by Blake Banner
I asked, “Is it the same MO?”
“I don’t want to commit myself to anything at this stage, John, but I can tell you it is very similar. You can see for yourself…” He gestured at the handkerchief, at the skirt.
“ID?”
“No purse. We’ll run her prints back at the lab.”
I nodded and looked across the stretch of parkland toward the river. The water was concealed by the trees that bordered the banks. I walked away from the body, out onto the grass and looked north toward where we’d left the car, then south toward the East River and the Whitestone Bridge. Dehan came and joined me, squinting in the sun and tying her hair behind her neck. “What are you thinking?”
I didn’t look at her. I was scanning the area. I said, “Clearly Wayne couldn’t have done it because he was in prison. Alibis don’t come much better than that, right? So I’m wondering how the killer arrived.” I pointed north. He either came down the Hutchinson River Parkway, left his car on the wasteland there and then came down into the woods along the path, on foot…” She nodded. “Or he drove all the way down to the bridge and came in that way.”
She thought about it a moment. “If he came in via the bridge late at night there’s less risk of being seen.”
I watched her face, nodded, then shook my head. “Nope, because that road is cut off with big, steel gates. His only access is on foot.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So…?”
“So he must have driven here, left his car in the parking lot, and brought her to the woods here on foot. That make sense to you?”
She shrugged. “I can’t see how he could do it any other way.”
“Neither can I.”
She looked unhappy and tense. “I feel like you’re making a point and I don’t know what it is. Am I missing something?”
“Not making a point. Just examining the new evidence, Dehan. We are all missing something in this case.” I turned and pointed again, back along the path. “So, what is that? Five hundred yards?”
She looked and nodded. “Yeah, about that.”
I walked back in among the trees. Frank was getting to his feet and they were loading the body onto a gurney. I had a closer look at her. Her face was bloated and distorted, and her cheeks were stained with mascara where she had been weeping. Her lipstick was smeared where her killer had been kissing her, the way Wayne had described it. I looked at her blouse. It was a white halterneck made from some synthetic imitation silk. Where it had been ripped you could make out a bra that probably came from Victoria’s Secret.
Frank pulled off his gloves. “You don’t need to say anything, John. I’ve already had the call. This takes priority over everything.”
I said, “She’s been raped. You’ll find semen inside her, also on her skirt, but you won’t find any prints.”
Dehan approached. “She’s not wearing panties. Maybe he took them as a trophy.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Frank spread his hands. “At the moment it is all speculation until I get back to the lab. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking back toward the car. Dehan fell into step beside me. “Stone, you know something?”
“Not much.”
“You’re being a pain in the ass.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Talk to me.”
“I’ve been talking to you, Dehan.”
She stopped dead in her tracks and gestured back toward the crime scene with her open hand. “Come on, Stone!”
“‘Come on Stone’ is not a persuasive argument, Dehan. What are you trying to tell me?”
She jabbed several times with her hand. “You yourself have been saying that our killer may have been killing for a long time and may still be killing. This is not a copycat. Nobody knows his MO. You want it to be Wayne, Stone, but it can’t be!”
I smiled.
“What are you smiling at?”
“You. You said you wanted me to talk to you, but actually it was you who wanted to talk to me. You have made your point. The inspector, the DA and the State of New York all agree with you. So let’s go and see who Wayne Harris tells us the killer is.”
“Like I said, you’re being a pain in the ass!”
She marched on ahead and then had to sit on the hood and wait for me to arrive. As I arrived and pulled out my keys she said, “I just don’t get why you have to play this blame game.”
I frowned at her, opened the door and got in.
She got in the passenger seat and slammed the door. “I am not betraying you just because I don’t agree with you!”
I pulled out of the lot and headed toward the Expressway.
After a moment she said, “You don’t have to guilt trip me. I can have a different opinion from you. I don’t have to agree with you all the time.”
After I had turned west onto the Bruckner Expressway she looked at me and said, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
I glanced at her and sighed. “What do you want me to say, Dehan? You’re mad at me. I am not mad at you. You have a different opinion from me. That’s fine. I haven’t got time to argue with you. I am trying to figure out how to avoid another woman getting killed, and that is taking up all of my attention. I’m sorry you feel I’m guilt tripping you, but I do not feel betrayed.”
After a bit she said, “You don’t?”
“No.”
Her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and answered, “Dehan.”
She listened, glanced at me, looked embarrassed and said, “Yes sir, Frank is giving it priority. He’ll get back to us as soon as he has anything.” She was silent again. “It seems to have been the same killer, yes, sir. The MO is the same.” Another silence. “We are on our way to Rikers now. Yes sir, I understand. We will, sir… He is right here beside me, sir. He’s driving. Yes, I’ll tell him, sir.
“That was…”
“I know who it was.”
“He wanted…”
“I know what he wanted. He wanted to make sure I didn’t sabotage the deal. Do you want to take the lead in this investigation, Dehan?”
Her eyes went wide. “No! John!”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“Do you think the inspector would like you to take over?”
“No! John, stop it!”
“Perhaps you should ask him.”
