by James Carol
‘Okay, here’s what I don’t get. Why did Heidi let some guy she didn’t know into her home?’
Neither Yoko nor Dixon responded.
‘There’s no sign that the lock was forced or tampered with, which means that she opened the door for him. But Heidi’s a single mom and it would’ve been getting dark. Put that all together and she’s not going to be opening the door for just anyone, is she?’
Yoko stared at the door, thinking hard, her imagination in overdrive.
‘Okay, so somebody knocks on the door,’ he continued. ‘Heidi stops whatever she’s doing and goes to see who it is. Because it’s getting late, she looks through the spy hole before opening it.’
‘And sees someone who isn’t a threat,’ Yoko finished for him.
Winter nodded. ‘Exactly. Someone in authority, perhaps? A cop, for instance. A uniform can buy you access to a lot of places, right?’
Yoko shook her head. ‘That would be too conspicuous. This is crime scene number three. If the unsub had dressed up as a cop someone would have mentioned it.’ She glanced over at Dixon for confirmation.
The sergeant shook her head. ‘Nobody said anything about seeing a cop at any of the scenes.’
‘It needs to be someone who could pass through this neighbourhood unseen,’ Yoko continued. ‘Someone invisible.’ She stopped talking, thinking hard again. ‘How about a delivery driver? He could park his van at the kerb and carry a box up to the front door. And the added advantage of that box is that it could be used to transport everything he needed to carry out the murders.’
She looked around the room without really seeing anything, waiting for her thoughts to catch up. ‘Okay, so Heidi looks through the spy hole and sees a guy stood there on the doorstep wearing a delivery uniform and carrying a parcel. There’s an anonymous panel van parked on the sidewalk, adding to the illusion. He holds up a fake ID and she lets him in.’ She nodded to herself. ‘That works for me. I mean, who pays any attention to delivery drivers?’
‘Yeah, it works for me, too,’ Winter agreed.
‘Good work, Jefferson.’
Winter acknowledged the compliment with a tiny nod of the head.
‘So we’re looking for a thirty-something white delivery man who lived near the first scene and was involved in a messy divorce,’ Dixon said. ‘That’s got to narrow things down somewhat.’
She pulled out her radio and made a call.
Chapter 10
Suzy’s father lived in an apartment block that was a short drive from Seminole Heights. Dixon led the way in her Tampa PD 4×4. She hit her hazard lights when they reached it, the prearranged signal to let Yoko know they’d arrived, then sped off back to headquarters. Yoko pulled into the parking lot and reversed into a spare slot between a rusting Ford and a large SUV with blackened windows.
For a moment she just sat there, getting a feel for the environment. Miles Devlin’s apartment was a definite step down from his ex-wife’s little bungalow in Seminole Heights. There was plenty of concrete and hardly any green. No trees, no flowers, and what little grass there was looked parched and terminal. The only colour came from the graffiti. Muted urban colours straight from an aerosol can.
‘Nice place,’ said Winter. ‘So remind me again why we’re here?’
‘Because I like to get as clear a picture of the victims as possible, and the best way to do that is by talking to the people who loved them.’
Winter nodded grudgingly. Her comment contained an echo of the one he’d made about acquainting himself with the victims. She still had the impression that this was all some sort of game for him, though, an intellectual puzzle posed for his amusement. She wanted him to get some first-hand experience of the human tragedy that accompanied a murder, and the best way to do that was to show him what raw grief looked like.
They got out of the car and walked over to the apartment block. Up close, it looked worse than it had from a distance. The building was streaked with dirt, the windows were filthy. Dirty threadbare drapes hung from some of the windows, ramshackle broken-down blinds hung from the rest. Devlin’s apartment was on the first floor. The front door was more or less in the parking lot. You crossed the narrow sidewalk, walked a couple of yards up the cracked concrete path, and you were there. The layout was similar to the sort of layout you often found in motels.
