by Dave Balcom
“You find something?”
“I found everything. If he’s not our perp, I’ll have to start believing in coincidences. I’ve laid his history over the murders we’re looking at, and they are distressingly concentric. He lives in a place, and then a girl disappears.”
“The girl goes missing after he’s moved away?”
“Well, it happened that way, but not necessarily, the only thing that’s iron clad is the date of the incidents, it’s always the last Saturday in August. After leaving the Navy in seventy-one, he enrolled in Golden West Community College for two years, and moved to his first police job in Bishop in seventy-three...”
I picked up the history from memory, “And Sue Anne Greene of Huntington Beach disappeared in August of seventy-four.”
“That’s right. In seventy-seven, Sue Nichols goes missing in Bishop, and the next year he moves to Ohio.”
“So he got to Cincinnati in seventy-eight, and Becky Sue Tischman goes missing in nineteen eighty. That’s quite a pattern. Why do you think it changed after the first one?”
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“Why did he come back to Huntington Beach after moving away to do Sue Anne, and then start doing the track stars while he was still living in the community for the next three?”
I could hear her making notes. “I love the way you question things, Mr. Stanton. I love the way your curiosity works. I’m just making a note so I can ask the guys in Quantico first thing in the morning.”
“What do you think you’re going to do with this? I mean what’s the next step?”
“First thing tomorrow I’ll brief SAIC Brownlee, and, knowing him, he’ll be after me to interview Detective Hennessey immediately, probably arrest him and bring him up here for grilling.”
“Really? Based on this and this alone?”
“Well, no. I’ll talk him into waiting while we get some answers from the white lab coats in Quantico. They’ll build a profile that fits a bunch of scenarios that could be the real story, and that’ll give us great ammunition to go after him in an interview.”
“What kind of scenarios?”
“Well, why the change in cycle? What triggered the first episode? How does he maintain control for such an extended cycle before acting out again? All of those theories can be tested in the interview process. When we press the right buttons, these guys always unload for us. It’s like a release of pent up urges. Once they think we understand them, they have to tell us where we have it wrong... they have to.”
I sat in silence, processing.
“You still with me?”
“Oh, sure. I’m just wondering how that’ll all work with him. I get the feeling that he has a completely clear conscience. I don’t see him as a guy who’ll fold like cheap lawn furniture at the first hint of suspicion.”
“No, that’s not how it works. These people are all really smart. They’re used to being the smartest one in every room they’re in. They don’t have any real appreciation for how smart other people might be, and when we come on with these carefully constructed theories, they are crushed by the sudden awareness that they’ve been out-smarted, and their response is to tell us where we got it wrong – it’s a compulsive effort to regain their sense of superiority. You’ll see. If he’s as guilty as I think he is, this will all end in an interview.”
“I hope you’re right. I mean I hope you mean it when you say I’ll see. Can I witness the interview?”
“Not a chance.”
“Why not? You wouldn’t be in that room but for me. I have a stake in this play. If he did this thing, then he threatened my family. If he’s the guy, I think I should get a ringside seat – it’s only fair.”
“Life’s not fair, Jim. There’s no way Brownlee will invite you inside the tent. Not a chance.”
“You could at least ask, or set it up for me to ask him personally.”
She thought about that for a long moment. “I’ll ask. Just don’t think for a second that he’ll approve, okay?”
I turned back into an editor on that, “So, when will we hear about his arrest? When can we put this in the newspaper?”
“You’re going to hate me for this, but you won’t hear a word until he’s formally charged, and then you’ll hear it along with everyone else at a press conference in Lake City – the same as the people in California and Ohio will hear about it.”
“You’re right. I do hate that answer. Listening to that right now, it is apparent to me why the FBI has no friends.”
She laughed at that. “You’re right. We’re as friendless as the editors who won’t keep their buddies’ DUIs or divorces out of the paper.”
“Touché.”
“Jim, I appreciate what you’ve done on this, and I’m not shy about telling anyone who will listen that you and your newspaper are righteous. But the FBI does things as the FBI does things, and that’s not likely to change.”
“Well, perhaps you can keep me informed off the record. I’ve never violated a trust with a source, but it would help me personally to know that this threat to my family is contained if not over.”
“I can do that, but don’t expect it to be regular. I’ll keep you abreast of developments.”
With that, we said good night and hung up. Sandy was sitting on the stool next to me, and I had been so engrossed in the call, I hadn’t noticed when she’d joined me. “I take it that was Agent Reynolds,” she said.
