by James Carol
‘The New York Times?’
Yoko allowed herself a rare smile. ‘I’m with the FBI, remember? An analysis of the paper showed that it came from the Times. The fonts are consistent with the ones they use. Anyway, we’re getting off topic here. You could be anything you want, and you choose to be a cocktail-lounge pianist?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, not buying.’
‘This is a restaurant, not a cocktail lounge.’
‘And you’re missing the point.’
Winter was staring across the table again, the candlelight dancing through the greens and golds of his eyes. Once again, she was struck by the similarities between father and son. She’d been out to California to interview Albert Winter at San Quentin prison. She’d sat as close to him as she was now sitting to Jefferson. The obvious difference was that the table in the interview room at San Quentin didn’t have a quaint red-and-white tablecloth, or a candle, and there was nothing that could be used as a weapon left lying on top of it.
Father and son didn’t just share the same eyes. The similarities went much deeper than that. They had the same nose, the same mouth, the same-shaped cheekbones. She’d seen photographs of Albert Winter when he was younger. Jefferson could have been his twin brother, albeit the scruffier, more unkempt twin. The only major difference was their hair colour. Jefferson’s hair was black, whereas his father’s had been snow white. That said, it might have been the light, but Yoko thought she could detect the occasional grey hair peeking through. As far as she was concerned, those stray grey hairs only added to her belief that life wasn’t as easy and carefree as he was making out.
For a while they ate in silence, both lost in thought. From the short time they’d spent together last year, she knew that she shouldn’t push too hard. Do that and he’d shut down, and there was a good chance that he would end up playing piano to tourists and drunks for the rest of his life.
Chances were he might even end up a drunk. She still wasn’t sure what had caused the bloodshot eyes. Insomnia or alcohol? She was hoping for the former but suspected the latter. He claimed to be happy, but he wasn’t. He was a restless soul, and a troubled one. There was every chance that happiness was something that would always elude him. He finished his pasta, placed his fork in the bowl, wiped his mouth and hands on the napkin, then waited for her to meet his eye.
‘So what’s the bottom line here, Special Agent Tanaka? Are you offering me a job?’
‘I would if I could, but unfortunately I can’t do that. Those sort of calls are made above my pay grade.’
‘So what do you want?’
Yoko reached out and moved the photocopies aside, uncovering the crime-scene photographs. She separated them, tapped the space between them, waited for him to look.
‘I want you to work with me on this. Instead of hiding behind anonymous notes, I want you out there front and centre.’ She paused, searching for the right words. ‘I want to hear what you’ve got to say about all of this.’
Winter picked up the crime-scene photograph, studied it for a second, then peered over the top and smiled at her. ‘Okay, why the hell not?’
Chapter 4
Winter’s Volkswagen Beetle was parked beside the Chevrolet that Yoko had rented at the airport. Even in the dying light of the day she could see that it was loved and cared for. The car was polished, the bodywork gleaming. This was an old-fashioned Beetle, all retro lines and kook charm. She still wasn’t sure what to make of the new Beetles. Nor was she sure what to make of a twenty-year-old kid who would keep his car clean to this degree. Winter found his keys and walked over to the driver’s door.
‘How much have you had to drink?’ she called over.
He stopped and placed a hand on the car roof. ‘Just a glass.’
Yoko raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay, maybe two glasses.’
‘And they were big glasses. We’ll take my car.’
‘No way. The stereo in mine is going to be way better than the stereo in any crappy rental car.’
‘Maybe so, but we’re taking my car.’
Winter looked over at the rented Chevy and shook his head. ‘I’ll follow you.’
‘And end up getting a DUI? Not going to happen.’
Yoko walked over to her car and got in. Less than ten seconds later the passenger door opened and Winter flopped into the seat.
‘Put your seatbelt on.’
He gave her a look, then buckled up. Without asking if it was okay, he switched the radio on and started flicking through the stations. Snippets of static and music flowed past in an annoying jumble of sound before he eventually settled on a classical station. He turned the volume up and sat back in his seat. The sound of an orchestra going full-tilt filled the car. Yoko found the volume button and turned the sound down.
‘Hey, what did you do that for?’
‘I’d prefer something less pretentious.’
‘Pretentious! This is Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony. It’s one of the most incredible pieces of music that has ever been written, or ever will be written.’
‘Find something else or turn it off.’
Winter gave a disapproving snort, then started flicking through the stations again. The percussive intro from ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ slinked out from the speakers. Bongos and shakers and images of Moroccan marketplaces. Jagger started singing and Yoko nodded in time with the beat.
‘This is more like it. Come on, you’ve got to admit that this beats Mozart every time.’
‘If you say so.’
Yoko started the car and reversed out of the parking slot. Ten minutes later they were on I-75 going north.
‘Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?’ Winter asked.
Yoko turned down the volume and glanced over. ‘You know exactly where we’re headed, Jefferson. And before you ask for a breakdown of what I know, how about we start with what you know? Oh, and one more thing, before you get it into your head and start pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about, let’s consider a couple of things first. One, The Sandman is operating in Tampa, which is only an hour north of Sarasota. Two, are you really going to ignore something like this on your own doorstep?’
