Damianos wasn't surprised. His partner was a determined and hard worker. A bit of an overachiever, really, but in these cases, that wasn't a bad thing.
“And?” Damianos asked, intrigued.
“Well, most men were known in their neighborhoods and all, at one point or another, owned a historic home, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I just found out that one of these men was much more well-known than the others.”
Damianos stopped at his car, again looking over at the large Edward estate. The other side of the phone was silent.
“Well...? Waiting for the punchline here.”
“Just building some suspense,” John said. “Half-expected a drum roll from you.”
It was moments like that that made Damianos happy to have John Avers as his partner. As cool and collected as he was, John knew Damianos's sense of humor all too well and knew that it was a very successful way to communicate with him. So he'd throw in a little bit of his signature dry humor here and there.
“Anyways,” John continued. “Albert Albright. Ever heard of him?”
“Can't say that I have.” Damianos said honestly.
“Well, to bring you up to speed, he was a pretty renowned architect.”
And that's why I don't know him. Who the hell knows any architects? Damianos thought.
“He'd restore old houses throughout the States. It was kind of his thing.”
Old houses.
Damianos looked across the street once again at the Edward home that still exhumed an aura of death. It was definitely an old house, despite the excellent sprucing up that Leon Edward had given it.
In his usual way, John Avers seemed to be able to read his mind.
“All of the victims were found in old restored homes.”
“Yes, but what makes you think this guy...Albright, is important outside of that?”
“Well, Albert Albright wasn't just famous for restoring homes. He was quite the topic of discussion among his neighbors. Many of them had a suspicion that he was some kind of pervert.”
Lovely. Damianos thought.
“From what I heard, there were always rumors circulating that he was an abusive father who molested his son on a regular basis.”
“Any validity to these rumors?”
“Well, he does have a son...so he may be the best one to ask.”
“Alright. Thanks, partner.”
**
It had been five weeks since discovering Leon Edward in his cellar, devoured by rats, and finally there was a break in the morbid case—the architect's son had been located.
Now going by the name James Gibson, he had been apprehended by Damianos and John at the San Diego airport. He had apparently been on his way back from Honolulu, having spent the last week on vacation there.
Chapter Six
From across the table, thirty-eight year old James Gibson definitely didn't look dangerous. He was a rather stocky man but not in an intimidating way; more like was on his way toward being rather obese. His round cheeks only accentuated his pudginess and his new vacation tan almost told the story of a week in luxury, relaxation, and laziness.
Damianos almost immediately felt that James Gibson probably wasn't the culprit.
“My dad was a pest sometimes, sure. And yes, he wasn't exactly father of the year.”
“Did he ever abuse you?”
“Well...I wouldn't say abuse. I got a good smacking around sometimes but I was a pretty annoying kid. Like I said, he wasn't the best dad.”
“We've heard a number of rumors that you're father had a bit of a reputation when it came to kids...”
James leaned forward, clearly a little agitated.
“Is that your way of asking if my dad was a child molester?”
“Yes,” Damianos said bluntly. “Yes it is.”
“Absolutely not! He was a lot of things but never that! Never.”
“He never molested you.”
“Right,” James said sternly. “Those rumors were bullshit. I will swear it in front of a court if you want. Hell, give me a lie-detector test. My father never molested me—never.” He emphasized the last word to make his point.
Damianos was a caught off guard by the display. For such an unassuming man, James Gibson sure gave a passionate defense.
“Fair enough,” Damianos nodded to John's surprise. “Detective, can we step outside for a sec?”
Damianos led John out the door to the viewing area where their captain watched.
“I don't know if I want to waste time with this guy right now. Maybe we could look at other avenues...”
“What other avenues?” John asked. “Albert Albright and those big houses seemed to be the only thing outside of old age to be linking the victims together.”
“He seems pretty sure that his dad wasn't a molester.”
“So?”
Damianos peered through the one-way window at James Gibson who just sat at the table, carelessly twiddling his thumbs.
There was something odd about him, he had to admit.
Why did he change his name?
“Why did he change his name?” Damianos asked the moment he thought of it.
It was strange. Usually someone changing their own name implied a need or want to distance oneself from their surname. According to Mr. Gibson, his father was a bit of a jerk but nothing more. It wasn't condemning whatsoever but it just struck him as strange.
“Maybe the rumors about his dad interfered with him trying to lead a normal life. Hard to find a job or even a girlfriend when everyone nearby thinks your father sexually abused you.” John said, clicking a pen as he spoke.
Damianos rubbed his eyes. The whole case seemed as far out of reach as it had at the start.
Again, he looked hard at James Gibson through the window.
Wait.
“What if we're looking at this all wrong?”
“How do you mean?” John turned with a raised brow.
“Hypothetically...what if James is the one who abused his father?”
“That seems like a bit of a leap, don't you think?” James asked.
