by James Carol
‘So you don’t think this is a one-off?’
‘Not a chance.’
Fortier seemed to shrink in front of me. He’d clearly wanted a different answer. All the same‚ nothing I’d said had come as a great surprise. If this murder had been a one-off it would have made his life easier. One murder was a headache, but a series of them was a nightmare.
‘What’s the situation with the press?’ I asked.
‘All quiet on that front. The town has a weekly newspaper, the Eagle Creek Courier. It’s pretty much a one-man show. Harry Spindler, the fellow who runs it, prefers drinking to writing. The next edition doesn’t come out until next week. So long as he’s got something to put on his front page by then he won’t give us any trouble.’
‘What about outside town?’
‘Shreveport and Monroe are the closest big cities. Nothing much happens in Eagle Creek, so I doubt the media folks there could even find us on a map.’
‘Nothing much happened until now.’
‘I’m confident that when they come knocking, I can handle them.’
I didn’t doubt that. In my experience a typical sheriff was five per cent cop and ninety-five per cent politician. Fortier might look like he was on the ropes, but he also looked as though he’d been doing the job long enough that he could successfully run interference with the press without breaking much of a sweat.
‘It would be good if we could keep this as quiet as possible for as long as possible,’ I said. ‘This guy’s looking for an audience and if we can deny him that then it might push him into doing something dumb in order to get attention. The dumber they act the easier they are to catch.’
Fortier smiled and for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of the man he’d been three decades ago, someone with ambitions, and dreams that didn’t end at the rippling line where water met land.
‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘Same goes for the website. We need to keep that one quiet too. That’s another cry for attention. Who knows about it?’
The smile slipped, and the old guy who dreamt of marlin and bourbon was back. ‘Too many people. It’s common knowledge within the department, and I obviously told the police chief. And the mayor, of course, he needed to know.’
‘Damage limitation’s the name of the game there. Put the word out to keep this as quiet as possible. I doubt it’ll do much good, but you never know.’
‘Horses and unbolted stable doors.’ Fortier shook his head. ‘I should have thought that one through.’
‘The fact the media aren’t camped out in your parking lot is a good indicator that they haven’t picked up on the website yet. That’s going to get them more excited than a dead lawyer, you can bet on that. Who knows, maybe you can keep a lid on this.’ I thought for a second then added, ‘Silly question, but I’m guessing that everyone in town has heard about Sam Galloway by now?’
Fortier snorted a laugh. ‘What do you think?’
‘A town this small, I think it would be a miracle if they hadn’t, and I’m not a great believer in miracles.’
‘We haven’t discussed your fee yet.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I charge what I think people can afford. For me the case is more important than the money. I promise I won’t bankrupt you.’
Fortier chuckled at that. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
The sheriff waved the question away. ‘Send your bill through when you’re done. And make sure you include all your expenses. I’m taking it you’ll need a little time to get up to speed before you give us a profile.’
I glanced over at Taylor, waited until he met my eye, then said, ‘Officer Taylor brought me up to speed on the plane. I’m ready to give the profile whenever you are.’
7
Sheriff Fortier led us along a corridor and stopped at a door that had CAPTAIN ANTHONY SHEPHERD, CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DIVISION stencilled in gold on the smoked glass. He knocked once and pushed the door open. Shepherd was on the phone. He looked over at us, indicated that he’d just be a second, then wound up the call.
We went through the introductions and the handshakes. Shepherd did the staring thing. He was in his mid-forties, fit and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair. His moustache was neatly trimmed and his glasses had thick black frames. He was wearing a plain brown seersucker suit, a white shirt and a red tie.
Unlike Fortier, Shepherd still had plenty of fight left in him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d snuck into Fortier’s office and tried that big leather chair on for size.
Shepherd did look stressed, but the reason was obvious. It had been ten years since the last murder happened in Dayton. In the last century there had only been twenty murders, an average of one every five years. The one thing those murders had in common was that the victims were killed by someone they knew. A husband, a brother, a friend. In a couple of instances the murderer had been a wife and the victim was her spouse. Nothing unusual there. Most murderers are known to their victims.
Sam Galloway’s murder was a whole new ball game. Shepherd might have had his name stencilled in fancy gold letters on the door, but the reality of the situation was that Dayton’s Criminal Investigation Division was made up of Shepherd and two investigators, and things didn’t tend to get much more exciting than the occasional housebreak, and high-school kids selling dope.
‘Mr Winter is ready to give his profile,’ Fortier told him.
‘Already.’
‘I’m a fast worker,’ I said, and I could feel Taylor’s eyes burning into the back of my head. ‘And, please, just Winter is fine. “Mister” makes me feel old.’
‘Winter it is, then. It’s probably best if we do this next door. There’s more space.’
Fortier glanced at his watch. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve got to go to a meeting. Tony, you can fill me in later?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Fortier used both hands to shake mine this time, his left grasping my arm. It was a politician’s handshake, one that said I’m here for you.
