Vick watched the guy a little more. “He certainly doesn’t seem to notice us. He’s watching that bar, next to the warehouse.”
“Maybe he has a camera pointed to us and is watching us on his phone, while he only appears to be watching the bar.”
“Doubtful. He’s probably a parent who’s waiting to see if his kid comes stumbling out, or a recovering alcoholic thinking about ditching sobriety.”
“I want to call it in.”
Vick rolled his eyes. “Call it in, if you want, but tell them not to start driving cruisers through here. We’ll never catch anything if we draw attention.”
“You don’t think he’s connected.”
“No. I think he has his own agenda that has nothing to do with ours.”
“Maybe I’ll just run his plates.”
“I can only make out four digits on the plate.”
“Then I’ll cross-reference them with the make and model. What are they?”
“I U 2 B, in-state.”
Frye typed them into the system and put in the make and model, and up popped one entry. “He may be in-state, but he’s out of town. Lost custody of his kids after being committed. Says he’s no longer a danger, now… huh.”
“What?”
“Says he lost it after his wife was killed by a drunk driver.”
Vick’s head slowly turned from the window, to his paranoid partner. “And now he’s watching a bar parking lot.”
“Yep.”
“Triangulate his home address with the locations of the serial killer’s hits.”
Frye brought up the map of the hits and found Roger Hayes’ town of residence. “He’s south of all of them. The closest one would be about a half hour away, the farthest probably three hours.”
“Eh, probably not our guy, then. Besides, it’s not Thursday.”
“Maybe he figured he was being too predictable.”
“Yeah, but, the last one was over three weeks ago. Everyone thinks the killer is quitting while he’s ahead.”
“Or, maybe something happened. Maybe he went on vacation and is back, and trying to make up for lost time.”
Vick just looked at him.
“Look at me all you want. I’m calling it in. If I’m wrong, it just means we have a couple extra people waiting in the wings. If I’m right, we just cracked a big frickin’ case. We might even get a commendation for solving one case while working on another.”
Vick rolled his eyes again and went back to watching the warehouse.
“We have movement,” Frye said, a half hour later.
“Where?” Vick asked, scanning the warehouse. “I haven’t seen a thing.”
“The guy in the car. He’s perked up.”
Vick moved the focus of the binoculars. “I think he’s using the camera on his phone to zoom in on something.”
Frye had his own binoculars out, “There’s a drunk staggering her way through the parking lot.”
“Look, there’s a guy in pursuit of her.”
“Yeah, our buddy in the car is watching them.”
Vick chuckled. “That girl ain’t having none of it.”
“He’s probably trying to talk his way into her pants.”
“If he doesn’t stop, she’s going knee him.”
“Look, his buddies are coming out.”
“Oh, God. If they all jump her, we’re going to have to send someone in.”
“Just wait.”
Vick breathed a sigh. “Good, they’re pulling him away and talking him down.”
“…And back into the bar the men go.”
“Ah, yes. But she’s now headed for a car… Eh. Damn.”
“That’s a lot of vomit.”
“At least it’s on the parking lot and not in a car.”
“Aaaaand now she’s getting behind the wheel.”
“Call it in.”
“Wait… looks like Hayes is getting ready to move.”
“Son of a bitch,” Vick breathed.
“We have to wait and see if he follows. If we bust the girl for DWI, we’ll never know if Hayes would have done anything to her.”
“Look! He’s pulling out to follow.”
“I’m calling it in, now.”
Vick swiped a hand through his hair. “If this guy is the guy, you’re going to make me buy you Ding-Dongs for a month.”
“Cupcakes will have never tasted so sweet.”
Roger slowed to a stop in front of the drunken girl’s house. He was amazed they’d made it this far. Every time she’d stopped at a sign, she waited forever before moving again. Like she had to gear herself up for each segment of the drive. Twice, she hadn’t had a stop sign and she’d stopped anyway. She’d even stopped at a green light, then jerked forward, obviously noticing that the light was green. And she’d almost pulled into her neighbor’s driveway, instead of her own. Though, for all Roger knew, she still might be in the wrong one.
The gun was already in his hand, waiting for her to gather the gumption to get out of the car. The door finally swung open, and Roger took aim, waiting for her to emerge.
Vaguely, he was aware of a car coming from the opposite direction. He took the safety off, aware that he would have to wait for the car to clear the street before he pulled the trigger.
Another car eased up behind his car as the one coming from the opposite direction moved in front of him. Roger had just decided to put the gun back under the seat when there was a knock on his window, behind him. Roger turned in his seat, to look out his driver’s door window, and saw the Kevlar-covered officer standing there.
“Mr. Hayes,” came a muffled voice, through the window, “right now, we can only prove attempted murder. If you shoot anyone, the charges will stack quickly. Why not take it easy on your lawyer and keep the count low? Put the gun down and unlock the door.”
Roger seriously considered shooting himself in that moment. But the thought of his kids going through another funeral for another parent stopped him. “I’ll cooperate, and do everything you ask, if you will arrest that bitch for drunk driving, and keep her off the roads.”
The officer made eye-contact through the window. “Deal.”