She knocked on the door and stepped back. Thirty seconds later there was a shuffling on the other side of the wood and a slurred ‘gimme a minute’. She didn’t hear a lock disengage, didn’t see the spyhole darken. Devlin clearly wasn’t worried about security. The door swung open to reveal a thirty-something man in a crumpled T-shirt and boxer shorts. His eyes were bloodshot and he stank of whisky. He looked like the world had ended, which she supposed wasn’t that far off the mark.
‘What do you want?’
Yoko held up her badge and Devlin glanced at it for a fraction of a second. If he was impressed, it didn’t show.
‘FBI. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions.’
‘Sure.’
Devlin turned and walked back inside, leaving Yoko and Winter standing there. They shared a look and a shrug, then followed him. The open door a couple of yards along the hall led into the main living area.
The room was cosier than Yoko expected. The large sofa had a couple of multi-coloured throws draped over it and the bright modern rug looked brand new. There was a matching armchair and a large TV with a games console wired into it. The bright red bean bag had presumably been bought for Suzy. It was easy to imagine father and daughter relaxing here, laughing and joking, maybe watching a movie and eating popcorn, or perhaps playing a video game.
The room was lit by a single lamp that sat on a small table next to the sofa. Under ordinary circumstances the light it provided would be moody and atmospheric. Under these circumstances it made Yoko think of an interrogation room. A tall highball glass and an open bottle of bourbon sat next to the lamp.
There were pictures of Suzy on the walls. A dozen in total. Different frames, different sizes, different ages. Unlike the professional pictures back at Heidi’s place, these were snapshots. Devlin appeared in a couple of them and Yoko guessed that Heidi had probably taken these. Father and daughter were smiling for the camera, so presumably these had been taken during happier times in the marriage.
Devlin sank down onto the sofa and picked up his glass. He drained it in a single swallow, grimaced, then reached for the bourbon bottle and poured himself another couple of inches. His movements were loose-limbed and he didn’t offer to share. The bottle was more or less empty, and had no doubt been bought earlier in the day. The raw face of grief. Yoko sat down in the armchair and glanced up at Winter. His face was blank. Whatever was going through his head, he was keeping it to himself. He was shifting around in the suit again, doing his best to get comfortable.
‘When did you last see Heidi?’ Yoko asked.
Devlin looked over like he’d just noticed her. He seemed to be having trouble focusing. ‘Sunday, I guess. It was my weekend to have Suzy. It would have been when I dropped her off.’
‘And what was your relationship like with Heidi these days?’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
Devlin reached for the highball glass and took another drink. He grimaced, wiped his mouth, put the glass down heavily on the table. ‘What do you want me to say? She thinks I’m an asshole. And she’s right. I am an asshole.’
Yoko noted the use of the present tense. Devlin was in shock. It was going to take time to come to terms with this. That’s if he ever came to terms with it.
‘Why did the marriage end?’
‘Because I had an affair. Heidi found out about it and kicked me out.’ He waved a loose arm around in a way that took in the whole apartment. ‘And here I am living in this shit hole.’
‘The woman you had an affair with, are you still with her?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. She worked out that I was an asshole, too. It didn�
��t last long. Just about long enough for Heidi to find out.’
‘Are you seeing anyone now?’
He shook his head. The arc it moved through was much wider than it should have been. ‘Nah, not seeing anyone.’
‘How often did you see Suzy?’
‘Every other weekend. I phoned her every evening, though. Without fail.’
‘You talked to her yesterday evening?’
‘Yeah.’ His voice tailed off as he slid into the memory. His eyes blinked shut and stayed shut for a good ten seconds. Long enough for Yoko to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. His eyes suddenly jerked open and he reached for his glass, took another hit of bourbon. Tears streaked both cheeks. Thin trails that glistened in the lamplight.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
He waved a floppy hand in her general direction. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. What else do you want to know?’
‘What time did you speak to her?’
