by J L Aarne
“So, would you say you and Mr. LaRoche were friends?” Doyle asked.
“No, we were not friends,” Rainer said. “But I think you knew that already.”
“A couple of people in your building mentioned that you and Mr. LaRoche had some altercations.”
“Lance was an angry guy. A hothead and a loudmouth. I didn’t like him, but I didn’t kill him if that is what you are implying, Detective.”
“I’m not implying anything. You want to tell me how his hair got in your car if you ain’t friends and you didn’t kill him?”
Rainer stared at Doyle and mentally gave himself a kick for not cleaning out his car better than he had. “I gave him a ride.”
“Where to?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t remember. A liquor store I think. Or maybe a gas station. He bought beer.”
Doyle put his hands on the table and stared at Rainer for several moments, trying to read him. “All right,” he said eventually. “Why don’t you tell me about meeting Eden Raines again?”
Instead of doing that, Rainer said, “I need a cigarette. Can I smoke in here?”
“No,” Doyle said. “Tell me again about Eden Raines.”
“I already told you about her. Replay the tape if you didn’t get it the first time,” Rainer said.
“Why did you go to that particular coffee shop?” Doyle asked.
Rainer stared at him across the table and said nothing.
“Had you ever met Miss Raines before?”
He continued peppering Rainer with similar questions for five more minutes, but Rainer didn’t reply to any of them. Finally, Doyle gave up and left the little room, taking his file with him.
Rainer wondered if he should ask for his phone call yet. Of course, they still insisted he was not under arrest, but he got the impression that he was also not free to leave. If he tried to leave, he might find himself under arrest. He didn’t want to call a lawyer anyway; Elijah was probably taking care of that. He thought he should probably call Thomas though. It seemed like being questioned at the police station in relation to some murders was something Thomas would really want to know about, even if he had cancelled their date the night before because he was still angry with him.
A young blonde woman in slacks walked into the room and smiled at him. She had a file of her own with her. “Hello, Mr. Bryssengur. I’m Detective Nadia Emerson. I’d like to talk to you.”
Rainer made an inviting gesture at the uncomfortable chair across from him. Detective Emerson was pretty and she smiled at him. They were toying with him and trying to manipulate him, see who he responded to better. The assumption was that he had taken and probably killed Eden Raines, so if women were his weakness he might react to her in a telling way. He might slip up or relax his guard and help them.
He wasn’t going to do any of those things, but he would talk to her. For now.
“You know, I don’t think Detective Doyle likes me very much,” he said.
Emerson sat down in the other chair across from him and looked at him politely. “Does it matter to you if people like you?” she asked.
“That’s an odd question,” Rainer said. “Of course it does.”
“Why?”
“Why does anyone care if other people like them? Why do you care, Detective?”
“Because it’s how you make friends with similar interests. It’s how you make connections with others, form relationships.”
“Then it makes things easier for you?”
“Well, sure.”
“That’s why it’s important.”
Emerson frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing, Mr. Bryssengur.”
“Perhaps not,” Rainer said. He knew what she meant, Thomas had explained such things to him before, but he did not see human interaction through the same rose colored glasses as other people and he saw no reason to pretend that he did. “I can give you an example of what I mean, Detective.”
Still frowning at him, she said, “Okay.”
Rainer sat up and put his elbows on the table. It amused him to see her flinch very slightly. She didn’t recoil from him, but there was tension in her body and her eyes widened for just a moment. He smiled at her and she relaxed again.
“I have two lovers—Do you have a lover, Detective?”
“I don’t think that’s a very appropriate question, Mr. Bryssengur.”
“No then,” Rainer decided. “That’s a shame. I’d lend you one of mine, but I’m rather partial to them both and you know… possessive.”
“Your example, Mr. Bryssengur?” Emerson said pointedly.
“I haven’t forgotten, Detective,” Rainer said.
He maintained his mask of Good Humor for her benefit. He was being cooperative, they were just talking, he was a likable person and he wanted her to believe that. She did a little, he could see it in her demeanor. Nadia Emerson wasn’t naïve, but she was a cop, not a psychologist and young enough that he doubted she had encountered many, if any, like Rainer before.
“So, I have two lovers,” he continued. “They both like me. At the very least, they like having sex with me. One of them loves me. I know this and I don’t have to ask. If he never told me, I would still know it. Which is as it should be. Both of them would raise their hand to God and swear I’m a boring, well-adjusted, civic-minded person who would never swat a fly.”
“Of course they would,” Emerson said. “For the same reason that fathers and mothers lie for their children. Wives, husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends lie all the time. They’d do it to protect you.”
Rainer’s smile that time was real. He couldn’t help it. Perhaps Emerson had never encountered a killer like him in her brief stint as a detective, but she was good. She might not have a background in psychology, but at the very least she had a therapist and she had read some of the books.
“I know,” he said. “And both of them know I’m not like that at all. And they know I’m here right now with you.”