I nodded, and she continued, “She has no problem calling you at home, in front of me, so I guess she’s really not all that hot for you, right?”
I was shocked and probably showed it as my head snapped back to look at her. “What? Where’s that coming from?”
She was blushing. “She’s really beautiful, and you two have been really absorbed in this thing together and ... Well, she went to bat for you with the Hardy deal and, well... she’s really beautiful...”
I slid off my stool and stood between her knees so I could put my arms around her shoulders and hug her to me. We were like that for a time, saying nothing, just kind of gently swaying.
Finally I broke the silence, “Sandy, you know you don’t have to wonder about my love for you or my commitment to you and the kids. You don’t, do you?”
A sob erupted from her as she buried her face further into my chest. Her shoulders heaved. I squeezed some more.
I went on, “Marcia Reynolds is a beautiful woman whose only interest in me is limited to my ability to help her solve a crime. You are a beautiful woman whose interest in me is intertwined in every aspect of my being. You’re not competing for my love, and you have to know that. You couldn’t get rid of me with a broom.”
She laughed despite herself, and then I heard her whisper. “I’m feeling pretty ridiculous and witchy right now so a broom is probably the right metaphor.” I felt her shudder a bit, and knew she had gotten her composure back so I pulled away and lifted her chin so I could kiss her lips.
She kissed back, and then put her lips near my ear, “I guess I cherish you so much ... so very much that I want to be a part of every moment of your life, and when I’m not, I get jealous.”
“Our lives are circles that overlap. I cannot be part of every aspect of your life; if I were, I’d have no life of my own. The same is true for you. We both need to cherish the parts we share and respect the parts we don’t.”
She nodded. “Intellectually, I understand that...”
“But the heart wants...”
“What the heart wants,” she finished.
“This heart wants to take you to bed.”
“This heart can’t wait.”
60
I didn’t say anything about the case at work on Monday. Immersed as we all were in getting the paper out, there wasn’t much time for sharing during the morning. As the day was winding down, Doug came through the newsroom on his way out, stopping to say something appropriate to each of the staffers still at their desk. Randy was tidying up the Universal Desk and I was fil
ing mug shots. “Anything big to cover tonight?” Doug asked Randy.
“Just meetings, but we’ll be ready if something breaks,” Randy said.
Doug raised his voice a bit to include me in the conversation, “You guys hear anything about a shakeup at police headquarters?”
Randy looked at me, and I shook my head. “What did you hear?”
The publisher beamed at us, and I realized he was enjoying knowing something first, a normal reaction for most newspaper people that had not been part of his makeup when we first met. “Max Hennessey may be out as chief of detectives.”
Randy’s head snapped up from his computer screen. “Out? As in fired?”
Doug backed off quickly, “I really didn’t hear that kind of detail. I was told that he arrived for work early this morning as is his custom, but he never came back from lunch, and nobody has heard from him.”
Randy looked at me. “That sound like him to you?”
I shook my head. “Hardly. I haven’t heard from him today, but we don’t talk all that often anyway. Maybe he’s working a case?”
Doug shrugged and said, “If he is, the chief’s not aware of it. The feeling downtown is that he may have packed his bags. He has a history of moving around...”
“But I don’t think his moves have been sudden or unannounced. I’m sure he’s always given notice, otherwise he couldn’t get the next job so easily,” I said, sounding defensive even to myself.
Randy took up the thread, “I’ll bet we’ll hear from him in the course of things. He maybe met somebody at lunch and got lucky.”
Doug chuckled at that. “Maybe, but let’s keep our ears open just the same. You guys have a good night. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
We nodded and watched him leave through the employee exit. Randy looked up at me, “I could have never dreamed that guy would bring something like that to the news desk. I’m left in awe, Mr. Stanton; just plain awe.”
We both had a good laugh at that, and I went to my office, tidied up briefly and then headed home, wondering if Max had indeed met Marcia Reynolds at lunch, and if he thought he’d gotten lucky.
61
I had just gotten into my office after working the Universal Desk on Wednesday when my desk phone rang.
“Jim? This is Marcia.”
“What’s happening? You’re talking to Hennessey, aren’t you? I heard Monday that he had mysteriously turned up absent after lunch, so I figured you had invited him up for wings and a talk.”
“Cute. Yes, we picked him up for questioning on Monday, and he came quietly. In fact he’s done everything quietly. He hasn’t said a word since he got here. He hasn’t asked for an attorney or his union rep. He hasn’t wanted to make a phone call. I’ve been on him since he got here, Monday afternoon, all day yesterday and even into the night last night. He has just sat there, listening as I laid out the timelines and he’s said not one word, nada.”
