“ Jessica tried to ignore J. T., going to Keyes and saying, “You're the expert on the way the mind works, Dr. Keyes. What do you think the abductor wants? You've had time to review what we have. Any conclusions?”
“She's only just arrived, Jess.” J. T. gave Jessica a fleeting grimace. “Cut her some slack.”
“You think the killer's going to cut DeCampe slack, J. T.?”
“Why're you assuming the abductor is going to kill her?” asked Keyes.
“Are you kidding? We believe he has her buried alive somewhere.”
“I see....”
“Maybe your first impulse is right, Dr. Keyes,” Jessica offered while pacing the operations room. “Perhaps if we can target someone at the state pen as possibly out for revenge against Judge DeCampe,” suggested Jessica, easing her tone, “then you can do some psyche work on him.”
J. T, added, “We're also looking at inmates in the Texas penal system as well.”
Keyes nodded. “I'm open to anything you suggest. I only want to help.”
Lew Clemmens, who like the other Quantico people on board had moved to D.C. to be on call, burst into the room, waving a printout over his head, saying, “I have the last of the judge's decisions for the past year. Maybe we can sort out the worst cases and the worst threats she'd ever received and work from there. I can pull off the court records from the file numbers and cross-reference with the words verbal threat now.”
“How long will it take, Lew?”
“Less than an hour, and we'll have some targets,” he replied.
“Run your program,” said Jessica.
“Already done. It's running solo as we speak.”
They ordered in Chinese food and were soon looking over Lew's results. Most of those who threatened the judge in die past year—on the record—were behind bars, serving jail terms, many facing the chair, and some had already passed on via that route. She handled the worst cases; she'd known and worked with Dr. Morrissey back in Houston, Texas, who only a year before had been targeted and murdered by one of his own psychiatric patients, a killer who had been released to a halfway house against Judge DeCampe's ruling, thanks to a weak parole board and an over-crowded prison system.
“I'm out of here for a couple of hours,” Keyes told them. “Have a meeting I have to attend, but I'll try to get back before sunset, OK?”
Exhausted, Jessica waved her off, and then she herself stepped back from the case long enough to find the women's room. Once there, Jessica popped some pain pills and threw water in her face.
When she returned to the ops room, it was to a jubilant Lew Clemmens. “I think we're onto something here, Jess.” He handed her a prison profile of a man named Lester Goddard. Goddard had repeatedly threatened Judge DeCampe, and his threats had been vehement and filled with rage and gore; details informed her as to exactly how he meant to kill and mutilate her entire family, starting with the pets, running through the children, and working his way up to her: “The blood of your loved ones dripping from the knife I use on you, bitch!”
“We've got to run this creep down, then. Make him sweat,” J. T. said.
“Where is he incarcerated?” asked Jessica.
“Huntsville, outside of Houston, Texas.”
“So who do we know in Texas?”
I came back for the Moo Goo Gai Pan,” said Shannon Keyes as she reentered the operations room that had been set aside for the task force, where the others stood about a conference table littered with paper ware and plastic cups and forks and chopsticks. “I'm Keyes,” she told Clemmens, taking his hand and vigorously shaking it. “Dr. Shannon Keyes, FBI field office shrink and profiler, previously of the Chicago Field Office, prior to that, the Chicago Police Department,” she introduced herself. “All my apologies for being blunt, Mr. Clemmens, is it? But Goddard is not your man.”
“Why?” asked a confused J. T.
“More important, how did you learn of our interest in Goddard?” asked Jessica.
“FBI's a small family. Word gets around fast.”
'Too fast. There's a goddamn leak in my task force.”
“I'm on your task force now, remember?”
The two women stared hard at one another.
“All right, tell me why you think Goddard is a wild hair to chase?”
Richard Sharpe had been sitting quietly in a comer, reviewing what little they knew of Goddard. He introduced himself to Keyes and asked, “Is this your belief because Goddard is in a Huntsville, Texas, prison cell, over half a continent away?” Jessica had already made contact with people in Texas who might help uncover any plot on the part of this man Goddard to wreak havoc in the life of the judge.