‘Winter, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. And remember what I said. Anything you need, just holler.’
‘I’ll do that.’
We filed out of the office, and Fortier peeled off to the right and headed quickly down the corridor. Whoever he was meeting with was important enough for him to want to be on time. He was one of the big bosses around here. The only people who ranked above him were his wife and the mayor. My money was on his meeting being with the mayor, probably to bring him up to speed on the investigation. Not that there was much to tell.
Shepherd led the way to the next office and entered without knocking. There were two plain-clothed cops in the room. Both male, both in their thirties. Both of them had black hair and blue eyes. They could have been twins except for the fact that one of them had a thirty-inch waist and the other’s was forty inches.
There were sweat stains under their armpits, so they’d probably spent the morning out in the heat playing detective and been called back here to meet me. A murder happens in a place like this, the last thing you’re going to do is have your entire squad of investigators sat around the office twiddling their thumbs.
The desks were pushed flat against the walls, which was a mistake since it meant the two men spent most of their working days with their backs to one another. The desks should have been pushed together in the middle of the room so they were eye to eye. Brainstorming was much more efficient when you could see the person you were brainstorming with.
They turned from their desks when we entered the room and gave me the new-kid stare. It was a look that combined suspicion and curiosity, a look that said Who the hell do you think you are? It was another look I was used to.
After my father’s arrest, my mother went into flight mode. She started running the day they came for him, and kept running until she’d drunk herself into an early grave. Between the ages of eleven and seventeen I lived in fifteen different cities in ten different sta
tes, so I was used to being the new kid. Even now, whenever I step into a situation like this, it’s as though the clock has been wound back. I reckon I’ll always be the new kid, no matter how old I get.
Shepherd turned to Taylor and dismissed him with a curt ‘You can go now.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘if it’s okay with you, I’d like him to stay. I’m working on the assumption that this unsub’s a serial killer. If that’s the case then we’re going to need all the help we can get.’
It sounded like a request, but wasn’t, and we both knew it. Everyone in the room knew it. Taylor was frozen to the spot, halfway to the door, unsure what to do. All eyes had turned towards him.
‘Okay, you can stay,’ said Shepherd.
‘A serial killer?’ This came from the skinny guy.
Shepherd nodded towards the skinny guy. ‘This is Barker.’ A nod in the direction of the fat guy. ‘And this is Romero.’
The way he introduced them told me everything I needed to know about the pecking order. Shepherd at the top, then Barker, then Romero. Taylor didn’t even figure on the radar, which was crazy, but understandable. Understandable because of his gentle giant act. Crazy because he was probably smarter than Barker and Romero combined.
Handshakes all around, then I perched on the windowsill. There weren’t any spare seats. Barker and Romero didn’t look as if they were about to give theirs up any time soon, and Shepherd didn’t look like he was about to make them. Even with the blinds down I could feel the burn of the sun. It was twenty-two minutes after three. I pictured the website page, pictured those white numbers glowing on a pitch-black background, pictured another stick figure about to hang.
08:37:23.
‘So far you’ve got one victim, but there are going to be more. By my reckoning the next one is going to turn up in a little over eight and a half hours’ time.’
‘The countdown on that website,’ Shepherd said. ‘You think this guy’s telling us when he’s going to kill again?’
‘What else could it be for?’
‘But that’s crazy. Why the hell do something like that?’
‘Okay, the first thing you need to understand here is that serial criminals don’t think like normal people. Everything they do is informed by their fantasies. The logic that governs their lives is driven by that. What seems crazy to us seems completely rational to them because the fantasy is everything. Have any of you heard of Richard Trenton Chase?’
Three heads went from side to side. Taylor’s stayed very still for a fraction of a second, then followed the rest. You don’t need to open your mouth to tell a lie.
‘Richard Chase was a serial killer who was active during the seventies. After he was sentenced he was interviewed by the FBI. Chase believed that his blood was turning to powder and he needed the blood of his victims to replenish his. During the interview he talked about “soap dish poisoning”. When asked what he meant, he said that you could tell who’s been poisoned by checking beneath the soap. If the underneath of the soap is gooey, you’re okay, but if it’s dry then you’ve been poisoned and your blood is turning to powder.’
‘Now that is crazy,’ Barker said.
‘By normal standards, yes, but the point is that this fantasy made perfect sense to Chase. Our unsub has already done a number of things that seem crazy when taken at face value. The countdown, the fact he filmed the murder and sent it to the police, the fact he chose fire as his murder weapon. To catch this guy we need to forget about what’s crazy and concentrate on what his actions tell us.’
‘And what do his actions tell us?’ Romero asked.
‘That he’s anything but crazy. Serial killers fall into two broad categories. Organised and disorganised. Chase was a classic example of a disorganised killer. He was a paranoid schizophrenic. There was no real planning behind his murders. His first murder was a drive-by shooting. The victim just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The same could be said for his other five victims. Wrong time, wrong place.’