Maybe it was.
However, as the detectives looked over James Gibson, the notion seemed to take a firm hold over their thoughts.
“Can't hurt to consider all the possibilities.” Damianos said.
John slowly nodded.
“Agreed.”
That's what made them such a strong team. They were willing to jump off any cliff together, no matter how ludicrous the reason.
**
It took some convincing but, with the captain's approval, he called in a psychologist to be there during the second of James Gibson's interviews.
James seemed surprised to be asked to come back for questioning. He had a few choice words for them when they called but agreed to come in after a lot of persistence.
Again, he sat at the table in the interview room, twiddling his pudgy thumbs.
Damianos marched in with a manila folder in his hand and plopped in as loud as he could on the table—James didn't even flinch.
“Hello again, Mr. Albright.”
“Gibson.”
“Oh, that's right. Sorry about that. My mistake.”
Damianos took a seat, putting the two men at eye level.
“Good to see you again.”
“Honestly, I didn't expect to be back so soon,” James said. “Has there been developments in the case or was there something we missed last time?”
It didn't pass Damianos's notice that James's questions had nothing that even came close to “do you suspect me”?
“We just needed to clear some things up about the investigation.”
“Sure, whatever I can help with.”
“Fantastic.”
Damianos opened the folder in front of him.
“We'd just like for you to take a look at a few things.”
Inside the folder w
ere crime scene photos, all taken from the gruesome murders that had taken place. The first photo was of poor Mr. Edward, lying in his cellar with his body ripped apart by the rodents of his home.
Damianos slid the folder from the folder onto the table in front of James Gibson, watching his reaction closely. James peered down at it, with no shift at all in his expression at first before his mouth opened and he let out a quiet exhale.
“That's horrible.” He said, shaking his head.
“This was Leon Edward. He was seventy-six years old when this happened to him.”
“Awful,” James said. “I'm sorry, I'm a bit squeamish seeing things like this.”
“Sorry, we just really need your opinion on this.”
“What am I supposed to say? World's a terrible place sometimes.”
“We can definitely agree on that,” Damianos said with a small chuckle. “Now how about this one?”
Damianos slid another picture across the table, right next to Leon Edward's—another of the rat victims.
“Vernon Murray. Eighty-one years old. Same thing happened to him.”
It took James a moment longer this time to bring his attention to the picture.
“Horrible,” He said again. “How did this happen to them?”
“Rats, if you'd believe it.”
James shook his head. He wasn't acting out of the ordinary...but for someone who supposedly got queasy over seeing things like that, he didn't seem overly disturbed.
So Damianos decided to mix it up a little—maybe try and get James off-balance.
The next picture he pulled from the folder was of the mesh of body parts that had been found in the hole on the Edward property.
“This is one of the worst of the bunch.”
He planted the photo next to the others.
“Some of the bodies were found like this,” Damianos made sure to emphasize each part slowly. “...disposed of in septic holes...compost bins...mutilated and ripped apart by vermin...pretty nasty stuff”
James Gibson just looked over the set of photos with a chilling silence. His eyes didn't seem to look over each one, but were rather still, taking them in as one complete picture. To Damianos, James seemed to be admiring the set of photos as someone would a painting.
“Why are you showing me these?” James finally asked. “This has nothing to do with my father and obviously nothing to do with me.”
Damianos flashed a thin smile.
“Obviously.”
The two of them sat across from each other without saying another word for a moment. James continued to look over the photos. Watching him closely, Damianos took a sip of his coffee.
James's head was tilted downward as he examined the pictures so much of his face was hidden under his somewhat sweaty brow. For over a minute he did nothing but look at the pictures, leaving Damianos to sit and watch.
Then—for the briefest part of a second—James Gibson's lips seemed to twist into a smile.
At first, Damianos couldn't even be sure what he had seen was real. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared...but it had been there, he knew it had.
“Would you like some coffee? I'm gonna get myself another cup. This investigation has been killing my sleep. Feeling pretty old and sluggish.”
James looked up at him, the smile nowhere to be found but his hands on the table seemed to twitch but he quickly covered them up by interlocking them with his fingers.
“No thank you. I don't think I'll have to be here much longer, right? I've got some errands I need to run today.”
Damianos rose from his chair with an intentional slowness, as if he was suddenly eighty-five years old and almost incapable of getting up. James seemed to be watching his movements very intently, like a predator waiting out his prey.
Damianos left and once again found John Avers watching from the other side of the one-way window with the psychologist they called in, standing beside him.
“He smiled.” Damianos said when he entered.
“What?” John did his usual brow raise.
“I saw Mr. Gibson smile when he was looking at the pictures.”
“I didn't see a smile.”
“It was quick but it was there. This is our guy.”
“You're going to base all of that off of a smile? Maybe he just smiles when he's nervous. I had a friend back in the academy who had that problem. Anytime he even heard about a murder, the guy seemed like he wanted to laugh.”
