It was to the gates of the medieval-looking yet modern brick facility that they drove. They were stopped at the guard station, where a display of their credentials got them waved through.
On the inside, they waited impatiently, anxiously for John “Jack” T. Covey, former Houston cop now serving time for abduction, lewd and lascivious acts with a minor, pornography, and child abuse. The man had been close to retirement, a life-crisis period for all cops, Meredyth told Lucas in a feeble attempt to explain his reckless lifestyle when he was apprehended. A good pension and clean record, all lost, everything having blown up in his face due to his sexual addiction and proclivities, or so it went. Lucas wasn't so sure that justice had been served in the case, finding Covey's partner's death, atop all else, rather a strange coincidence, both men conveniently out of the way, perhaps so that someone, somewhere could sleep better at night.
The moment Covey stepped into the interrogation room, he went on the defensive. A big bull of a man, he looked like King Rat here, his muscles bulging so that his prison shirt pulled and tugged with each movement he made. He obviously took great care of his physical health, and for a man his age, he seemed incredibly fit. His eyes were an icy gray steel, and they bored into Lucas as he asked Meredyth,
“What's he for? I thought you wanted to talk cozy-like, just the two of us. Jack don't fancy talking to no one else. Get 'im outta here, or Jack don't talk.” He referred to himself in the third person.
“We're partners,” she countered. 'This is Detective Lucas Stonecoat.”
“HPD? I don't deal with HPD, no, never.”
“Dallas,” lied Lucas, quickly showing his gold shield from Dallas.
“DPD, HPD… where's the difference? You're all scum.”
“Hold on, there.” Lucas's voice rose an octave, but Meredyth stood and stepped between the two men.
“Now look here, Mr. Covey.”
“Jack, he likes to be called Jack,” Covey replied, “sweetheart. What's wrong, you afraid to be in a room alone with Jack?”
“No, Jack, but my partner has to know what I know. You've got to remember how it was with you and Felipe.”
“Felipe got himself killed knowing what I know. You want me killed?”
“You help us, Jack,” she countered, “and we'll see your sentence is reduced, and you'll be out of here a great deal sooner than you could ever hope for through any other avenue.”
“I'd be out by now if Jack hadn't made that stupid getaway attempt.” He grinned at her, searching for some sign of understanding.
She tried to assure him that she was on his side. “I know that, but this is no stupid getaway attempt. Work with us.”
He again suspiciously eyed Stonecoat.
“Sit down,” she suggested.
“I could be murdered in my sleep just for talking to you people,” he muttered. “I told everyone inside that Jack was talking to a shrink about his problem. Jack even showed around a picture of you, darling.”
“A picture of me?” She was surprised, and Stonecoat was equally surprised.
“I still get the Police Gazette, sweetheart, and Jack can read. Read it from cover to cover. Guys in the joint think he's screwy, but we all know better, don't we, Doctor? Jack tells 'em on the inside that there's a lot to learn from the Gazette, and I particularly enjoyed your article on-”
“ 'The Psychology of Pedophiles and Interrogation Techniques,' yes.”
“Yeah, gave him a thrill, a whole new insight.”
“Insight into himself, or how better to behave during an inquiry, you mean?”
Covey gave a broken-toothed, tobacco-stained, loose-lipped laugh as his response. He appeared to have disgusting habits, despite an otherwise solid, masterful physique. He looked as if he'd had his nose broken on more than one occasion. Stonecoat sensed it was best to keep silent, to let Meredyth work her unique magic with this cretin.
'The article gave Jack plenty of insight-insight into you, Meredyth.” He looked up at Stonecoat, glaring, still feeling he'd been cheated of his private moment with this celebrity, Meredyth Sanger. “You show guys like Jack a great deal of… of genuine… compassion. Jack likes a girl with compassion, understanding, you know?”