Roger put the safety on the gun, tossed it to the passenger side floor, and slowly moved to unlock the door.
Chapter Twelve
The Importance of Routine
“I’m entitled to a phone call.”
Officer Warren chained Roger’s cuffs to the table in the interrogation room. “You are. Would you like it now, or after you talk to your lawyer?”
“I don’t have a criminal lawyer.”
“You do now. We contacted your primary therapist, to get advice on how to get you to surrender yourself, and she contacted a lawyer for you. He’s out in the lobby, waiting.”
“After, then. How soon can I see the lawyer?”
“You can see him now. We’ll send him in.”
Roger gave a nod. “Thank you.”
Warren turned and left the room. A few moments later, a gentleman in a Polo shirt and khakis walked into the room. Older, but patience lined the wrinkles around his eyes.
"Mr. Hayes? I'm Simon Bartholomew. I'm a criminal lawyer, specializing in mental health cases. Your therapist thought I might be a good match for you."
Roger nodded. "Thank you for coming. I'd shake your hand, but I'm a little incapacitated at the moment."
Simon smiled. "You're lucky. Sometimes I'm greeted by a client wearing a straitjacket."
Roger found a smile. "That's one thing I've been able to avoid in all this."
Sitting down, Simon let out a sigh. "Since you seem calm and coherent, I'm just going to dive bomb right into it."
"I'd appreciate that."
"They have footage of you, on infrared camera, stalking that woman and taking aim. You really have no way out of an attempted murder charge."
Roger nodded. "Okay."
"Did you intend to shoot her?"
Roger looked him in the eye. "Yes, I did."
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"Why?"
Roger let out a sigh. "Because she was drunk driving. She threatened the lives of everyone in the vicinity of her, while she was behind the wheel."
"Did she do anything to you, personally?"
"No, I just know the pain of losing the person I loved most in the world. I wanted to spare the families of that women's future victims from the same pain my family has gone through."
"Is that why you've been in therapy?"
Roger nodded. "My life was going along perfectly. Then that drunk driver hit my wife and everything spiraled out of control."
"I'm going to ask you to sign a waiver, to let me see all of your mental health records."
Roger nodded. "I'll give you the name of the social worker and my family lawyer."
"How many kids?"
"Five."
Simon made a noise in reaction to that. "Are they in foster care, or do I need to find someone for them, tonight?"
Roger looked to the floor. "They're already in care."
"Good. It's easier on them, that way. Why were they placed?"
"I agreed to have myself committed for a few months. I'd left them in the care of my mother-in-law, but she had a stroke and died while I was still in treatment."
"Do you have any kind of criminal history?"
"No, none."
"Good, good." Simon was quiet a moment, jotting notes down on his phone, with a stylus.
"Can I ask, how they caught me?"
A half-chuckle came out of Simon. "When you picked your parking spot to watch the bar lot from, you sealed your fate."
"A hotel guest figured it out?"
"No, you were blocking a surveillance shot for a stakeout two officers were running from the hotel room two doors down from your spot. When you didn’t get out or leave, they worried you were someone sent to lookout for officers. Then when the disturbance in the lot with the woman and man happened, they took notice that you had taken notice. The minute you pulled away from the curb in pursuit of that woman, they put two cars on you."
"And I was so busy tailing her, that I didn't notice anyone tailing me."
"Those two cops holding the stakeout are patting themselves on the back."
"Why, did they get me and the person they were after?"
"No…" Simon crossed his arms and watched this rather interesting client very carefully. "They think they've busted the Driveway Shooter."
Roger's eyes widened. "Oh, no. Nuh-uh. They are not pinning all those murders on me!"
Roger had had sufficient time to think through his predicament, on the way from that house to here, and then through the fingerprinting and search. He was not going down for every count.
"The thing is, what the cops haven't made public is the fact that every single victim had been driving while intoxicated. And now here you are, telling me you were going to kill her for the same reason."
"But those killings stopped, didn’t they? There's got to be something to be said for the pattern being broken, right? I mean, that guy did it for months and never got caught. I go out there once, and here I sit! Do I even fit the pattern?"
Simon sighed. "The pattern is Thursday nights, not every week, but nearly. The last three have been quiet, as you said. Their theory is the person went on vacation."
"Killers go on vacations?"
"Hey, everyone needs to get away, from time to time."
"But I haven't been anywhere!"
"Where have you been on Thursday nights?"
"Group therapy. It'll be in my records."
Simon added to his notes. "Where do you go after therapy?"
"I usually grab dinner on my way home. Almost always one of three places. Maybe you can pull surveillance footage, if you need it. Then I go home."
"Anybody living with you at home to verify that you were there?"
Roger turned worried eyes on the lawyer. "No."
"Why were you at that particular bar tonight, so far from home?"
“I was at my regular Tuesday night group session. The topic was for us to list all the things alcohol has taken from each of our lives.” Roger’s eyes dropped to pinpoint Simon’s, “My list was long. And thinking about that long list really got me upset. Like a sad upset. Like, I could have cried over how angry it made me to think about it, kind of upset.” He paused as though to gather his thoughts or quell his emotions. In reality, it was for dramatic effect. Afterall, if he was going to make this being a one-time occurrence believable, it had to have the fresh emotion of something specific that happened today.