‘The Sandman.’ Winter shook his head dismissively. ‘Why does everyone feel the need to label these assholes? He poses the little girls to make it look like they’re asleep, so they call him The Sandman. What’s wrong with calling him the unsub? After all, that’s what he is. The unknown subject.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘I’m guessing that two new victims were found this morning. That’s enough time for someone to call Quantico, and for you to jump on a plane and fly down here. I’m also guessing that there were enough similarities between the crime scenes for you guys to conclude that this is a serial killer you’re dealing with.’
Yoko nodded. ‘Two for two.’
‘And I’m also guessing that your superiors have no idea that you’ve decided to travel to Tampa via Sarasota. They probably told you to get to the crime scene as soon as you could. Phrases such as “time is of the essence” and “go swiftly Special Agent Tanaka” would no doubt have been used.’
‘Let’s keep on topic here.’
‘The new victims’ names haven’t turned up on the news yet.’
‘Heidi Baker and Suzy Devlin. Heidi reverted to her maiden name when she got divorced.’
Winter muttered the names under his breath, nodding to himself.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m acquainting myself with the victims.’ Winter hesitated a second and Yoko sensed he had more to say, so she kept her mouth shut. ‘Do you want to know why the Tampa PD hasn’t solved this one yet? It’s because they’re focusing too much on the killer. They should be spending more time looking at the victims.’
‘And I’m with you on that one all the way. I believe that the victims are key here.’
‘Of course you do, but have you been able to look past the crimes? To see Hei
di and Suzy as they were before they were murdered? To see them how the unsub saw them?’ Winter shook his head. ‘No way. You look at the crime scene and all you see is the mom lying dead in a pool of blood and the little girl looking like she’s asleep.’
‘And what do you see?’
‘I’d like to see the crime scene before answering that. Okay, your turn. Tell me about the victims.’
‘Heidi Baker was thirty-one. Caucasian, blond hair, blue eyes. She worked as a part-time beauty therapist. Suzy was six. Like mom, she had blond hair and blue eyes. By all accounts, Heidi worked hard and lived for the kid. Her neighbours didn’t have a bad word to say about her and she was popular with her work colleagues.’
‘What about the ex-husband? How does he fit into things?’
‘The divorce was amicable, if that’s what you’re getting at. At any rate, it was as amicable as these things ever are. The husband had a good relationship with Suzy. She stayed with him every other weekend. He isn’t a suspect.’
‘Maybe he should be. Maybe the divorce wasn’t as amicable as you’ve been led to believe. Maybe the first two sets of killings were a warm-up. Maybe he was just getting his nerve up. And maybe, just maybe, Heidi and Suzy were the real targets all along.’
‘That’s a lot of maybes, Jefferson.’
‘But that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.’
‘You’re right in theory. However, the ex-husband has already been checked out and his alibi is solid. He was in Miami on business when the murders happened. The police aren’t complete idiots, you know.’
Yoko glanced over and Winter smiled.
‘They’re not. And something you need to learn is how to play nice with the locals. Antagonise people and it only makes the job harder. This job is difficult enough as it is.’
‘And do you always play nice with the locals?’
Yoko stared at the highway stretching off into the distance while she thought about the best way to respond. ‘The BAU’s relationship with the local law-enforcement community is complicated. They view us as a necessary evil and treat us accordingly. They want our help and expertise because they want to catch the bad guys. The flipside of that particular coin is that by calling us in it’s almost as if they’re saying that they’re not up to the job.’
‘But they’re not.’
Winter’s face was as open and honest as a child’s. As far as he was concerned what he was saying was unequivocally true and he couldn’t understand how the rest of the world couldn’t see it.
‘Maybe so, but nobody wants to be reminded of their shortcomings. At best our presence is tolerated. At worst we get met with out-and-out hostility. However, and this is really important, so listen carefully: there is nothing to be gained by reacting negatively when they’re being idiots, and everything to lose. Our job is to catch the killer, don’t ever forget that. Sometimes that means you’ve got to bite your tongue.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe that. I’ve seen you in action, Special Agent Tanaka. You don’t strike me as a tongue-biter.’
‘I’ll admit that it doesn’t come naturally, but I try. At the end of the day, I do what I need to do to catch these monsters.’
‘Even if that means stepping over the line?’
Yoko glanced over and waited for Winter to meet her eye. ‘No, Jefferson, we never step over the line.’
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’
She turned away quickly and stared at the road ahead. In her mind she was tallying up the number of times she’d stepped over the line today alone.
Chapter 5
Yoko pulled into the first motel she saw. The sign outside said the Lucky Star, but the place didn’t look particularly lucky. The letters on the sign were picked out in red, white and blue, the colours muted by road grime, and the squat two-storey building had faded from white to grey. Too much concrete and not a hint of greenery. She parked in an empty slot outside reception and killed the engine.