'That article was about cop psychology and how foolishly some cops treat pedophiles, that in treating them as untouchable monsters, they easily lose the upper hand in interrogating the pedophile. It was about a cop's need to distance him self from the emotional constraints of a crime that involves children, not about-”
“It spoke volumes to Jack,” he countered, his hand having almost imperceptibly slithered across the table toward her.
Except for the bad teeth and scars, Covey was not unattractive for a man his age, and she could see how he might easily lure a young person, boy or girl, into his warped world of sexual deviancy. His size, his stature, his badge. His eyes and his firm features and granite build could mesmerize, never mind the fact that he was a “Blue
Centurion,” with all the trappings of authority. It wasn't hard to understand how young people might find him charismatic. His allure had surely tarnished by now, but apparently Jack didn't think so.
“Jack likes you, Meredyth, very much,” he cooed, his hand closer now.
She backed her seat away, the chair screeching in response. She was glad Stonecoat was nearby, but she wondered if Lucas were any match for the huge man, despite the age difference, should Covey come over the table at her.
“You told 'em,” he said, “you told 'em all that it was an uncontrollable sickness, what people like Jack have. You told 'em it wasn't some habit like smoking or drinking, that it ran deeper than a conditioned habit. You told 'em that Jack's brain, his genetic makeup, was as much to blame as his upbringing, didn't you? You told the world that Jack was not responsible for the stripes God put on his back.”
She hadn't exactly exonerated him as much as he had exonerated himself, but for the sake of keeping on Covey's good side, she nodded. “Yeah, Jack, that's what I said.”
She heard Lucas groan, as if to say, Oh, brother. But fortunately he kept his feelings to himself.
“Jack likes your savvy, Meredyth. The way you called him up, the way you come to see him. Now, ain't it funny, Jack already knew who you were when you told him who you were on the phone. Jack thinks it's like that kismet thing, you know, fate. You think you could learn to like Jack? Maybe come to visit him on a routine basis, without a reason and without your friend here?” Covey sneered up at Lucas, who kept his stony Indian features set.
The man made her skin crawl. She knew now he was put away for exactly what he was, and that she was experiencing the same emotions she had preached against in her article in the Gazette about interrogating a child molester.
Covey smiled a rotten-toothed smile at her, his wrinkles causing his jaw to sag. “Jack's quite taken with you. Jack knows you understand him completely. No woman's ever done that for Jack before…” The man's hand snaked forward quickly now, taking hers in his.
Stonecoat came off the wall, shouting, “Take your hand off Dr. Sanger!”
Meredyth shouted, “Shut up, Lucas! If Jack wants to hold my hand, then Jack holds my damned hand!”
Covey growled a bear like sound at Stonecoat and held firm to Meredyth's hand. “God… been so long since Jack's touched a woman…”
He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her hand as it throbbed in his.
“We're here to talk to you about the Palmer investigation, Jack. When you were a cop, doing a job, remember? Remember Dr. Wesley Palmer?”
“'Course I do. Got me in here, it did, and my name's John. Jack's the bastard controls my dick, but I'm the brains here.” He dashed her hand down as if it burned his.
She wondered if the man was play-acting for them or if he'd ever been diagnosed as having a split personality.
“Palmer case got Felipe killed and got me shut up like a goddamned animal, in more ways than one.” He guffawed until he coughed and spit.
“
Tell us about that, John,” she suggested.
“Felipe was knifed, assassinated really. He was coming from a neighborhood grocery story with two bags, one in each arm, when they jumped him. Felipe wasn't a bad guy; made a good partner. Stayed out of my business.”
“Go on, tell us how he was killed.”
“Three, maybe four thugs dressed in black, according to witnesses. They took his wallet to make it look like a street mugging, but there were four puncture wounds direct to the man's heart, six to the lungs, twelve in all in the space of seconds. I'm telling you, they descended on him like locusts.”
“Who were they?”
“I don't know. I never got the chance to find out. Next thing I know, they got me on trumped-up charges, things Jack was into. They set Jack up, suckered him right in. You find that girl they gave Jack to play with, and maybe she can tell you who they were. They musta paid her plenty.”
