Presumed Guilty: (A Jefferson Winter novella)

by James Carol

  One by one the cops turned and looked at Winter.

  One by one their guns came up.

  Yoko didn’t blame them. Winter was running like he had hellhounds snapping at his heels. He looked like a crazy person.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ she yelled.

  The guns stayed where they were, trained on Winter.

  ‘Do not shoot!’ She was yelling so loud she could feel her throat ripping.

  He was only thirty yards from Dumas and Calvin. The fact that there were fifteen guns pointed at him by a bunch of over-adrenalized cops didn’t seem to be slowing him up any. If anything, he was running harder than ever. He was so focussed on Calvin it was like he hadn’t even noticed the guns.

  ‘Do not shoot!’ she yelled again. ‘He is not armed and he is not dangerous! I repeat: he is not armed!’

  But he is an idiot, she would have added if she’d had the air to get the words out.

  A couple of the cops lowered their weapons, but most still had their guns aimed, fingers on the wrong side of the trigger guard. And now they were shouting as well, yelling out a whole load of confusing orders. Shouting for the kid to stop and get down on the ground.

  Winter just kept running.

  Any second now, the shooting was going to start. Yoko looked over at Dumas with pleas in her eyes. The detective stared back, then glanced at the lunatic kid running towards him.

  She knew he’d recognised Winter, and he knew that she knew, so why on all that was holy hadn’t he given the order to stand down? Sure, he hated the kid, but he was a cop. He couldn’t just let them shoot him.

  Two more seconds passed, five seconds. Long drawn-out seconds. Yoko stared at Dumas, willing him to the right thing, and the kid just kept running.

  ‘Lower your weapons,’ Dumas shouted, and the guns went down slowly and uncertainly, one after the other.

  Winter came to a stop in front of Calvin Fitzgerald. A couple of seconds later Yoko came to a halt beside him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she said between gasps.

  He ignored the question. He was staring at Calvin, studying him from head to toe, drinking up every single detail.

  ‘You could have got yourself killed.’

  ‘And wouldn’t that have been a tragedy,’ Dumas muttered under his breath.

  If Winter heard, he didn’t react. All that mattered to him was Calvin Fitzgerald. He was staring deep into Calvin’s eyes. He studied him for a second longer, then shook his head once and started back to the car.

  Yoko offered Dumas an insincere apology, thanked him for not shooting the kid, then hurried after Winter.

  ‘What the hell was that all about?’ she asked when she caught up with him.

  He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, head down, feet heavy, lost in thought. They reached the car and got in and pulled the doors shut tight, locking the outside world away behind steel and glass.

  Further up the street, Calvin was being bundled into one of the police cruisers. Thirty seconds later, five of the cop cars drove past, light bars flashing, the displacement of air as they passed rocking them. Only one cruiser was left at the scene, the occupants no doubt tasked with securing the Fitzgerald house.

  ‘We’re not moving from here until you tell me why you just tried to get yourself killed.’

  Winter’s face went tight and he chewed his lip for a second. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me. You might be surprised, Jefferson.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he said again.

  Yoko tried one more time, but he didn’t respond. He was giving her the silent treatment again, just staring out the windshield, seeing but not seeing.

  At that moment, he was the only living soul in a vast and infinite universe. He was lost and alone, and there was no way for Yoko to reach him. He looked like the kid he was, one who’d had to carry more than his share of troubles for far too long.

  She almost felt sorry for him.

  Chapter 23

  Yoko had finished one cigarette and was contemplating another when Winter finally spoke. Almost fifteen minutes had passed. Fifteen minutes during which he’d just stared through the windshield, completely zoned out. He hadn’t even complained when she’d lit her cigarette.

  ‘I think I’d like to go back to College Park. Would you mind driving me there?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve got a better idea. There’s something I want you to see.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What are you up to?’

  This time it was Yoko’s turn to give him the silent treatment.

  ‘Fine. Don’t tell me.’

  She started the car and five minutes later they drove into an industrial park on the outskirts of Jessup.

  The units were small and identical and arranged in blocks of eight. The blocks bordered three sides of a large square parking lot, creating a U-shape. The fourth side was open, allowing access to the outside world, and a partial view of Jessup. Each unit had a door, a window and steel shutters.

  There was no grass, no landscaped grounds, just a load of grey concrete. The only colour came from the signs advertising the various businesses. Most of the units were taken, but a couple had large ‘For Rent’ signs on the front.

  This was the sort of place that attracted entrepreneurs with a little start-up cash and big dreams of becoming the next billionaire. It also attracted people who were more interested in getting out of the rat race and doing something they loved rather than turning a profit.

  Calvin Fitzgerald fitted comfortably into the second category. Jim Henson aside, nobody was ever going to become rich from playing with puppets.

  ‘Professor Poppet’s Puppets’ was housed in a unit at the bottom end of the U. The front was painted with a fairy-tale montage. Among the faces staring out at her, Yoko recognised Snow White, Rapunzel, and Hansel and Gretel.

  There were plenty of princesses and damsels in distress, and they all had one thing in common: long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

  She pulled up beside the CSI van and killed the engine. An investigator dressed in a white coverall came out of the unit and Yoko walked over to him. She showed her badge, told him why they were there and asked if he had a couple of spare coveralls.

