“Well, you should be out of here soon,” Loshak said. “We appreciate your patience.”
“No, I understand. It’s terrible what happened. I don’t mean to make light of it or anything.”
He nodded to himself.
“Real shame, especially for it to happen to someone like that.”
“Someone like what?” Darger asked, careful to keep her voice light. Mildly curious.
“Cindy. Mrs. Cameron, I mean.”
She resisted an urge to glance over at Loshak. She knew he was thinking the same as her: why refer to the crimes as if there had been only one victim?
Loshak’s voice was calm when he asked the next question.
“So you knew her well?”
Malaby brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.
“No. Not really. I only meant to say, she was a nice lady. And good-looking, you know?” he said, then added, “For an older lady.”
“And what about Mr. Cameron?”
“Not really my type,” Pete Malaby said, adding a rakish wink. A laugh that sounded more like a grunt rumbled from the back of his throat.
“Cute,” Loshak said.
“Sorry, I got kind of a sick sense of humor sometimes.”
The thick muscles on either side of Malaby’s neck bunched when he shrugged.
“Mr. Cameron seemed like an OK guy.”
He coughed again.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Darger said. “Water? Coke? Maybe a coffee?”
When he spoke his voice sounded a little hoarse.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“An OK guy?” Loshak repeated. “That’s it?”
“I mean, he was one of those Seattle types, right? You know how they are.”
“Actually,” Loshak said, “we don’t. We’re not from around here. Could you elaborate?”
“Just that they’re uptight, you know? They want their steaks free-range and grass-fed and all that. I mean if you’re gonna go to all the trouble, why not throw in a little Asian masseuse action, a little Happy Ending before the cow gets slaughtered, am I right?”
The grating laugh came again, and Darger gripped her pen so hard she thought it might snap in half. But she was supposed to be the good cop here. Or at least the quiet cop.
“There’s that sense of humor again,” Loshak said. This time he smiled a little.
“When you do your deliveries, do you bring the paper to the door? Or is there a delivery box you leave it in?” Darger asked.
“Some people got a box. But a lot of them just have me leave it on the porch.”
“Do you knock when you drop it off? Let them know it’s there?”
“No, ma’am,” Malaby said. “I start my route at 5 AM, and a lotta people would be mighty pissed off if I was ringin’ their doorbells at that hour.”
Darger nodded.
Loshak spun a pencil between his fingers and then tucked it behind one ear.
“You ever had any problems there at the Cameron place?”
“Not really.”
“No complaints about your service?” Loshak pressed.
Malaby lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, eyes wandering to the ceiling as if deep in thought. His attempt to appear nonchalant was almost comical. He clicked his tongue.
“You know, there was one little thing. I mean, it’s nothing really. But the husband did one time kinda get on my case.”
“What about?”
Malaby cleared his throat.
“I barely even remember,” he said, squinting like he was viewing the memory through a thick haze. “Oh right. So us delivery drivers can sign up for what’s called a ‘supplemental.’ It’s a sort of mini paper some of the local newspapers put out to try to attract new customers. It’s mostly ads. Anyway, it’s a way to get some extra scratch. Everybody gets that one, subscriber or not. But there’s no box for it, so I just toss ‘em next to the mailbox.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Mr. Cameron didn’t like that. Called it littering,” Malaby said and rolled his eyes. “Said it got all soggy when it rained, and he just ended up tossin’ it anyway. Like I said, Seattle types.”
“And when did this altercation take place?”
“Altercation? Nah, man. It wasn’t like that.”
Loshak raised his eyes to meet Malaby’s.
“Disagreement, then?”
“Yeah, sure,” Malaby said. “Couple weeks ago, I guess.”
Darger almost snorted but held back. With all his melodramatic reflection, she would have thought it must have happened a year ago.
“And that was that?” Loshak asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Things went back to normal after that?”
“Yup.”
“You went back to delivering the supplemental to the Cameron house the same way as before?”
“No,” Malaby said. “If people ask us to stop, we’re supposed to take them off the delivery.”
“Were you aware that Mr. Cameron filed a complaint about you with your employer?”
“I might have been aware of that, yeah.”
“Might have?”
“OK, yeah. I was. But it was bullsh- I mean, it wasn’t true. I stopped delivering the supplementals there,” he said, jabbing a finger on the table top. “You know what I think? I think he found a pile of old papers. I don’t always have the best aim when I’m tossin’ the papers out, so I think he found a stash of old ones he’d missed before. Then he calls my boss and tells him I’m still litterin’ in his yard? That’s bull.”
“Then what?” Loshak asked.
Malaby shrugged again, and Loshak fixed him with a hard stare.
“You know he accused you of smearing his paper with dog shit?”
Malaby’s lips pressed together in a hard line.
“Yeah.”
“Did you?”
“Hell no,” Malaby said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that.”
“Were you angry about it?”
“About him reportin’ me to my boss for stuff I didn’t do? Of course I was.”