‘Around six. I always speak to her after dinner. ’
Devlin wiped his face and his hands came away damp. He glanced at his tearstained fingertips, then looked at Yoko like she might be able to offer an explanation as to how they’d got like that. The tears were coming more freely now, flowing down his flushed cheeks.
‘If I’d kept my dick in my pants then Heidi and me would still be together and none of this would have happened.’
This statement was fuelled by guilt and self-recrimination. Unfortunately, this time it was accurate. If Devlin had kept his dick in his pants then Heidi and Suzy wouldn’t have been living all alone in their little house over in Seminole Heights, and if that had been the case then they wouldn’t have appeared on The Sandman’s radar.
‘You shouldn’t blame yourself.’
‘Who else am I going to blame?’
Devlin grabbed the bourbon bottle and emptied it into his glass. He dropped the bottle and it landed on the rug with a dull thud. Then he reached for the glass and took a long swallow. The whisky hit the back of his throat and he started to cough and splutter. Winter reacted more quickly than Yoko did. Before she had a chance to work out what was about to happen, he’d moved over to the sofa and was holding the waste basket out while Devlin threw up into it.
He stopped retching and wiped his mouth. ‘I don’t feel so good.’ He went to say something else, but before he could get the words out he was throwing up again. Winter met Yoko’s eye.
‘Who said that being an FBI agent wasn’t glamorous, eh?’
Yoko didn’t have a response to that. The room suddenly felt much too small. The air smelt of vomit and sour whisky. Winter didn’t seem particularly bothered, though. He was taking the whole thing in his stride.
‘I think I need to lie down,’ Devlin mumbled.
‘Let’s wait and see if there’s anything else to come up first,’ Winter told him.
‘I’m fine.’
Devlin went to say something else, but before he could get the words out he was retching again. Most of what was coming up now was bile and spit. Even so, Winter had positioned himself so he didn’t get splashed. He put the waste basket down and looked over at Yoko.
‘A little help here, please. We need to get him down on the floor.’
Yoko walked over, careful to give the waste basket a wide berth. Up close, the smell was even worse.
‘You get his left side,’ said Winter. ‘I’ll get the right.’
Yoko grabbed Devlin’s arm and they hauled him to his feet. He was moving like all his bones had been removed. Carefully, they laid him on the rug and Winter started arranging him into the recovery position.
‘I guess this interview’s over,’ he said.
Yoko looked down at Devlin. His eyes were shut and his breathing was getting deeper. He wasn’t snoring yet, but he would be soon.
‘We can’t just leave him on his own like this. What if he does end up choking on his vomit?’
Winter was looking down at Devlin’s prostate body, too. ‘Yeah, I guess. Okay, I’ll take the bedroom, while you look in here. We need to find his cell, or a phone book. There must be someone living close by who can come and watch him.’
Chapter 11
Yoko poured out two small measures of Glenmorangie. The whisky was a single malt that had spent a large part of the past two decades in a dark cellar in the Scottish Highlands. Her glass was crystal and lived in her suitcase. Winter’s tumbler was plastic and she’d found it in the bathroom. This was the reason she carried her own glass. Drinking a whisky like this from plastic was criminal.
After what had happened back at Miles Devlin’s apartment she wasn’t in the mood for whisky. However, after the sort of day she’d had she needed a drink and, right now, her need for alcohol trumped the flashbacks. Winter had pulled a seat up to the bed. His shoes were off and he was sitting there with his toes wedged into the gap between the mattress and the frame. She passed him the plastic tumbler.
‘Sip, don’t gulp.’
Winter looked suspiciously into the tumbler. ‘Have you got any Coke? 7 Up? Ice?’
‘No way. That would be sacrilege.’
He took a tentative sip and wrinkled his nose. ‘It definitely needs Coke.’
‘You know, Jefferson, you might like classical music and be well educated, but you can be a real Neanderthal sometimes.’
Yoko kicked off her shoes and got comfortable on the bed. Her back was against the headboard and she was wriggling her toes, glad to have them freed from the confines of her shoes. It was getting late and it had been a long day. She was glad to be off her feet.