  The investigator went over to the van and returned with two suits. He handed one to Yoko, the other to Winter. They got dressed, Yoko tugging and pulling at the coverall to get comfortable. She hated these damn things, but unfortunately they were a necessary evil. She put on a pair of latex gloves and Winter followed suit.

  ‘Look but don’t touch,’ he said. ‘Jump when you say jump, breathe when you say breathe.’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘I’m guessing Detective Dumbass doesn’t know you’ve brought me here.’

  ‘Right now, Detective Dumas has his hands full with Calvin Fitzgerald. I doubt he could care less.’

  Winter made an after-you gesture and Yoko led the way inside.

  The interior of the industrial unit was fifteen yards long by fifteen yards wide, and as bright as an operating theatre. The crime-scene investigators had brought lamps and these flooded the space with brilliant white light.

  There were hundreds of puppets hanging from the roof. Princesses and princes, fairy-tale characters, animals of all shapes and sizes. The puppets were in a constant state of movement, stirred by the breeze blowing through the door, and the people moving around them. Limbs and torsos clattered and clacked. Faint shadows danced in the dazzle.

  All the puppets were hand made and hand painted. This was more than a labour of love, this was something that had crossed over into obsession. Given what they now knew about Calvin Fitzgerald, that obsession had taken a darker, more dangerous turn when his father died.

  Yoko looked more closely and saw that a large number of the female puppets had the same face. They also had blue eyes and blonde hair. Charlie Dumas would no doubt get to the bottom of who
this was. She had seen Calvin Fitzgerald for only a few seconds, but he looked like a talker. He would want to explain himself, because he’d want the world to understand. It wouldn’t take much to get to the truth.

  Calvin’s workbench took up most of the back wall, and the way it was laid out reminded her of a production line. Six new puppets were being worked on, all at different stages in the process. The puppet at the left end of the bench was more wood than puppet, the details waiting to be chiselled out. The puppet at the opposite end was more or less finished.

  Winter walked along the bench, studying each part of the process. He reached the end of the bench and stopped. For a few seconds he just stood there gazing around, thinking. Then he shut his eyes.

  Yoko was only vaguely aware of the crime-scene investigators milling around inside the unit. All her attention was focussed on Winter.

  This was the real reason she’d brought him here. Yes, she was using him, and yes, she’d probably broken a rule or two by bringing him here, and yes, there was probably even some ethical issue to be considered. But did she care about any of that? Did she hell.

  His eyes snapped open and he smiled to himself. He nodded towards the almost-finished puppet at the end of the production line.

  ‘See anyone you recognise?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure, it’s another clone of the blue-eyed, blonde-haired cheerleader who broke Calvin’s heart back at high school.’

  ‘Is it?’

  She took a closer look. ‘Shit,’ she whispered. ‘It’s Alice Harrigan.’

  Winter reached for the puppet and Yoko almost told him to stop. She glanced over at the CSI investigators. None of them were looking in their direction. Winter tapped the body of the puppet and it made a hollow sound. He turned it over. There was a door in the back. Brass hinges and a brass clasp. He opened it to reveal a hollowed-out space.

  Before Yoko could say anything, Winter dropped Alice’s puppet onto the bench. It landed with a clatter. And then he was moving, heading deeper into the workshop, banging puppets out of the way, eyes searching in all directions. She could hear the swish of his coverall, hear the clack of wooden limbs and torsos crashing together.

  The crime-scene investigators heard the commotion and their heads snapped up together. They looked at her as if to say, What the hell? Then they started moving towards Winter. Yoko was moving, too, pushing her way through the puppets, their limbs caressing and kicking and creeping her out.

  One of the CSI guys caught up with Winter, and the kid pushed him away. He changed direction, ran on for a couple of yards then came to a sudden stop. By the time Yoko caught up with him he was surrounded by white-suited investigators. Before anyone could ask what he was doing, Winter ripped down the nearest puppet.

  Yoko looked over his shoulder and saw the face of Calvin Fitzgerald’s first victim staring back. The puppet was wearing a miniature pink prom dress that was identical to the dress the victim had been wearing when she was found. The detail was incredible.

  Winter tore the dress off and turned it over. Like Alice’s puppet, this one also had a hidden compartment. Winter unhooked the clasp and carefully opened it. The smell of preservative fluid was unmistakable.

  Inside the compartment was a jar.

  And inside the jar was a human heart.

  Chapter 24

  Yoko pulled up beside Winter’s bright red VW Beetle and killed the engine. She lit a cigarette and opened the window a crack to let the smoke out. The kid made a face, but kept his mouth shut.

  ‘We need to talk about what happened at the Fitzgerald place,’ she said.

  He said nothing.

  ‘I’ve got all night.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘I’m serious.’

  He opened his mouth to speak. Given his expression, Yoko was convinced that whatever he said next would be laced with teenage sarcasm. His mouth snapped shut, his lips tightened, and she gave him the space and time he needed.