Malaby’s cheeks were colored with pink blotches now.
“Let’s go back a little ways,” Loshak said.
He opened the file in front of him and peered down at a piece of paper. It was out of Malaby’s line of sight, but Darger recognized it as the fingerprint comparison sheet.
“You said you don’t ring any doorbells when you do your deliveries.”
“Right.”
“Can you explain then, why we lifted one of your prints from the doorbell of the Cameron house?”
Malaby tried to keep cool, but Darger saw the first twinkle of panic in his eyes.
“I don’t… how…”
“You have a record, Pete. Your DUI from a few years back. We’ve got your prints on file.”
Another cough erupted from his throat, and he looked to Darger.
“Could I get that water now?”
Loshak rapped his knuckles against the tabletop to redirect his attention.
“In a minute, Pete. But right now, I think you ought to explain to us how it is that your fingerprints got on the Cameron house doorbell if you — as you’ve said yourself — don’t ring the doorbell.”
Malaby’s jaw started working back and forth.
“Man, this is bullshit,” he said finally.
“What is?”
“You think I killed them, is that it? Guy’s a prick to me, calls my fuckin’ boss tryin’ to get me fired, and so I killed him and his whole family?” Malaby said, his voice getting steadily louder until he was almost shouting. “That’s fucking crazy!”
“Then tell us what happened.”
Loshak’s voice was level.
Malaby’s eyes were wide now.
“I just— I wanted to talk to the guy is all. Explain things,” he said.
“And did you? Talk to him?” Loshak asked.
“So you didn’t have an altercation? Didn’t shout at Mr. Cameron?”
Malaby clenched his hands into fists and slammed them onto the table.
“Goddamn it! You keep doin’ this! Asking me questions you already know the answer to!”
Loshak, voice still calm as could be, stared at him.
“Listen, Pete. The only thing we’re interested in is the truth. So if you’d start tellin’ it, we’re all ears.”
“Fuck you!” Malaby shouted, banging his meaty hand into the table again. “I’m done. I want a fuckin’ lawyer!”
Darger exchanged another wordless glance with Loshak. In unison, they got up and left the interview room.
Instead of heading straight to the observation room where the Sheriff was surely waiting on pins and needles, Darger and Loshak took a moment to compare notes. Little discussion was necessary, it turned out. They’d come to the same conclusion.
“I don’t think we’re looking for some cold-blooded killer so much as we’re looking for someone who needed help and didn’t get it,” she said.
Loshak pinched the flesh between his eyes.
“Wouldn’t be the first time, sadly,” he said.
They were hovering over the files for the three men they’d interviewed when the conference room door swung open, and Sheriff Humphrey strode in.
“Well,” he said, “that was enlightening.”
Loshak turned to face him, arms crossed over his chest.
“Yeah?”
“I did the preliminary interview with Malaby myself. Seemed like a jovial kind of guy. Never would have guessed he was such a hothead.”
Loshak said nothing. The Sheriff raised his eyebrows, looking hopeful.
“I assume you’ve decided, then?”
“We have,” Loshak said.
He flipped the nearest folder shut and extended it to the Sheriff. When Humphrey read the name on the label, his mouth popped open. He closed it and glanced up at Loshak.
“You’re sure about this?”
Loshak’s head bobbed once.
“And we’re fairly confident that if you search his residence, you’ll find plenty of evidence.”
The Sheriff swiped a hand over his mouth, still staring at the manila folder.
“I’ll call in for the warrant right now, get things rolling,” he said, starting for the door.
He paused with one hand on the door handle and turned back.
“You’ll stay, though? If we do make the arrest, I’d be much obliged if you were here to get a confession. Or try to, I should say.”
“Might as well see it through,” Loshak said.
Darger couldn’t help but think that Loshak didn’t sound thrilled about the prospect.
Chapter 10
By the time Loshak and Darger headed back into the interview room, it was late. She supposed it was officially an interrogation room now. Two of the witnesses had been sent home hours ago. Just one remained, and he was now more than just a person of interest.
Raymond Walker sat in the interview chair once more, staring at his blurred reflection on the glossy tabletop. He looked more haggard than he had that afternoon, the wrinkled flesh beneath his eyes going purple.
Darger laid out pictures on the table before the boy. Pictures of Raymond’s apartment, which police had just spent the last four hours searching.
Blood spotted the beige carpet in one. A crusted knife, tip broken off, sat on a battered coffee table in another. A t-shirt drenched in red rested in a wadded up ball on the floor. It went on and on. Images of the overwhelming physical evidence filled the table block by block.
She hesitated when she got to the last picture in the folder, recoiling at the sight of it.
The baby’s body lay wedged at the bottom of a plastic garbage can, curled into the fetal position. It was so small and pale. A powerless little creature.
The police found the trash receptacle under the kitchen sink. Thrown away with the table scraps of Walker’s most recent meal — fish sticks and macaroni.
No one spoke when she was finished laying out the pictures. The quiet filled the space with incredible tension.