Emerson studied him for a minute without speaking. Then she said, “What do you mean, you’re not like that at all?”
“I am not often boring, hardly what anyone would call well-adjusted, rarely civic-minded and I’ve called the exterminator twice since I first moved into my apartment eight years ago.”
She blinked at him in surprise. She had been expecting him to tell her something interesting. Slip up and tell her something relevant to her case because he was so arrogant he just couldn’t help himself. Rainer privately admitted to the temptation to do so. It would be worth it for a second to see her reaction to the things he could tell her, but only for a second, so he resisted the impulse.
“How does any of this pertain to why you’re here?” she asked.
“Maybe it doesn’t,” Rainer said. “You asked me why it’s important to me that people like me. People, if they really like you, will do things for you.”
“Like lie to keep you safe,” she said. There was a note of irritation in her voice and she pressed her lips together. “Who are these two lovers, Mr. Bryssengur?”
“Now whose being inappropriate, Detective?”
Something flashed in her blue eyes and Rainer saw behind her mask. She didn’t like him, she did not want to be in there talking to him, but she had been asked to do it and it was her duty. It pissed her off to think that she would leave the room, like Doyle, with nothing. Rainer had known all along what was behind that polite, curious, courteous façade of hers and it pleased him to see it disappear and to watch her fumble to put it back on.
“These relationships only benefit you if you tell us who these people are so I can get in touch with them and offer them the chance to swear on the Bible,” she said.
Rainer reclined back in his chair and stared at her without reply.
“If you haven’t done anything, there’s no need for you to protect them,” she insisted. “Or for them to protect you. Tell me who they are and maybe we can settle this and you can go home.�
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“Unless I’m under arrest, it’s my understanding that I can go home whenever I want,” Rainer said. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at her. “Am I under arrest, Detective?”
She sighed. “No, Mr. Bryssengur. You’re not under arrest.”
She finally opened the file she had brought into the room with her. “They finished searching your apartment. I’d like to ask you about a few things.”
“Such as?”
“A straight razor. It looks like it was custom designed. Expensive. Really expensive.”
“It was a gift.”
“Christmas gift?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a weird gift, don’t you think?”
“I’m a weird guy.”
“We also found a small package in your bathroom containing two scalpels. Tell me, what does an English teacher do with scalpels?”
Rainer cursed himself for that. He had forgotten about those. They were extras and he had never used them, but it was a mistake. Another one.
“I never did anything with them. I forgot they were even there,” he said honestly.
“I see,” Emerson said. “We also found two bottles of lamp oil in your bedroom closet. Can you explain that?”
The way she looked at him told him that had also been a mistake, but Rainer hadn’t thought much of it at the time when he was cleaning out. They were brand new bottles, never opened and the oil didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance of Eden Raines. If they were asking about the oil, they were asking about The Lamplighter.
“Why would I need to explain that?” he asked. “What does that have to do with Eden?”
“Can you explain it?” she insisted.
He thought about it. Eventually, he said, “I used to have one of those oil lamp candle things in the living room. It was for that.”
“The date on the bottles is from last year,” she said.
“It was given to me a year ago,” he said. “It got knocked off on the floor a couple of months back by the cat and broke.”
She nodded. “We didn’t see any damage to the carpet that would be caused by something like that.”
“That’s because I had the apartment remodeled,” Rainer said. “And in case you’re thinking about asking, no you may not tear up my carpet to look at the floor.”
“If it comes to that, we will obtain a court order, Mr. Bryssengur.”
“And I will call my lawyer,” he said, showing a little irritation of his own. “What the hell does this have to do with that missing girl?”
“We’re just gathering information right now,” she said evasively. “Your apartment is really nice. Really nice. A lot nicer than other apartments in that building. You recently had it remodeled?”
“Yes.”
“Any particular reason?”
“No.”
She eyed him with displeasure, like he was a naughty kid refusing to admit to a lie. “All that new carpet and flooring and furniture must have cost quite a lot of money. How much do you make teaching English at the university?”
“None of your business.”
“All right. No need to get upset, Mr. Bryssengur.”
They would just subpoena his tax records if they really wanted to know anyway. Rainer still did not tell her. If it came to that, he would admit that the remodeling had also been a gift, but he would not offer the information to her.
“I’ve been here a long time, Miss Emerson—”
“Detective Emerson,” she corrected.
Rainer ignored her. “—and I’ve cooperated with you.”
She smiled at him and it was saccharine sweet. When she leaned toward him over the table a little, the position pushed her breasts up slightly and her gold hair slithered over her shoulders and fell to frame her heart-shaped face. “You’ve been very cooperative,” she said. “We appreciate it. Just be a little more patient, Mr. Bryssengur.”
Rainer ran his eyes over her deliberately, slow like he was sizing her up and admiring all of her parts. Maybe thinking about dismantling her and setting her on fire. As his gaze lingered, the pale skin of her throat and the apples of her cheeks began to turn pink.