“John, you are having a tantrum like a spoiled kid!”
I smiled at her. “If you and he don’t approve of my conduct of the inquiry, then perhaps you should lead. It’s not a big deal, Dehan.”
She folded her arms and didn’t talk to me again until we reached the prison. When I parked the car in the lot, I climbed out and called the inspector. He sounded embarrassed.
“Stone, what can I do for you?”
“Is there anything you need to say to me, sir?”
“Um, no, just, ah… what I said to Carmen, um, you were driving.”
“Do I still have lead on this case, sir?”
“Of course you do, Stone! Naturally…”
“Thank you, sir.”
I hung up. Dehan was staring at me, shaking her head. “You’re being ridiculous.”
I pulled my laptop from the back seat and closed the door, then stared at her for a long moment. I handed her the key and said, “Dehan, will you please go to Teddy’s Late Night Bar and, if you have to drag him by his collar and put a gun to his head, make him give you Jimmy Fillmore’s details.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. And the instant he gives them to you, call me.”
“Stone, are you serious? Are you sidelining me?”
I stepped toward her. “Dehan, this is important. For one thing, Wayne cannot concentrate when you are in his presence. For another, if we get Jimmy Fillmore before Wayne talks, we don’t need the deal. And whatever you think of my instincts, you will at least admit that Wayne Harris is one son of a bi
tch who should not be on the street.”
She blinked at me.
“But more than that, Dehan, if you have ever known my gut to be right, then please give it the benefit of the doubt now. I am not sidelining you. I am asking you to do something important. More important than wasting time on this stupid deal.”
She blinked at me again.
I felt a knot of hot anger in my gut. “Carmen, I am asking you to do what I would be doing if I didn’t have to be here. Please do it!”
She snatched the keys from me and climbed in the car. I watched her pull out of the lot and accelerate away. Then I turned toward the prison complex and started to walk.
* * *
The clang and roll of the steel doors echoed down concrete corridors like a clumsy death knell. Wayne was brought in, manacled and shuffling in his orange jumpsuit. He smiled his snake-smile at me as he crossed the floor and sat at the table. His guards cuffed him. He watched me as the officers left the room and slammed the door shut. My laptop was set up to record the conversation. He watched me press record and smiled.
“I really scared Detective Dehan, huh?”
“Is that something you enjoy, Wayne, scaring women?”
He sighed, like a man who has grown tired of a game. “You got me all wrong, Detective Stone.” I waited while he studied my face a little longer. “I know I am my own worst enemy. My momma was always tellin’ me that: ‘Wayne Harris, you are your own worst enemy!’ My daddy never told me nothin’. He just took his belt to me on a regular basis.” He gave a small laugh. “You might say that he made me strong and she gave me self-awareness.”
I yawned loudly. “Is this going somewhere, Wayne?”
“Yeah, it’s goin’ somewhere, Detective. I’m tellin’ you why you got me all wrong.”
“Who killed Angela Fernandez?”
He laughed. “Whoa there, boy! Buy a girl a drink! Give me a chance!”
“No. I’m getting bored, Wayne. I don’t believe you know jack. I think you’re a narcissistic asshole who likes to play games, and you get off on all the attention you get from pretending you know something about this killer. Now I don’t give a damn about your momma and your daddy back in Arizona. I want to know who killed Angela Fernandez. Do you know or not?”
It was odd. Very little changed about his face: a slight lowering of his lids, a hardening of an already granite expression, but the effect was powerful. Just for a moment, there was murderous hatred in his expression, but it passed.
“Yeah, Stone, I know who killed Angela, and I know a lot more besides. And we are going to do this my way, or not at all. And the longer you delay, the more bodies you are going to have on your list.” He sat forward and narrowed his eyes at me. “I have a lot of shit on my conscience, Stone. A lot of bad shit. But I don’t belong in this fuckin’ hell hole. I aim to get out, but when I get out it will be righteous. You understand that concept, Stone? When I get out I ain’t comin’ back. And that means I have to be clean in here…” He went to thump his chest with his fist but the cuffs jarred him.
I snarled at him, “Talk to a priest. I’m a cop, not your confessor!”
He snarled back, “And that’s why it’s got to be you!” He sat back. “You listen to me, tell it my way or you can fuck off back to your inspector and your fuckin’ DA with empty fuckin’ hands. Your choice.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Talk, but cut to the chase at some point, will you?” To underline the point I dropped the folder with the agreement in it on the table where he couldn’t reach it. “I’ve done worse things in my life than go back to the inspector and the DA with empty hands. And for the record, my personal opinion is that this shit hole is exactly where you belong, so don’t push me, Wayne, because the final decision is mine.”
He waited a moment, then asked, “You done?”
“Talk.”
He waited a moment, then seemed to sag. “I came in here today with the intention of makin’ you see that I ain’t the man you think I am.” He tried to raise his hands. “Don’t come back with some wise crack, Stone, just listen, OK?
“But you just wind me up, you know? Like one of them toys you used to get where you turned a key and they started doin’ all kinds of crazy things. I just look at you and I want to fuck with your head.”
I waited.
