by James Carol
‘Was she ever found?’
Yoko shook her head slowly. ‘No, she wasn’t. Like I said, she just disappeared off the face of the planet. One day she was there, the next there was an empty seat in class. Eventually the police stopped looking and people started getting on with their lives again.’
‘But you couldn’t quite shake yourself free.’
‘I’d never really thought of it like that, but yeah, I guess you could say that.’ She took a drag on her cigarette. ‘I was obsessed with the case from the start. I followed it religiously on the news and collected all the newspaper clippings. I filled notebooks with theories and speculation. It was almost like I was conducting my own investigation. Even after the police stopped looking, I couldn’t let it go. I kept picturing Annie locked up in a dark cellar or buried in a shallow grave.’
‘And imagining it was you,’ Winter finished for her.
Another slow shake of the head. ‘That’s the thing. I didn’t think that at all. Annie was the complete opposite to me. She was beautiful and popular. Why would this guy come after me? I just didn’t fit his victim profile.’
Winter laughed at that. ‘You were thirteen and thinking in terms of victim profiling?’
Yoko shrugged, ‘What can I say, I wasn’t your average thirteen-year-old.’
‘I can relate. So why were you so obsessed with this case?’
‘Because it happened so close to home. Up until then, the evil in the world had happened at a distance. It was an abstract concept rather than anything real. After Annie disappeared it became real. And any time I started to think otherwise all I had to do was look at that empty seat.’
Winter thought this over for a second. The quiet of the night was broken by an occasional vehicle passing on the nearby highway, the drapes briefly lighting up and the shadows arcing. He took another tentative drag, coughed as the smoke hit his lungs, then stubbed the half-smoked cigarette out in the ashtray. Yoko watched all this, but kept her mouth shut.
‘We’re agreed that you have control issues, right?’
‘No, Jefferson, we have most definitely not agreed on anything of the sort.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
He grinned and she resisted the urge to slap him. He was baiting her, searching for a reaction, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
‘Something like this happens, the first thing people do is they try to make sense of it,’ he went on. ‘The box has burst open, all the ugly stuff has come pouring out, and they’re desperately trying to scoop it up and jam that lid back on. Except once that lid’s off it’s never going to fit back on. That’s what happened here, the lid came off, and ever since you’ve been trying to get it back on again.’
‘I think you might be oversimplifying.’
‘Of course you do. Everyone likes to imagine that they’re a lot more complex than they actually are.’
Yoko had another strong urge to slap him. Instead, she sipped a little more whisky, then took a final drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out.
‘Human beings are simple creatures really,’ he added. ‘So long as they have food, water and shelter they’re going to be okay. Everything else is affectations, stuff they use to dress things up to look more impressive than they really are.’
‘And you expect me to believe that’s how you view yourself?’
Winter shook his head and made a sour face. ‘God, no. I’m not talking about myself here. I’m talking about everyone else.’
That was worth a small laugh. ‘You really are something, Jefferson. You know that? Anyway, enough about me, why do you want to join the FBI?’
‘Who says I want to join the FBI? That’s the last thing I want to do.’
Yoko said nothing.
‘Read my lips: I do not want to join the FBI.’
‘And I guess that’s because you’re so happy and fulfilled playing piano to strangers in some crappy restaurant.’
‘It’s not a crappy restaurant. And yes, I am happy working there.’ He stared hard, eyes narrowed, daring her to contradict him.
‘And once again, methinks you doth protest too much. I didn’t bring you here at gunpoint, Jefferson. You could leave any time you want, yet you choose to stay. Then there were those notes you sent out. Nobody was a holding a gun to your head while you were cutting those letters from The New York Times, either. You want to do this. You were born to do it.’
‘So you say.’
‘I do say.’
They fell into a deep contemplative silence. More cars passed by on the highway, the drapes lightening then darkening again. Yoko reached for the whisky bottle and topped up their drinks. She considered having another cigarette but decided not to. She’d been trying to cut back for a while. She was down to six or seven a day. Well, maybe ten. Unless it had been a stressful day, then it was a closer to fifteen. She almost smiled at that. As addictive and as deadly as crack, and with all the lies and delusions that go with a class-A drug addiction.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘I’m thinking about what happened back at Miles Devlin’s place.’
He gave her a look but didn’t call her on the lie.
‘When he threw up like that, it took me completely by surprise. Not you, though. You were ready and waiting with the waste basket.’
‘You were busy asking questions. I was busy watching. I saw what was about to happen and I reacted. It was no big deal.’
She shook her head. ‘But it was a big deal. It wasn’t just what you did with the waste basket that I found interesting. It was you who suggested getting him down on the floor and putting him in the recovery position. It was your idea to phone for someone to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t choke.’
‘So what?’
‘So, you’re a twenty-year-old kid, and I’m the grown-up around here. Those are the sort of calls I should be making, yet you were a step ahead of me all the way.’
Winter locked eyes with her. ‘It’s getting late. I think I’m going to head next door and crash.’