“No, because he's a blowhard. Anyone who makes that many threats and makes them that loud and loutishly... well, we who are in the business of predicting who will and who will not deliver on threats, suffice to say, first one dismissed is the Goddard type.”
“How can you predict he hasn't paid someone to abduct and kill her?” asked Jessica.
Keyes dipped into the Chinese food and, building a plateful, she complained that she loved Chinese too much— especially the dumplings—before answering Jessica. “Goddard is what we call a stalemate threat. He makes threats like most of us make plans for the day. He loves to hear the sound of his own voice. He much prefers the threat itself to the actual carrying out of the threat.”
Sharpe asked, “We're wasting our time with pursuing this Goddard?”
“Let me see. How can I put this more clearly? Goddard's full of shit; he's not your man,” Keyes firmly said. “He's what's known as a loudmouth, for lack of a technical term. Likes the sound of his own threats, he knows they're hot air, and so should we.”
“How can you know he hasn't acted on his threat to harm DeCampe?” asked Jessica.
“Aside from his being incarcerated on death row, you mean?”
Jessica clenched her teeth before saying, “Yes, aside from that little problem.”
“He's too over the top; he's venting his spleen. Look, I make my living by reading threats and dangerous situations. I worked with the Secret Service for six years. No one who reads threats as often as I do would take Goddard seriously. Be much more wary of the single sustained curse like threat. I make my living predicting when words of menace might become actions of menace.”
“Are you saying Goddard is harmless?” asked Sharpe. “I've made my reputation on such cases in Great Britain, and I can tell you, I'd pay attention, a lot of attention to this fellow, indeed.”
“Not at all. I'm sure he would cut DeCampe's throat if he found himself in a locked room or dark alley with the judge,” countered Keyes.
“Whoa up there,” said Clemmens. “You're contradicting yourself, Dr. Keyes.”
“I'm saying that given the opportunity that maybe... maybe he'd act on his threats, but he's not going to carry on a long-term vendetta or stalk against her, nor plan out a complicated move that would involve a third party.”
Jessica looked Keyes square in the eye and asked, “How can you be sure of that? That he's not involved in her disappearance?”
“He doesn't know a damn thing about her; hasn't bothered to find out, for one thing. A real threat is the enemy who knows your every like, dislike, whim, and collectible.”
“I don't get your point.”
“He says he's going to kill her pets and her children.”
“Yeah?”
“Been my experience that the real threat—the guy who acts on his fantasy to harm another person—isn't into mental anguish so much as physical anguish for his victim. A real threat focuses on her physical pain; besides, she doesn't have any children living at home. Goddard assumes much because he's really just reacting to a verdict he dislikes. You'd be wasting time zeroing in on him as your prime suspect, but being on death row and having threatened the now missing judge, you might persuade him to talk about who else he might know who might have harmed her, but even there it's problematic, since you have so l
ittle to bargain with. His life is already forfeit but...”
Jessica nodded and said, “But to a man in prison certain privileges that seem small and insignificant to you and me, well... he might just bargain his brains out for.” Jessica grudgingly admitted to herself that Keyes's outward appearance hid a keen, analytical mind. The woman was very on, very good. Jessica began to warm toward the FBI shrink.
A phone had been ringing for some time, and Jessica grabbed it up, barking, “Ops room, Coran! What can I do for you?”
Jessica had been sitting on the edge of the conference table, but now she pushed off it, asking, “When? Where? Are they... is he in custody? Meet you in interrogation.” She hung up and said, “We just got a break. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“What's happened?” asked Richard.
“The monitor on Judge DeCampe's credit cards. They got a hit, and the guy using her cards is in custody. It could be our man.”
“Good news,” Richard replied. “Who is the chap?”
“Some older man; they think he's homeless, a transient.”
“Then maybe her attack was a random crime of opportunity, after all,” said Clemmens.