He stared at me, then took a deep breath. “But, that’s what I was trying to tell you. It’s what my momma used to tell me. I am my own worst enemy.” He looked around him at the walls for a moment. “You know what I used to do when my daddy would come in and say to me, ‘Wayne, did you cut the head off of your sister’s doll?’ or ‘Wayne, you been smokin’ in the barn again?’ or ‘Wayne, have you been drinkin’ my whiskey?’”
He waited, as though he expected me to answer. Finally I sighed. “No, Wayne, what did you do?”
“I never did none of those things, man. Smokin’ in the barn is plumb stupid, because the hay can catch fire, right? I don’t like whiskey, never did. I drink rum, and not much of that. And you won’t never catch Wayne Harris playin’ with dolls, even to cut off their fuckin’ heads. Besides, I loved my little sister. No it was my brother Earl who done all them things. But when my daddy used to ask me, I answered him with all the fuckin’ insolence I knew how. I knew he was gonna whip me, but I didn’t care. I told him, ‘You ain’t never gonna cow me, you motherfucker.’ And he never did. But my momma would say to me, ‘Wayne, you are your own worst enemy.’ And in that sense she was right, because I would bring on myself punishment I didn’t deserve, just for the sake of being contrary, and not bowin’ to the man with the whip. Now you come in here, with all your fuckin’ authority, and I just want to make you mad.” He paused, smiling his snake smile. “And I knew soon as I looked at you, one thing that really makes you mad is an animal like me messin’ with your lady, am I right?”
“Are we done with the confessional?”
“Almost.”
He sat for a long while looking at his hands cuffed on the table. He sat so long I started to think of getting up and leaving, but finally he started talking again. He was serious, he didn’t look at me and he had lost his mocking tone. It was almost like talking to a different person.
“I’m a hard case, Detective Stone. I been in my fair share of brawls, I smoked a lot of dope and I sold a lot of dope, and I snorted my fair share of coke.” He raised his eyes to look at me. “But I ain’t a criminal. I never killed nobody and I never stole from nobody who wasn’t a thief. I’m a pain in the ass, I know that, and I’m a contrary son of a bitch. But seriously, with this body, and my attitude, if I was of a true criminal disposition, don’t you think I’d have a real rap sheet by now? Only reason I’m in prison, Detective, is because New York has stupid laws on drugs. Anywhere else in this country I’d be out on the street by now.” He hesitated, looked away, looked mad. “So, I’m sorry I came on to Detective Dehan. It was a stupid thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself.”
I considered him for a while until he turned his head to look at me again. Then I said, “Apology accepted. Now, do you know who killed Angela Fernandez?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said, and his face went hard. “I know who that son of a bitch is.”
THIRTEEN
“Here’s the way I see it, Stone.” He sat forward and put his elbows on the table. “The State of New York has stolen my freedom. Now I want my freedom back.” He nodded his head toward the folder. “If that is the offer you have for me, then we can talk turkey.”
I pushed the folder in front of him and opened it so he could read the document inside it. “You give me the name of Angela’s killer, and if the evidence you give is probative of his guilt, or leads to his conviction, your sentence will be reduced to time served. That is as good as you are going to get.”
“It’s good enough,” he said without looking at me, and continued to read the document in minute detail. When he had finished he sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. Then he smiled.
/> “I’m a drifter, Stone, what you might call a bum. I traveled all over this great country of ours. I like the South. I like the Southwest. A man can be free down there. And in Wyoming. Up here in the Northeast, man, this is like the Illuminati control everything, you feel me? But I kind of arrived here, three years ago, to do a bit of business which does not concern you…” he wheezed his rasping laugh, “and I don’t know man, I just kind of stayed. I don’t know why, I like the Bronx, or I did back then. It was kind of rebellious, know what I’m sayin’? People are free here, you know? They kick against the yoke. I like that. But I don’t like it over yonder, Hunts Point, over the river, man, Longwood, that’s not my scene. Like I keep tellin’ you. I ain’t a criminal, I am just anarchic. I don’t like no man tellin’ me what I cannot do. So I found myself a pad near Castle Hill Avenue, south of the expressway. I read there was a real low crime rate there. I could feel easy and at peace. I like that.” He leered. “I could feel like a nice, middle class gentleman, just like my Momma wanted me to be. You know what I’m sayin’?”
I looked at my watch and sighed.
“Don’t be rude, Detective Stone. If I get upset I may have to ask you to come back tomorrow.”
“Keep going. I’m listening.”
“‘I’m listening.’ Who used to say that, man? I like that. ‘I’m listening.’”
“Dr. Frasier Crane.”
He laughed. “That’s right. I used to like that. A nice American family, human, but fundamentally driven by good American values. Big Brother is watching, Dr. Frasier Crane is listening. I like that.”
“Deep. So what happened?”
“I found me a nice bar I could frequent. They was good times for me. I was makin’ a bit of money, I read the New York Times over breakfast and I frequented a nice neighborhood bar in the evening, as a middle class gentleman should. There ain’t a lot of nice bars around Castle Hill and Zerega, did you know that?”