She was a professional woman who, even in these modern times, struggled to be taken seriously in a job that was largely done by men. Men who would have to be convinced to look past her tits and ass to her mind before she would ever be listened to. She had fought her way to detective at a pretty young age, so she was smart and determined and she had worked hard to get where she was. It was not easy for her to sit there before Rainer and let him reduce her to an object, but she did it.
Rainer smirked and met her eyes. “What do you expect me to do, Detective?” he asked. “Am I supposed to lean in now and sniff your hair?”
Her flush deepened and she looked away from him, humiliated. Then she sat up and composed herself. “Please don’t talk to me that way, Mr. Bryssengur.”
“Then please don’t you insult me with your amateur and transparent attempts to bait me into transforming into a slavering, tit-licking Mr. Hyde so you can pin a murder on me that I did not commit,” Rainer snapped.
Emerson stared at him like she had been slapped across the face.
“That’s right, Detective. I know what you’re doing,” Rainer said. “Whatever the fuck is going on, you need me to confess to it or I wouldn’t still be in here being asked these questions, continually reassured that I am not under arrest. I have cooperated with you completely, answered your questions and been polite all this time. I am tired of you now. Go away.”
“Mr. Bryssengur, I still need—”
Rainer folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. “No. My lawyer should arrive shortly. Until then, I’m done talking to you.”
“Are you demanding a lawyer?” she asked.
“No, I am telling you that there is a lawyer on the way and that I no longer want to speak to you,” he said. “Feel free to send in the next detective in line though. I am getting bored and this asinine game of musical chairs you’re playing is somewhat entertaining.”
“Mr. Bryssengur, you’re not under arrest at this time, but that can change,” Emerson said. “If you’ve done nothing, we can clear this all up. If you bring lawyers into this, I don’t know if we can help you—”
Rainer made a brushing gesture at her toward the door. “Go away,” he repeated. “Game over, Detective Emerson. Send in the next one.”
She stood up and did not move toward the door for a minute, but looked at him, waiting for him to say anything else. When he didn’t, she sighed and glanced up at the camera then left the room.
Rainer looked up at the camera, too. Then he took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.
Chapter 43
Ezekiel found out about Rainer being taken into the police station shortly after it happened. He had been expecting it, but it still put him on edge and he was distracted the rest of the evening. He tried for Jacob’s sake and they had dinner together and talked for a while, but then Ezekiel made up an excuse about finishing some paperwork and went into the guest room so he could be alone and worried and not have to answer any questions about it. Jacob meant well, but he could not help him this time. Ezekiel was not a believer in the trite concept of the truth setting you free.
“Truth is truth till the end of reckoning,” he murmured to the ceiling above the bed where he lay.
Shakespeare. It sounded like something Jacob might have said to him, if Jacob wasn’t more likely to curse and hit him for being such a liar.
It was after 10:30 when his cell phone rang. Detective Candice Parker was calling and he knew before he answered it what she wanted.
“Agent Herod?”
“Yes, Detective Parker. What can I do for you?”
“Look, I know it’s late, but there’s this guy. They brought him in to question him about a missing girl about three and a half hours ago. They got search warrants for his car and his apartment and they found some things.”
Oh, come now, you didn’t think we were done playing, did you? Rainer whispered tauntingly in his mind and Ezekiel had to wonder. But he didn’t really believe that Rainer would have been careless and stupid like that on purpose, not even for the sake of his deranged little game. The risk was too great.
“What sort of things?” Ezekiel asked.
“Well, things that point at some murders,” Parker said. “Not much connected to the girl they were looking for, but there’s some stuff that got them suspicious about others. The Lamplighter for one. That’s why they called me in.”
“And now you’re calling me in,” Ezekiel guessed.
“Thing is, they talked to him for a good while and he was cooperative. Well, mostly. But just recently he started getting pretty damn mad and quit talking to the detectives. I was thinking of giving him a go myself, but I get the feeling he’s just playing with us now. I introduced myself about ten minutes ago and he wouldn’t say a word. Then I asked him about you and why the police wanted you to talk to him a few months back about those copycat murders. He didn’t answer me, but he said he wanted to talk to you.”
“Me?” Ezekiel sat up on the side of the bed. “What the hell for?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Probably just screwing with us is my guess, but honestly, I wouldn’t mind getting your take on him, either. Maybe he’ll talk to you and maybe you can get him to say something we can use.”
“Who is this guy?” Ezekiel asked.
“English professor you talked to at the university. Rainer Bryssengur,” Parker said.
“Oh,” Ezekiel said, thinking, What the fuck do they have, Rainer? “I talked with a detective earlier today about him. Must have been the missing girl you mentioned.”
“That would be Jared Doyle,” Parker said. “He’s a good guy. Good cop.”
“All right. Where do you have him now?” Ezekiel asked.