“Did you rape this girl?”
He reluctantly answered. “Ask Jack.”
“I see.”
“Sounds like they played you like a fiddle,” replied Lucas.
He glared up at Lucas. “That they did. That they did. Played on my weakness for little blond ones.” Covey gave Meredyth another of his crooked, leering grins.
“Who… who do you suspect?”
“Who do you suspect?” Covey countered.
“This is a waste of time. Dr. Sanger,” Lucas sullenly replied. “Let's go have lunch at that nice inn down the road, shall we?”
“Look!” Covey exploded, standing, dropping his guard, “Just check out the facts. One day Felipe and me, we put it together. We struck a nerve with somebody high up! I mean, just a few days after we drew some simple conclusions about the similarities in the Palmer and Whitaker cases, whammo! they came for us.”
“Who?” persisted Lucas. “Who came for you?”
“Street thugs for Felipe, the State of Texas for me. The whole story on Jack was given to the D.A. by someone, someone who hired that girl to wear a wire which I only found when I tore her clothes off. That's when they stormed in, cops-cops I'd thought were my buddies. But they all knew I was into child porn for years before and nothing, nothing ever happened to me before then, before Felipe and me got involved in the Palmer case. So now, talking about it all these years later, I could still get myself killed.”
“Nobody has to know what we're here for,” she assured him.
“You can't be that naive, lady. Somebody knows why you're here, and that means anybody could know. If I cooperate, I want protection, a private cell, a TV like O.J. got, double meals, stuff like that, and if you ever get this thing together so there's a trial, I'll want amnesty, witness relocation, a new life, the whole damned nine yards.”
“So far you've given us crap, Covey,” countered Lucas. “So don't count on any help from us. Come on. Dr. Sanger. Let's get out of here.”
“But I'm telling you, a whole damned tactical unit came busting into my place that night they took me. They had warrants to search everything, my house, my car. Busted down my front door. Scared hell out of my-Jack's harem, poor kids. This the same night as Felipe got his. Now, if that ain't goddamned coincidence, then I don't know what is.”
“We'll keep you posted, Mr. Covey,” Meredyth began.
“Jack, you… you can call me Jack.”
She nodded, “We'll be in touch.”
“In touch… that's all I want.”
Stonecoat buzzed the waiting guard, who came in and removed Covey, leaving Lucas and Meredyth to stare at one another.
“Whataya think?” she asked.
“The guy's all creepoid, that's what I think.”
“But if what he says is true…”
“Big if, First, and secondly, he was a cop who used his position to get lost and homeless kids into his little sexual fantasyland! He disgusts me. Doesn't he disgust you?”
“Whether he does or not, that's not the point,” she replied. “The point is, if he and Felipe were onto something, and they were both silenced, then we are dealing with some heavy hitters here, some truly influential killers. I keep coming back to how Felipe was killed, and when it happened, as they were on the verge of connecting up the two cases.”
“Who was conducting the Whitaker investigation?”
“Pardee and Amelford, remember? They were there from the beginning Coincidence?”
He recalled the records he'd read, and she was right. “Those two bastards have got to see the similarities in the Mootry killing. Maybe it's time we paid them a little visit.”
“And what do you expect to get from such a visit, after the two played chopping block with your throat last night, Lucas? They're not going to share what they've turned up with either of us.”
“Why weren't they silenced ten years ago along with Felipe and Covey?”
'They didn't make the connection between Palmer and Whitaker, Felipe and Covey did.”
“Either that or think the unthinkable.”
“What? That Pardee and Amelford were part of Felipe's and Covey's downfall? That they were interested in some sort of cover-up in the Palmer and Whitaker deaths?”
“Well, you saw how scant the file information was.”
“Wheeew, that's quite a stretch.”
“It might explain why they were so testy with me.”
“They could have killed you last night, and if they are as deeply involved in some sort of conspiracy as you say, maybe they would have.”