“Maybe... maybe not. The guy swears he just stole a wallet out of a purse he found lying in an underground parking lot.” Jessica started for the hallway and the elevator. She wanted to be first in line at this new lead. “Washington PD's bringing him in now. Let's have a talk with the guy.”
INTERROGATION of the homeless man who might have witnessed something in the parking lot had to be carefully handled. Jessica and Richard both immediately decided this on seeing the shaking, hulking figure in the interrogation room. The man's face seemed catlike—rawboned and pointed. Richard agreed with Jessica's quick assessment of their possible witness/suspect. “Ganging up on the frightened figure with too many in the room will only terrify the poor, bedraggled devil more than he is already.”
The man stood as tall as a grizzly bear, and he had a mountain man's scraggly appearance, replete with out-of- control hair and beard. He seemed bent on hiding himself away in a large overcoat as well. The general impression and smell was that of a cave dweller out of time or an Old Testament prophet newly stumbled from the desert.
Jessica asked, “Richard, I would like you to stand aside for Shannon Keyes to join me inside the sweat box with the suspect.”
Keyes, standing near enough to hear the request, jumped in at the chance, showing her eagerness to question the lead. “Whatever you think best, Jess.” Richard's tone remained calm, mild. If he were upset, no one could possibly know. As it turned out, Jessica's choice was a good one. The frightened man fixed on the two women as friendly faces; he smiled back at them as they entered the room. The chain from his handcuffed wrists rang out in a metallic clang whenever he moved slightly. Like a toneless human wind chime, Jessica thought. Jessica had stopped J. T. at the door along with Sharpe, knowing J. T. had limited experience in interrogation, and when Eriq Santiva, hearing of the break in the case, appeared at die interrogation door, Jessica asked him to remain outside; when he tried to bully his way in, pull rank, she challenged him at the door, saying, “You said I would be in charge of the case if I came on, Chief. What's changed?”
Chief Santiva's eyes said that he had every intention of entering and confronting the suspect.
Jessica eased him out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Keyes alone for a moment with the suspect. “Shannon's a lot easier on the eye and a great deal less threatening than you, Eriq, and with this guy, we need to be less threatening, not more. He's squirrelly and jittery as a starved cat,” Jessica told Santiva.
“Oh, and you're not threatening, Jess?” asked Santiva, his eyes challenging her now.
“I didn't say we shouldn't lean on the guy. Just trust me. I think Keyes might give us some insights we might otherwise miss.”
“You told me you didn't need her help, remember?” he whispered just before she turned and reentered the interrogation room, closing the door on him.
Jessica felt great relief that Santiva hadn't managed to bully his way past her. He could easily have pulled rank, but perhaps even he knew that he'd have scared the hell out of the possible witness, and in doing so perhaps shut the frightened man completely down. So J. T., Santiva, and Richard now listened and watched via the one-way mirror, while the stranger, Keyes, took a bold run at the only man who might shed some light on what had happened to DeCampe.
'Tell us what you saw just prior to finding the purse, sir,” Keyes asked the man.
Jessica felt a stifling heat inside the interrogation room, and this, combined with the suspect's body odors, made her slightly ill. Beneath the layers of hair and dirt, Warren Paul Marsden had the facial characteristics of an aristocratic man who'd stepped out of time, and he was huge and daunting, even while sitting, where his head came up to Jessica's breastbone. With Jessica at almost six feet, this placed Marsden at nearly seven feet high, and yet this grisly Grizzly Adams look a like had somehow escaped the attention of the parking garage attendant? The question begged an answer, and it further corroborated a growing suspicion that the attendant was either on drugs and busy the entire night on a binge of his own, or knew a hell of a lot more than what he'd given up. Now that the attendant was reported dead, it appeared his secrets would never be revealed, making Mr. Marsden here even more valuable to the case.
“You've got to tell us what you saw in the garage, Mr. Marsden,” Jessica began cajoling the man in her most encouraging tone.