  She could give him all the space and time in the world if that’s what it took. She’d been serious when she’d said she had all night. If all night was what it took, all night was what he’d get. When it came to patience she could give a saint a run for their money.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he finally said.

  It was an echo of the response he’d given at the Fitzgerald place, except it didn’t seem as heartfelt. The sentiment was there but the intent was missing.

  ‘Try me.’

  Winter sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. He was quiet for a minute, then said, ‘I was eleven when my father was arrested. Eleven years I lived with him; how could I not know what he was?’

  He spoke quietly, the words aimed at his faint reflection in the windshield.

  ‘Because you were a child. Nobody would have expected you to have known.’

  ‘But I should have known.’

  ‘And “should” is one of the most dangerous words in the English language. Should have done this. Should have done that. “Should” is the key that opens up the gates of guilt.’

  He let go of a tiny strangled half-laugh and shook his head. ‘And you sound like a shrink.’

  She took a drag on her cigarette and waited for him to say more. When it became obvious that there wasn’t going to be any more, she said, ‘The reason you offered to help us catch Valentino was because you wanted to see a real-life serial killer in the flesh.’

  A nod.

  ‘You thought that would help you to understand your father better.’

  Another nod.

  ‘Which in turn would help you to understand what you are.’

  Another nod.

  ‘But it didn’t work like that, did it?’

  He shook his head slowly, sadly. ‘You were right, Agent Tanaka, I’m a psychopath. Plain and simple.’

  ‘Nothing’s ever that plain, or that simple. Yes, you’re a psychopath, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that you’re a murderer. Remember all those CEOs.’

  He almost smiled. ‘So I should start applying for positions at Fortune 500 companies, is that it?’

  Yoko almost returned the smile. ‘There are worse things you could do with your life.’

  Winter’s face turned serious again. ‘What would you do if you were in my position?’

  ‘I’d study and party as hard as I could. Your college years are some of the best years of your life. Enjoy them. Yes, your childhood sucked, but that doesn’t mean the rest of your life has to as well. Worry about the future when it gets here, Jefferson. Until then, let your hair down and live a little.’

  He stared hard at her, and for a moment she felt like he could see all the way through to her scarred soul.

  ‘You know, Agent, the thing with advice is that it’s easy to give, but when it comes to applying it to yourself, well, that’s another matter.’

  The dig hit home and Yoko’s first instinct was to slap him. Her second instinct was to fire off a scathing, sarcastic comeback. Instead, she said, ‘You know something, Jefferson? Maybe you’re right, maybe I should loosen up a little.’

  ‘Careful. Remember, “‘Should’ is the key that opens the gates of guilt.”’

  Yoko grimaced. ‘I actually said that, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘Take a look in the glove box.’

  Winter opened the glove box and pulled out a thick Manila folder. On the front cover was the FBI’s logo, the word CONFIDENTIAL, and a name: Albert Winter.

  ‘That’s your scorpion,’ she said in answer to the questions in his eyes. ‘Either it’s going to kill you, or you’ll find a way to get it off your back.’

  He flicked through the file. Flashes of photos and the occasional printed word. He snapped it shut, tapped his fingers on the cover.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She responded with a small dip of the head.

  ‘So, this is it,’ he added. ‘This is goodbye.’

  ‘I guess it is. Thanks for your help.’

 
‘Any time. It’s been a blast.’

  ‘I’m not sure those are the words I’d use. It’s certainly been interesting, though.’

  Winter held out his hand and they shook. Yoko held on longer than he wanted. He looked across at her. ‘Promise me you won’t let that scorpion kill you.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Agent Tanaka. That’s all I can promise.’

  ‘Then that’ll have to do.’

  She let go of his hand.

  ‘Maybe we can do this again sometime,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe. How about you give me a call when you finish college?’

  ‘Sure, how about you give me your number?’

  Yoko shook her head. ‘If I do that, I’ll never hear from you. However, if you’ve got to work it out then it becomes a puzzle, and that’s a whole different ball game.’

  Winter smiled. ‘We’ve known each other for less than a day and you’ve already sussed me out.’

  ‘Jefferson, not for one second am I going to pretend to know who or what you are. You don’t even have the answer to those questions, so what chance have I got?’

  ‘Later.’ He got out and slammed the door shut.

  Yoko watched him cross the parking lot and disappear into his dorm building. She took a last drag on her cigarette and dropped it out the window. ‘Later,’ she whispered to herself, and put the car into gear.

  In the Jefferson Winter series

  Broken Dolls

  It takes a genius to catch a psychopath

  Jefferson Winter is no ordinary investigator.

  The son of one of America’s most notorious serial killers, Winter has spent his life trying to distance himself from his father’s legacy. Once a rising star at the FBI, he is now a freelance consultant, jetting around the globe helping local law enforcement agencies with difficult cases. He’s not got Da Vinci’s IQ, but he’s pretty close.

  When he accepts a particularly disturbing case in London, Winter arrives to find a city in the grip of a cold snap, with a psychopath on the loose who likes abducting and lobotomising young women. Winter must use all his preternatural brain power in order to work out who is behind the attacks, before another young woman becomes a victim. As Winter knows all too well, however, not everyone who’s broken can be fixed.