‘No arguments there, but you’re going to give me a couple more minutes first.’ She reached for her glass, but didn’t drink. For a second or two she just sat and looked at the way the lamplight had got trapped in the liquid. Like a diamond trapped in amber. ‘I’m guessing your mother. She’s got a drink problem, right?’
For the longest time Winter said nothing. His face was unreadable but Yoko could tell that he was giving her question some serious thought. She kept very still. She didn’t want to move because she didn’t want to hurry him into a decision. Do that and it was likely that he’d just clam up. Another couple of seconds passed and he gave a barely imperceptible nod.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked gently.
‘Not really.’
‘Will you talk about it?’
The silence that followed lasted long enough for Yoko to think that the conversation was over. She was just about to give him another little push when he finally spoke. His voice was barely a whisper and it was a struggle to hear what he was saying.
‘To begin with she’d get drunk every now and again. This was just after my father’s arrest and I figured that she was trying to come to terms with what had happened. As time passed the gaps between the binges got less and less until she was drinking every day. I lost count of the number of times I found her passed out.’
‘And you put her in the recovery position so she wouldn’t choke?’
Winter shrugged. ‘I’d lost one parent, I wasn’t ready to lose another. Although, looking back, it’s obvious that she was already gone. I guess I lost her the day the FBI arrested my father.’
‘I’m sorry, Jefferson. It must have been difficult for you.’
For a moment he just sat there looking lost. It was easy to imagine him as the small boy he’d been when the FBI descended. In a split second his life had changed and nothing had ever been the same again. That was the thing with life, i
t really could turn on a dime. It had been that way for Heidi. She’d opened the door and dropped her guard, and her world had ended. It was that way for all the Annie Fullers of this world, too.
Winter picked up the plastic tumbler and drained it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He smiled over at her and there was nothing of the lost kid in that smile. The protective mask had gone back up and the big bad world had been pushed back to arm’s-length. He got up to leave.
‘This has been fun. We should do it again sometime.’
‘If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m a good listener.’ She met his eye, made sure that the message got through. ‘And think about what I said earlier. The FBI needs someone like you. Hell, forget about the FBI for a second. The victims need you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You need it. You’ve still got that scorpion on your back. It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself to the contrary, it’s there just waiting to sting you.’
Winter laughed. ‘Wow, we almost managed to spend a whole evening together without you talking about my father. That’s got to be some sort of record.’
‘I’m being serious.’
The laughter faded into silence.
‘There’s no doubt in my mind that both you and your father are psychopaths. However, the big difference is that you’re capable of empathy. I saw that when we were hunting Valentino. You didn’t just get into his head, you became him. To do something like that requires a level of empathy that goes way above the norm.’
Winter said nothing.
‘You talk tough, Jefferson, but if you don’t deal with your baggage it will destroy you. You need closure.’
For a moment she believed that he was giving some serious thought to what she’d just said, but the moment passed and he gave her another of those lazy salutes. ‘Goodnight, Special Agent Tanaka. And thanks for the whisky.’
A second later he was gone, the door clicking gently closed behind him.
Chapter 12
Yoko was awoken by the annoying chirp of her cellphone. She opened one eye, then the other, rubbed the sleep away. The drapes were backlit with sunshine and it was clearly later than she thought. She grabbed the cell off the nightstand and checked the display. UNKNOWN NUMBER had flashed up onto the screen. According to the clock in the top corner it had gone seven thirty. She rubbed her eyes again, took a deep breath, then connected the call.
‘Agent Tanaka?’
The voice was too perky, too full of caffeine. It took Yoko a second to work out who it was. ‘Sergeant Dixon,’ she responded in a voice that was much brighter than she felt.
‘I haven’t woken you, have I?’
‘No, I’ve been up for a while. So, what can I do for you?’
‘We’ve found him.’
Yoko came fully awake in an instant.
‘We’re going to arrest him now,’ Dixon went on. ‘I’ve sent a car. It will be with you soon. I thought you might like to tag along for the takedown. Particularly since it was your profile that helped to nail him.’
‘Thanks, I’ll be waiting.’
Dixon hung up without saying goodbye, leaving Yoko staring at her dead cellphone. Definitely a good way to start the day, she thought. With any luck they could get things wrapped up here by the end of play today, and she’d be able to catch a late flight and actually sleep in her own bed tonight.
She padded through to the bathroom and did a quick sink wash. Then she brushed her teeth and went back through to the main room to get clean clothes from her suitcase. The clothes were more or less identical to the ones she’d worn yesterday, and the day before that. A white blouse, neat black pants and a matching jacket, sensible flat shoes. She locked her room and hurried next door to Winter’s. He didn’t answer when she knocked, so she tried again, harder this time. Still no answer.
‘Come on, Jefferson. It’s time to get up.’
Still no response. She glanced over her shoulder, noticed that the Chevy had gone and her heart sank. Even though she knew it would be empty, she still patted the pocket she kept her keys in. She tried the handle and the door swung open.