“Did you talk that over with the group, or reach out to one of your therapists?”
Roger shook his head. “I didn’t think it was that bad at first. I didn’t even realize I was spiraling. I thought I was handling it enough to be put on the agenda for tomorrow’s one-on-one session. See, I didn’t set out to harm anybody. I swear, I didn’t. I just wanted to drive. My house is safe to me, you know? And I didn’t want to bring my stirred-up energy into it. I thought a drive would clear my head.”
“Did you pick that direction for any particular reason?”
Roger shook his head. “No. My only real thought was that I was getting hungry and I was in no mood for leftovers. I thought I’d drive around a bit and maybe find somewhere interesting to try.”
“Why not go to one of your usual places?”
“Because I wasn’t in my usual mood. Does that make any sense?”
Simon nodded. “You were trying to shake some bad energy, and wanted to infuse yourself with a little happy.”
Roger nodded. “Yeah. I like the way you put that.”
“Are leftovers your Tuesday routine?”
“Eating at home is my Tuesday routine. I eat out Thursdays because it gives me a nice mark of transition between the two parts of my week.”
“What two parts?”
“My employee is in the house with me Monday through Thursday, at least eleven hours a day. And my housekeeper is there for four hours, too. Fridays she’s really only there for an hour to bring in groceries she picked up, put them away, and maybe do some quick tidying. I usually don’t even see her because I leave the house for a one-on-one session. So, it’s a quiet day, with maybe some phone calls for work, or I can sit in silence and work on a project or two. Then, my oldest daughter comes at four, and I have her for the weekend.”
Simon was completely sympathetic while he watched tears come into Roger’s eyes and his handcuffs kept him from swiping them away.
“I was supposed to have three of my girls this weekend. That won’t be happening now.”
“No, it won’t.” Simon cleared his throat. “Did you find a place to eat?”
Roger nodded his head, squeezing his eyes closed and did his best to quickly sniff his tears away, before blinking repeatedly, in an effort to clear them. “Yeah. I can’t remember the name of the place, but if you start back at that bar, and head west on the highway another twenty minutes, there’s a seafood place. There’s a sign with a big, red crab on it. The waiter might remember me. I ordered the mussels, and they were out. The waiter left to give me a minute to choose something else, and when he came back, I ordered scallops. They were out because their delivery hadn’t shown up yet. He left to give me another minute, came back, and I ended up having Cajun shrimp with pasta. Then, he asked what I wanted to drink, and I told him I wanted the strawberry tea on their signature menu.”
“Let me guess, they ran out of teabags?”
Roger smiled. “No, the strawberry syrup they mix in the tea.”
“Was the food at least good?” Simon asked, feeling the need to keep the conversation a little light-hearted, given how freely his new client was talking.
“It was, actually.”
“And did that experience help shake your mood, at all?”
“You know, it did. Here was this waiter, trying to deal with all the difficulty of so many other’s shortcomings, plus he’s dealing with everyone else’s grief because he’s the messenge
r. He didn’t have the power to prevent or stop what was going on around him. He was just doing his best to deal with it. I realized that I’m in the same situation. I didn’t cause the any of the issues that others in my life have had with alcohol. I’m just trying my best to deal with all their damage.”
“So, how did you end up at the bar?”
“Yeah. That.” Roger took in a long breath. “There I was, ready to start heading home, and the bar came into view. I passed it, and on a whim, circled the block to park where I did. I wanted to people watch. I wanted my faith in humanity restored. I wanted to see people go in, and come out responsibly. Come out not drunk. Come out drunk, but with a buddy who was going to drive them home. Or come out and get into a cab, or an Uber, or walk home. I wanted to see people who could enjoy their drinking and not be selfish enough to risk someone else paying a price for it. I wanted to see that not all people who hang out at a bar are bad. That’s why I stopped.”
“Why did you stay for so long?”
“Because I’d decided, in my mind, that staying any less than an hour wouldn’t give me a fair representation.”
"What happened when you saw the woman?"
"You know, I could see that she was drunk. She headed to a car by herself, and it pissed me off. But I was hoping she was just going to grab something from it while waiting for a cab. But then that guy came out."
"The one that caused the disturbance?"
Roger nodded. "He was drunk, and came out to chase after her. He grabbed hold of her and she obviously wanted no parts of him. He tried to kiss her and she was trying to pull away. I was actually about to get out and help her by… well, probably by punching him, if I had to. But the other guys came out, I'm guessing his buddies, and they stopped the guy from taking it any further with the girl. They got him and went back inside, leaving the girl on her own again. And then, safe from that situation, her response was to climb behind the wheel of the car." Roger paused and turned questioning eyes in Simon.
"What?"
"I just don't get it. She was fighting that guy, not wanting his attentions. If she cared about her wellbeing so much that she would fight off a guy, why the hell did she turn around in the next moment and get behind the wheel? If she cared about her wellbeing, at all, she wouldn't have risked getting into a crash."
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