Winter looked at the motel building, then looked at Yoko. ‘No offence, but if you’ve got some weird Mrs Robinson fantasy thing going on, I’m going to have to take a rain check.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
Yoko got out of the car and headed for the sidewalk. She heard Winter’s door open then close, heard the patter of his hurried feet on concrete. He caught up with her and they walked into the reception area. The inside of the building looked better than the outside, which gave Yoko hope. If this area was okay, then maybe the rooms would be okay, too. The fake-marble tiles on the floor were arranged in diamond patterns and the desk was laminated with beech. A chunky old-fashioned computer monitor sat on top of the desk next to a rack of leaflets advertising the local tourist attractions.
‘I thought we were going to the police department’s HQ,’ said Winter.
‘There’s something we need to do first.’
‘What?’
Yoko answered with an enigmatic smile.
‘Why have I got a bad feeling about this?’
The girl behind the desk couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. Her lank, greasy brown hair fell to her shoulders and there were braces on her teeth. She gave off a vibe like she’d already given up on life. Given her age and the size of the motel, Yoko was betting she was the daughter of whoever owned this place. The girl closed the gossip magazine she was reading and put it down. She got up from her chair and came over.
‘Help you?’
‘Two rooms, please. And I’d like them next door to one another. First floor, if possible.’
The girl pecked at the computer keyboard with her index fingers, eyes fixed on the screen. Yoko wanted Winter on as short a leash as possible. Another thing she remembered from their last meeting was how unpredictable he was.
‘Six and seven are empty. They’re on the first floor.’
‘Great. We’ll take them.’
Five minutes later they were back in the car, driving the short distance to the rooms. Yoko parked in a slot that had a faded white 6 marked on it, got out and went around to the trunk. She popped the lid and waited. Winter glanced in the trunk, then looked at her.
‘What did your last slave die of?’
‘Just take the suitcase inside for me, please.’
He snapped off a lazy salute and heaved the case out. The way he grunted he clearly wasn’t expecting it to be so heavy. ‘What the hell have you got in here? Rocks?’
Yoko reached in for the suit bag then closed the trunk and walked over to the rooms. She opened the door to room six, stuck her head inside, had a quick look and a sniff, then moved to room seven and went through the same routine.
‘I’ll have this one,’ she said. ‘You can take next door. At least this one doesn’t smell like someone died in here.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
Winter rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Do you actually get the concept of sarcasm?’
‘And that is so the wrong question. You shouldn’t be asking whether I get it or not, what you should be asking is whether I can be bothered with it.’
Yoko walked into the room. It was everything she’d imagined, and nothing like she’d hoped for. She had stayed in a thousand rooms like this one, and had never ceased to be depressed by them. Thin walls, cheap furniture, dreadful art on the walls, and a mattress that should have been junked a decade ago. Before opening the door to a new motel room, she always took a deep breath and hoped for the best. Occasionally she got a pleasant surprise, but not very often. Winter was hovering in the doorway, eyes tracing a slow clockwise circuit around the room.
‘Put the case on the bed, please.’
He gave her another lazy salute and punctuated it with a sarcastic ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Yoko laid the suit bag on the bed, waited for him to place the suitcase next to it, then spun the tumblers on the combination lock. 6384. Like any good code, the numbers were completely random and held no meaning for her whatsoever. She flick
ed the catches and pulled the lid open. She was aware of Winter standing beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head move from the suitcase to her, then back again.
‘What’s with all the shoes?’
‘You’ll see.’
He took out a pair, studied them for a second, then dropped them back in. They landed with a clatter. ‘Well, I guess this explains why your case was so heavy. I’m not going to like this, am I?’
Yoko picked up the suit bag, unzipped it and removed the suit and a shirt. A plain red tie was draped over the shirt hangar. She held out the clothes and waited for him to take them. He didn’t move. His face betrayed every emotion he was experiencing. Disgust, disbelief, and a small amount of amusement.
‘I’ve never worn a suit. Not ever. I didn’t even wear one to my college interview. Read my lips, Special Agent Tanaka: there’s no way I’m wearing that.’
Yoko produced a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket of her jacket. She held them up and gave him a pleading look that was devoid of any sincerity.
‘Not. Going. To. Happen.’
She laid the suit neatly on the bed and smoothed out the creases, placed the sunglasses on top of the clothes. Then she headed for the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to see Lieutenant Emilio Perez. He heads up Tampa’s homicide division. While I’m gone, I’d like you to sit here and think about why I might want you to wear a suit rather than those tatty old jeans and that T-shirt. An intellect like yours, it shouldn’t take too long to work out.’
‘I thought you didn’t do sarcasm.’
‘No, I don’t react to your sarcasm. Big difference.’
Yoko opened the door and headed outside. She found her cigarettes, lit one with her battered old Zippo, then leant against the fender of the Chevy, smoking and waiting. A short while later the room door opened and Winter came out wearing the suit and a scowl. She looked him up and down. Considering she’d guessed, the suit fitted pretty well.