The bed was made and the room looked as though it was unoccupied. The only evidence that Winter had ever been here was the suit on the bed. It had been laid out as though the person wearing it had dissolved. The shirt was neatly arranged inside the jacket near the head of the bed, the tie knotted inside the collar. Down towards the bottom end were the trousers. The shoes were on the floor, positioned side by side. Once again, she couldn’t help wondering if Winter was in fact a potential serial killer.
The message being sent was easy to interpret. Winter was gone and he wasn’t coming back. She must have pushed him too hard when they were talking in her room last night. She’d told him that it was a free country, that he could leave whenever he wanted, and that’s exactly what he’d done. He had made his bed, laid out the suit, then climbed into the Chevy and headed back to Sarasota. She almost hadn’t mentioned his parents, but the conversation had been flowing and she’d thought what the hell. In hindsight, that had been a mistake.
Except that didn’t quite work, because how did he get the car key? He must have stolen it when she went through to the bathroom to get the plastic cup. That was the only time he’d been left on his own in the room. Which meant that it made no difference how hard she’d pushed, or what she said. He’d clearly made up his mind to leave before they got back to the motel.
As to why he’d done that, there could be a dozen reasons. This was Jefferson Winter she was talking about. Who the hell knew what was going through his head? Maybe things hadn’t been exciting enough and he’d gotten bored. He had the impatience that came with youth, and the low boredom threshold that came with a genius-level IQ, so it was more than possible. If that was the case then he’d bailed out at the wrong time. She had a feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more interesting.
The whoop and screech of a cop car turning fast and tight into the Lucky Star’s parking lot got her moving again. She ran outside and waved the car over. It was a marked Tampa PD 4×4, identical to the one that Dixon had been driving last night. The driver spotted her and sped across the lot. He skidded to a halt and she got in.
The driver was in his early twenties, not much older than Winter, and he was wearing the short-sleeved version of the police department’s uniform, which made him look like a boy scout, albeit one who was dressed in black as opposed to tan and green. The name patch said COOK. He reached into the back for a Kevlar vest and passed it to her. She put it on and adjusted the Velcro straps. It was hard and unyielding and uncomfortable. Even so, she’d take a little discomfort over a bullet to the chest any day.
‘Best buckle up,’ Cook told her. ‘Sergeant Dixon said she wants you there as soon as possible.’
‘And where exactly is “there”?’
‘Tampa Heights. It’s not far.’
Yoko put on her seatbelt and Cook swung the 4×4 into a tight turn and screeched out of the lot. He switched on the roof lights and siren when he hit the street, put his foot down. The early-morning traffic scattered out of the way to let them through.
‘Where’s your partner?’ Cook asked. ‘Dixon said I had two to pick up.’
‘He’s got food poisoning.’
‘That’s too bad.’ Cook launched into a monologue about a bad experience he’d had after eating at a seafood restaurant. The way he was talking, he reminded Yoko of a cab driver. She tuned him out and watched the traffic out the windshield, vehicles darting this way and that.
Ten minutes later they arrived in Tampa Heights. As far as Yoko could tell, this neighbourhood wasn’t that different from Seminole Heights. The streets were wide and there were plenty of trees. The clapboard houses were painted in muted shades of grey, blue and yellow. There were plenty of brick buildings too, old factories and warehouses. Like Seminole Heights, this neighbourhood was on the up and there was evidence of construction work on every other block.
Cook pulled over nex
t to a boarded-up red-brick church. There was a sign out front boasting about how it was going to be turned into a complex of luxury apartments. Four unmarked cop cars were parked at the kerb. By the looks of things the whole homicide department had turned out. Yoko didn’t blame them. They’d worked hard for this. They deserved the credit. Dixon was holding court in the centre of a crowd of detectives. Her body movements were as animated as her voice had been when she’d called earlier.
Lieutenant Perez was nowhere to be seen, which raised Yoko’s opinion of him even further. The homicide chief could easily have muscled in on the arrest and claimed all the glory, but he hadn’t. She’d met plenty of men in his position who would have done just that.
Yoko climbed out of the car and walked towards the detectives. She heard Cook pull away. The roof-bar lights were off and the urgency had gone. He drove past her, stopped at an intersection a couple of hundred yards further up the road, then hung a right and disappeared from sight. Dixon spotted Yoko and came over with her arm outstretched. They shook hands.
‘You got here just in time,’ she said, the words tumbling out in a hyperactive rush. ‘You can ride with me. I’ll fill you in on the way. Where’s the rookie?’
Chapter 13
‘Ronald Young lives in an apartment in a converted factory near the river, and we’ve had visual confirmation that he’s there now.’ Dixon was in the passenger seat, one arm resting on the top, her upper body twisted so she could talk over her shoulder. While they drove, Yoko fitted the earpiece that Dixon had given her. Their car was the lead in a four-car convoy, and they were speeding through the streets. ‘His apartment is on the second floor. The first two victims lived a couple of blocks away. The route the kid and her mom walked to school took them right past his front window.’
Yoko felt that tingle in her scalp and neck that she got when she was on the right track. Her mother had called it the goose-on-your-grave tickle, and she thought that pretty much covered it. It was easy to imagine Young peeking out through a crack in the drapes, watching the first two victims passing by below.
