's Cut Page 4