‘Surely you could say the same thing about Sam Galloway,’ said Barker.
‘And you’d be wrong. The unsub who killed Sam is highly organised. Everything he does is done for a reason.’
‘What can you tell us about the unsub?’ asked Shepherd.
‘You’re looking for a white male, five foot nine, who’s in his thirties. He’s slim-built and he’s college-educated.’
‘Hey, Barker, he could be talking about you,’ Romero called across the room.
‘My alibi’s solid,’ Barker shot back. ‘I was with your wife last night.’
‘You two knock it off.’ Shepherd turned to me. ‘Okay, what else have you got?’
‘That’s it for just now. I need to see the crime scene, or a body. Preferably both. You need to get every spare man you’ve got out there looking.’
‘Maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe we’ll find this guy before he strikes again.’
‘And maybe the Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas do exist.’
Shepherd gave me a sharp look.
‘I don’t believe in luck. Never have, never will. Luck is the last resort of people who lack imagination. What I believe in is hard work. That’s how we’re going to catch this guy. Honest, hard work.’
Shepherd opened his mouth to say something, and I had a pretty good idea what was coming next. Over the years I’ve pissed off more than my share of authority figures, sometimes by design and sometimes by accident. This time it had been an accident. On the plus side, I’d just managed to find the limit of how far Shepherd could be pushed. Whenever I walked into a new situation I always liked to know where the lines were drawn.
‘Captain Shepherd,’ I said, respectful and compliant, like a good Boy Scout. ‘Can I have a quick word in your office?’
8
We headed next door in silence. Shepherd’s shoulders were tense, his movements stiff. He was pretty pissed, and understandably so. On the way out, Taylor caught my eye. His expression was neutral, but the cogs inside his head were spinning and his eyes were burning with questions. He must have been wondering what the hell I was up to.
Shepherd pulled the door closed behind us. He sat down at his desk and motioned for me to take the chair on the other side. A stroke of his neat moustache, then he locked eyes with mine.
‘The last resort of people who lack imagination?’
I met his gaze without flinching and said nothing.
‘I do not appreciate being made to look a fool in front of my men.’
‘I can assure you that was not my intention.’
‘Whether you intended it or not, that’s how it came across.’
‘I know. It’s just that sometimes I get so wrapped up in the case, I end up saying things without thinking. I didn’t mean any disrespect.’
Shepherd considered this for a moment, a heavy silence filling the space between us. He was still staring, and I was still meeting his eye.
‘You look at me and see a small-town cop who’s way out of his depth. And you know something, you’re right. I have no experience with something of this magnitude. No reference point. You, on the other hand, do. If the only way to catch this bastard is to cut you some slack, I’m prepared to cut as much as you need.’ A pause, another stroke of that neat moustache. His gaze drilled deep into me. ‘However, please do not disrespect me in front of my men again.’
‘Understood.’
Shepherd settled back in his chair and shook his head. ‘I just don’t get it. How can someone do something like this? Pour gasoline on a fellow human being then stand back and watch them burn? It’s sick.’ He shook his head again, looked at me. ‘How do you deal with this sort of stuff day in and day out and stay sane? How do you sleep at night?’
‘Whisky and sleeping tablets, and who says I’ve managed to stay sane?’
Shepherd almost laughed. ‘Does that work, the sleeping pills?’
‘Most of the time.’
‘All I want is for this nightmare
to be over, and for things to get back to some semblance of normality.’
‘You and me both. You’re planning on buddying me up with Barker, aren’t you?’
‘He’s a good man. The best I’ve got.’
‘No, he’s not.’
‘He can run circles around Romero.’
‘I don’t doubt that for a second.’
‘So why would you want to work with Romero rather than Barker?’
It took a second for the penny to drop.
‘Because you don’t want to work with either of them. You want Taylor.’
I nodded.
‘Why? He’s just a rookie. Barker has seventeen years’ experience on him.’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘And I’d like to hear those reasons.’
‘You spoke earlier about cutting me some slack.’ I smiled. ‘It’s time to start cutting.’
‘Okay, you can have Taylor. But if you change your mind, I can get Barker assigned to you.’
‘I’m not going to change my mind. Taylor’s my wingman on this one.’ I got up to leave, stopped at the door. ‘One more thing. I don’t suppose you know his first name?’
9
Taylor didn’t say a word all the way to the car. He didn’t say a word when he started up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. We cruised in silence along Main Street, past the municipal buildings and that tall white statue of the stern-looking man, the engine rumbling, smooth pavement sliding away beneath our tyres. Traffic was light and it only took a couple of minutes to reach the Imperial Hotel at the south end of the street. Taylor killed the engine.
‘At some point you’re going to have to tell me what you’re up to,’ he said.
‘You’re right. But now isn’t the time.’
I opened the passenger door, stepped out into the heat, then leant back into the open doorway, careful to avoid the hot metal.
‘I need you to sit tight while I go and check in.’
Taylor nodded to my suitcase on the back seat. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