Raymond rocked back and forth a little in his seat. He still stared straight at the table, his face blank. Darger couldn’t tell if he was processing the photographs before him or not.
Loshak cleared his throat and spoke.
“Why don’t you tell us what really happened, Raymond?”
The rocking stopped, and the flesh on Raymond’s forehead wrinkled. After a moment he shrugged and started shifting himself back and forth again, slower this time.
“You made no attempt to conceal your crimes. The bloody clothes. The knife. The body. We know some of what happened. We just need you to fill in the blanks so we can all go home.”
Raymond’s expression didn’t change.
Darger decided to chime in, hoping to simplify the line of questioning.
“Did you do that to the Camerons, Raymond?”
The head bobbed on the scrawny neck.
“Can you answer aloud, yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“You killed them?”
“Yes.”
Loshak sat forward in his seat, nodding for Darger to keep going.
“Can you tell me why?” she said.
No answer. Just rocking back and forth.
“Did the Camerons do something to you?”
“Yes.”
“What did they do?”
Silence.
“Did they hurt you?”
“Yes. Well… maybe.”
“Did they try to hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Poison. They were trying to poison me.”
Loshak and Darger looked at each other.
“How was that?”
“The gas for the lawnmower. Poisoned. It was lowering my blood.”
The room fell quiet again.
“Lowering your blood?” Loshak said.
“I needed their blood. Because of the poison. I needed more blood, or I’d die.”
Darger thought a moment.
“Were other people trying to poison you as well?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you didn’t want to eat your broccoli?”
“Yes.”
“What about the mirrors?” Loshak said. “Why break them all?”
“Oh, they can watch everything through the mirrors.”
Raymond lifted his head to tilt it toward the two-way mirror before he went on.
“Like the police watching through that mirror right now? Just like that.”
Darger watched the three of them in the glassy reflection.
“Can I get my mac and cheese now?”
Loshak and Darger looked at each other.
“What?” she said.
“I’m hungry,” Raymond said, again looking at her for the first time.
“What’s he talking about?” Loshak said.
She shrugged, glanced back into the mirror as though an answer might appear there, projected onto the silver rectangle.
There was a knock on the big metal door a moment later. Three soft thuds. And then the door inched open, Deputy Sumlin’s sheepish face appearing there.
“It’s about the comment he just made. He, uh, had a pocketful of macaroni and cheese. When we brought him in, I mean.”
“We’re talking about a wad of cooked noodles, right?” Loshak said. “Not a box or package.”
“Right,” Deputy Sumlin said, licking his lips. “It was a bunch of loose noodles, smeared in cheese sauce. Kraft, from the looks of it. A big handful of the stuff just jammed into his pocket or something. I don’t know.”
Loshak and Darger looked at each other again.
Raymond smiled.
“Gotta be careful what you eat these days. I made it myself, so I know where it came from.”
The next morn
ing, the sheriff’s department gained access to Walker’s medical records, which documented his long history of mental health issues. After killing a few pets in the neighborhood, he’d been hospitalized at Western State Hospital in Lakewood for over a year. He turned 22 in the institution.
He was mostly a trouble-free patient, though he did manage to kill a couple of birds in the yard during rec time. Both times, orderlies found him in his room with dried blood caked all around his mouth, a bird corpse tucked under his mattress.
Eventually, though, the doctors had prescribed a cocktail of psychotropic medication that seemed to be working. He stopped trying to catch birds near the feeders, stopped talking about blood. They released him after two months without incident, saying he was no longer a threat to society.
And maybe that was even true for much of the past six years, but Raymond hadn’t taken any of his pills in some time. He’d started to think they were lowering his blood.
By the time deputies were poring over this information, Loshak and Darger were on the flight home.
For the first hour of the flight, Loshak napped. Darger sat bored and restless, alone with her thoughts. But now he was awake, sipping ginger ale out of a small plastic cup.
“Listen, I can get you transferred to the BAU,” he said. “If you want it.”
Her eyes opened a little wider.
“Even with Cal Ryskamp blocking the way? I’ve known him a long time. He’s not exactly the forgiving type.”
Loshak scoffed.
“The pissant bureaucrats like him always talk big, but believe it or not, there are people at the top who care about things like results. I happen to think you’re good at those.”
Darger looked out the window at a gray sky, puffy clouds sprawled out all around them. For a while, the only sound was the low hum of the plane’s engines. She swiveled back toward him.
“Well, I do want it,” she said. “I thought you didn’t do the whole partner thing, though.”
Loshak let out a long sigh.
“It’s time for a change, I suppose. Need to make sure there’s someone to pass the torch to and all that.”
“Jesus, Loshak. You make it sound like you’re dying.”
He fixed her with those pale brown eyes.
“No. Not yet,” he said and then took a swig of soda. “I guess technically I did die in Ohio, but… It didn’t take.”
Violet Darger (Novella): Image In A Cracked Mirror Page 4