‘Why did you join the FBI?’
Yoko looked over at Winter. He was projecting an aura of idle curiosity, but she had a feeling there was more to his question than that. She swirled the whisky around in her glass, took another sip.
‘There are days I ask myself that very same thing.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘I’m not sure there is a single simple answer. Big decisions are usually the result of a convergence of smaller decisions. As a little girl I could have chosen to read stories about ponies and fairies, but instead I read the Nancy Drew books and tried to solve the crimes before she did. I guess that’s where the seeds were sown.’
‘But there’s a world of difference between Nancy Drew and the guy who killed Heidi and Suzy.’
‘That was just the first step.’
‘And I’m sure that there were lots of other little steps. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about Nancy Drew. What I’m interested in is that big final step, the one that finally set you on this path. And don’t say there isn’t one because that would be a lie.’
Yoko stared at him. The tie was gone, the top button of his shirt undone, and the plastic tumbler was resting against his bottom lip. He took a small sip and glanced at her over the rim. It would be easy to look at him and see a kid with unruly hair and an arrogant screw-the-world attitude. And it would be so easy to forget just how smart he was. Serial killers weren’t the only ones who were experts at hiding in plain sight.
As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. There was a big reason, a final push that had moved her from thinking that this might be something she’d like to do to thinking it was something she was going to do. She’d never shared it with anyone. She wasn’t even sure she was going to share it now, not until her mouth opened up and the words started coming out.
‘Annie Fuller.’ She paused and reached for her cigarettes, lit one, then exhaled a cloud of smoke with a sigh. ‘I grew up with Annie. We lived in the same neighbourhood, went to the same schools. We were in the same year, but we were never best friends. She was pretty and popular, and I wasn’t. That said, she was never horrible to me, not like some of the other girls. I’ve never admitted this to anyone before, but if I could have been someone else, I would have been her.’
She took another drag and looked over at him again, searching for disapproval, or condemnation. She didn’t share easily and this was making
her uncomfortable. It crossed her mind to stop talking. Why the hell was she telling all this to a twenty-year-old kid who she hardly knew?
‘Look,’ he put in. ‘Just say what you’ve got to say. It’s not like I’m going to blab to any of your colleagues. I mean, heaven forbid they ever see you as a real person rather than some sort of ice maiden, right? No, as far as I’m concerned, what happens in Tampa stays in Tampa.’ He nodded to the cigarette pack on the nightstand. ‘Can I have one, please?’
‘I thought you didn’t smoke.’
‘I don’t. Occasionally I like to have one when I’m drinking, that’s all.’
‘And that’s the first step towards addiction.’
‘I’m not going to get addicted.’
Yoko raised an eyebrow. ‘You know that nicotine is as addictive as crack cocaine, right?’
‘I’m not going to get addicted.’ He emphasised the words carefully. ‘Anyway, who are you, my mom?’
She passed him the cigarette pack and Zippo, watched him light up. He was holding the cigarette awkwardly, like he wasn’t too sure what to do with it. He took a tentative drag and blew out a small cloud of smoke.
‘You were telling me about Annie Fuller.’
‘I was. Okay, one day Annie didn’t come home from school. This was back when I was thirteen. The police mounted a massive search, everyone in the neighbourhood got involved, but there was no sign of her. Days passed, weeks, and still no sign. It was like she’d just vanished off the face of the earth. It really shook everyone up. Parents kept a closer eye on their children than they had before the disappearance. And the atmosphere at school was even weirder than it usually was. Everyone was trying to act like nothing had happened, but of course something had happened. I used to sit behind Annie in math and that seat stayed empty for the rest of the school year. It was the same in all her other classes too. Her seat stayed empty. It was like her ghost was stuck there in the school and nobody wanted to disturb it. If you sat in her seat, then maybe you’d be next to disappear. That’s how it seemed to me, at any rate.’