Marsden's straight mouth twisted into a wry grin, and his keen, twinkling, intelligent eyes, which seemed at odds with his condition, traveled from one to the other of these people who were suddenly interested in him. “Been some time since somebody called me Mr. Marsden. Hell... one time it was Dr. Marsden. Was a choirboy before I lost everything. Model citizen, not a day of debt, and a nice home and Millie meeting me every night at the door with... with her unconditional love. She was all the family I had.”
“I'm deeply sorry for your loss, sir,” Shannon Keyes offered.
He gulped back a tear and said, 'Funny how things turn on a dime.”
“Isn't it so,” agreed Keyes.
Jessica had lost all patience with the man. She stood and paced around him, fuming, working to control her anger.
“I was a school superintendent You believe that? Respected, you believe that? Not as if I expect you to, not looking at me now.”
“Where was this, sir?” asked Dr. Keyes.
“Everyone in Jasper, Georgia, held me in high esteem, even though they all called me a damn Yankee.”
“Then you're not originally from Georgia. I didn't think so,” said Jessica from behind him.
“You got that?” he asked. “How'd you know, no ac-cent?”
She frowned and from behind his back threw up her arms for Keyes to see.
Marsden continued spottily speaking. “I was born in Zion, Illinois. Went to college at Northwestern. Went through the ranks of teaching. Got my Ph.D. on the job. Took the position in Georgia. It was my dream... a dream come true, but it all came apart, as you can tell from my current situation.”
Jessica, having gotten hold of her anger, commiserated, saying, “I know how that goes. Things fall apart. Three years ago, I was on my back in a hospital, out of money, out of a job, shafted by my employer, when my hubby tells me he wants a divorce,” she lied.
“Life sucks rocks, like the kids say, huh?” he replied, his eyes now fixed on Jessica, who had come around to face him while telling her make-believe tale of woe, designed to put them on the same side.
“With me, it all went to hell when... when Millie... when she died.”
Keyes bit her lower lip and stared across at Marsden, who saw her struggling to hold back her emotions. “We're all very sorry to hear of your loss, Mr. Marsden,” she offered.
“In my private time with Millie... well, she was all I had, my whole life outside the job, but I should've given her more o
f my time, you know?”
“Sure... sure,” replied Jessica.
“Should've devoted myself to her. She certainly did as much for me. Before the disease struck.”
“Disease?” asked Shannon.
“She contracted a rare disease. Blood disorder. Ripped my heart out to watch her slowly succumb. Doctors all said it was only a matter of time; best I could do was make her comfortable in the end.” Marsden rose as if under some invisible force. “She came into so much pain in the end, so I... I put her down myself, you see, and afterward... I couldn't just go on with life as if... as if everything were the same as before. No way of doing that....”
“Easy, Marsden,” cautioned Keyes through clenched teeth, hissing, when suddenly the huge man came up out of his seat. Jessica had to reach up to put a hand on his shoulder, but she was right up with him, toe-to-toe, eye meeting eye. Something in Jessica's stem gaze caught firm hold of the lean giant, and he dropped back down into his seat, almost toppling it with the sudden impact of his weight against it.
Once righted, he allowed his legs to fully extend and relax beneath the table. With a shaking hand that he balled into a fist, he muttered, “I-I-I put a bottle of painkiller into her. A whole fucking bottle. Figured the more I used, the quicker and faster and less pain that way, you see?”
Keyes tried to get control back, saying, “You don't have to relive these events here and now, sir. We are only interested in what you saw in that parking garage at the courthouse where you stole that woman's purse.”
“Millie... she went just as peaceful as nightfall then... after I took it on myself to... to... you know....”
“I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Marsden... really. But we have a situation on our hands here and now that requires our full and undivided attention. Do you understand?” Keyes firmly asked.
Jessica continued to be impressed by Keyes's approach.
Leaning into his space, Keyes added, “How you came to be in that parking garage, and how you took Judge DeCampe's purse off the floor and emptied it. That's what we're interested in here and now, sir.”
Unnatural Instinct (Instinct thriller series) Page 13