“One of them wanted to finish me off; Pardee, I think. Said as much.”
“What precisely did he say?”
“I don't know. I was half unconscious from the blow he'd delivered.”
“They knocked you unconscious? You didn't say that before.”
“I didn't want to worry you.”
“Goddamn your stubborn, prideful hide.”
“I got the distinct impression they felt more than a little threatened by my having stepped into the Mootry crime scene.”
“What else did they say?”
“I was in a hell of a daze when they started conversing with one another. Hell, they thought I was completely out.”
“I think we could refresh your memory with a bit of regression therapy. Would you sit still long enough for me to hypnotize you?”
His eyes widened. “You can do that?”
“I can. I'm fully trained. We might get some interesting bits of… insight.”
“All right, but I don't want you digging around for anything but last night,” he commanded.
“What do you think I am? Some sort of psychic vamp? I'm only interested in helping your recall of the isolated event.”
He nodded. “Good… good, then we'll do it.”
They left the prison, going down its stark corridors, past the rattling bars and the whistles, finally out into the courtyard and the parking lot. The place seemed like some sort of hell on earth, like one of the rungs in Dante's Inferno, she thought.
TWENTY — ONE
Randy Oglesby had gotten a call from Dr. Sanger, who was still out at Hempstead with Stonecoat; in fact, she said they were having lunch at the Hempstead Inn. Randy wondered if all they were having there was on a plate.
“Randy, I want you to push hard for any computer crosses that might link Judge Charles Mootry with Dr. Wesley Palmer and/or Whitaker. Can you do that. Randy?”
“Sure, but what kind of links are we talking?”
“Anything whatsoever. Credit references, organizations they belonged to, schools they attended, you name it.”
“That'll take some time, but sure, I'll get on it.”
“That's why I called you, Randy. I knew you'd be game.”
'This is really big, isn't it, Doctor?”
“I don't know yet.”
'Today's trip of any help?”
“Don't know yet.”
“Gotcha… I'll get right on it.”
And Randy Oglesby was a young man of his word. He had spent several hours after
that telephone call running down crosses-cross-references between Mootry, Palmer, and Whitaker-without any clear-cut satisfaction. Some of the information came over while he was on break. He had simply let the machines talk to one another while he grabbed a Snickers and a cup of coffee. When transmission had ended, He stored the new information without going through it. He had a lot of other jobs to attend to today, and it was getting later and later.
An hour later, he sat before his terminal at the Thirty-first, chipping away at the deluge of work left him from previous days. There were notes, articles, and other items to electronically file away. But he quickly grew tired of the case studies and the usual materials coming out of Dr. Sanger's office. In a moment, bored, he was surfing the Internet for news bulletins on deaths by strange arrows around the nation. While he had earlier checked with all police agencies worldwide, including Interpol and the FBI and Scotland Yard, he wondered with fresh eyes if there could be people out there on the Net who might know of any additional bizarre stories involving bows and arrows and murder.
He soon found himself inundated with stories, many of which he recognized for the bullshit they were; some of them were reminiscent of Dungeons and Dragons, Doom, and Helsinger's Pit, all games he had played as a child. People out there weren't taking him seriously.
“Oh, yeah, sure, get real,” ridiculed some of the electronic responses. “Hey, Cochise,” shouted another. “Way to go, Geronimo!” came a third.
One message he got was strange and crude. “Keep fucking around with this stuff, Mr. Squeegee,” someone responded to his electronic handle, with no clue as to where his request had originated from, “and you'll get a tempered steel arrow through your goddamned evil heart and another up your ass.”
A second vulgar message said, “We'll scalp your head and your prick, punk.”
Just the ramblings of assholes hanging out their entire lives on the Net, seeking identity, seeking validation, seeking kicks, highs, and even sex in a world of silicone and bytes rather than in a real bed with a real woman, he told himself, shrugging off the threats as childish bullshit.
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