“No,” Damianos said, looking through the window at James. “It's not that.”
In truth, Damianos wasn't absolutely sure that James Gibson was the murderer but his gut was being very vocal in its own theories.
“John, you mind giving Alan a call? I'm hoping he can bring me something.”
Damianos may have gotten his name from being “the tamer”, but truth was his only experience with animals was the savage criminals of his city's underbelly. Maybe it was time he finally learned how to handle some animals.
**
Nearly an hour later, Damianos, with a sealed bag in his hands, re-entered the interview room.
“That was quite the coffee break,” James said, looking at his watch. “I told you I had errands to run.”
“Sorry about the wait, Mr. Albright--”
“Gibson.” James said, clearly annoyed by the second time Damianos made the mistake.
“Damn, keep messing that up. Spent so much looking into your father, I only really think of you as his son so the name thing kind of screws me up.” Damianos said with dramatic innocence.
“Look, I told you I have places to be today--”
“I know, I know.” Damianos said, brushing him off. “Hopefully this will be done soon.”
Damianos put down the sealed bag and pulled out a few plastic gloves from his pocket. He relished the look of confusion on James's face when he pulled the gloves over his hands and reached unzipped the bag.
“You know, the pictures don't quite do the actual events justice. Happens a lot, there's just only so much they can capture.” Damianos said.
“They've shown quite a lot.” James said defensively.
Damianos stopped his movements in the bag and looked James in the eyes.
“Remind me, your father really didn't molest you?”
“No!” James said forcefully. “I have never been molested! Are we really going back to that again?”
“Just couldn't remember your answer from the other day...you said you didn't think too highly of him, right?”
“We weren't very close.”
“Yeah, you said he was a bit of a pest.”
Damianos finally pulled out the contents of the bag—one of the bloated dead rats found in the basement of Leon Edward's house.
It was wrapped in plastic but very visible and Damianos dropped it onto the table in front of James.
“Pests are annoying. Pests are disgusting. And pests...well, they're hard to get rid of.”
The dead rat lay flat on top of the pictures of the elderly victims, and James stared down at it with wide eyes—though they didn't seem to be wide from fear or surprise. They were wide with something that seemed almost like excitement.
“You ever have a rodent problem, Mr. Albright?”
Damianos used that last name again as someone would use a knife, to make a quick jab that could cut deep.
However, James didn't correct him this time. He just looked down at the dead rat with the wonder of a child.
“We did once when I was a kid. We had mice...not quite as big and gross as our friend right here but they annoyed the hell out of my folks. Were just a pain to get rid of; hard to catch and hard to find once they made their home. You could hear them at night, scurrying inside the walls. Drove my parents crazy. You ever felt like that, Mr. Albright? Especially considering how hard your dad worked to create beautiful perfect homes that should be pest-free.”
James said nothing but when he
looked up from the rat to Damianos, there was a new-found expression on his face. With large eyes, it seemed to be a mix of hatred and crazed joy.
“Am I free to go? I told you I have errands to run.”
“Off to buy some more rat poison?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Of course not,” Damianos smirked. “You ever help an old lady across the street, Mr. Albright?”
“Gibson!” James roared suddenly.
“You keep saying that but that's not your name...not really. Your name was given to you by your father, the pest.” Damianos said, leaning across the table like a predator ready to pounce. “Your father who spent his life salvaging and fixing things that seemed old and decrepit. You don't seem to share his respect for old things...especially when your father was one.”
“My father was evil.”
“Really? Funny, since just the other day you were saying he wasn't that bad.”
James grew quiet again and looked down once more at the rat and the photos. Damianos decided it was time to drop the pretenses and take the leap.
“Is that why you abused him, James...because he was evil?”
“You have no idea,” James said without looking up. “He was the grim reaper. Nothing but a sack of old bones slowly creeping through the house, tormenting me every moment of my life. Coughing, aching, and stumbling about...a constant reminder that I would be like that someday...old and worthless...clinging to life even though I have nothing left to offer it.”
There it was—Damianos wanted to tear the man's throat out but he kept listening.
James looked up, his face red with rage.
“To live with that every day looming over you. A pathetic husk—a corpse—just walking around and showing me what my future what be! But I will never be that! No one should be! Being old is to be useless! Pointless! To be nothing but pitied by those who have more time and energy than you.”
“You killed him for that...you killed them for that.”
“Of course I did! Because clearly, it was taking too long for them to die naturally! They stuck around this life way too long that even their own bodies were shutting them down! But not quick enough! They take up so much space and contribute nothing! Just old bones that are waiting to die! They latch themselves onto our lives, people who actually have a future, and anchor themselves there like a damn wart! Ugly. Visible. And impossible to get rid of!” James yelled, rising from his chair.
The Untimely Death Box Set Page 37