“That’s amazing. What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know what to make of it. The guys in Quantico don’t know what to make of it, and they want him brought down there. Brownlee doesn’t want that. He wants you to come and talk with him, to see if he’ll share anything with you.”
I was shocked. “In Buffalo?”
“Of course, it’s just a few hours, not like the end of the earth or Mars.”
“Today?”
“Jim, we don’t have unlimited time with this guy. We either charge him or turn him loose tomorrow. So, yes, today. If you’re coming, you need to get on the road.”
“I’ll call you back in just a few minutes,” I said.
“Sure. But this is what you wanted, remember?”
“I’ll call you right back.”
I hung up the phone and went to find Doug, but he wasn’t in his office. Harriet couldn’t tell me where he’d gone. “I thought he was hanging out in the newsroom.”
I found him chatting with Mary and Randy at the Universal Desk and the sight amused me. I grabbed a camera off Marge’s desk and snapped a surreptitious shot of the scene, and then approached them.
I waited for a break in their conversation, and Doug looked up at me with expectation. “Doug, can I have a minute with you?”
He was smiling and enjoying himself, but as he started to say something, he caught something in my demeanor and it stopped the quip before he made a sound. “Sure.” He turned to the others, “Excuse us, okay?”
Randy gave me a look of concern, but said nothing.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mary; this won’t take but a minute. Randy, you probably should join us.”
We walked to my office, and I closed the door after they were inside. “I’m thinking I’m going to head off to Buffalo today to help the FBI interview Max Hennessey,” I said keeping my voice and tone as matter-of-fact as I could.
Doug was just sitting down at my little table, and hesitated, and then completed the move to sit before answering. “You can’t be serious.”
“I know, that’s what I said, but Feds are serious. Seems Max knows the FBI interrogation playbook and won’t play.”
“And they think you can help?”
“They need to charge him or release him by tomorrow, and they’re desperate. He’s not behaving as they expected.”
“Maybe because he’s not the guy,” Randy said from his position leaning his hip against my desk. “I will never believe that the Max Hennessey I’ve come to know could be that kind of monster.”
“That’s what everybody, even the mothers who threw their daughters in Ted Bundy’s path, said about him,” I fired back.
“You really believe that he could...” Randy looked from one of us to the other, “...could be like that?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “I don’t want to believe it, but unless he can explain it, these missing girls seem to trace his life...”
“You better get your butt up there and find out, that’s what you better do,” Doug said. “You gonna be back tonight?”
“I don’t know. I hope so, but I’ll go prepared in any event. I need to get moving.”
Randy piped up, “Remember, I’m off this afternoon and tomorrow, and I’m chasing winter lake trout on Seneca Lake. I’ll call you bearing fillets.”
I waved at him and chuckled. The guy was a fishing fanatic.
I called Marcia back, then stopped at the house to throw some things together in case I had to spend the night. Sandy made me a sandwich for the drive. “Please be careful,” she said as she hugged me at the door.
“I expect to be home for supper.”
The drive to Buffalo took a little more than two and a half hours. Cutting across the Finger Lakes is problematic, but once I hit I-90, it was a straight shot into the city.
The FBI’s offices were in the heart of the city’s government district, a short distance from City Hall and the Federal Court for Western New York District whose jurisdiction defined the jurisdiction of the FBI here as well.
I had been told that technically Lake City was on the borderline between the offices in Buffalo and Albany, but the case had been handed to Buffalo because that’s where I had called.
I spent the time in the car reviewing my memory of the sequence of events from the timeline. I had my notes file in my briefcase, but I was focused on the actuality of being in an interview room with a suspected serial killer. I was wondering just how this was all going to work when I pulled off I-90 and headed west into the downtown area. The directions Marcia had given me were taped to the dashboard, and I had little trouble finding FBI Plaza.
When I entered the building, I encountered a desk and identified myself. It was clear that I was expected. The security guy dialed a number, mumbled something, and then turned to me with a smile.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a visitor badge. “Just sign in here,” sliding a clipboard in my direction, “and the elevator is over there. Push two and Agent Reynolds will meet you at the door.”
He was friendly enough
, but I hadn’t finished clipping my badge to my lapel before he was totally absorbed again watching the entrance for the next visitor.
When the door opened on the second floor, Marcia greeted me with a big smile. “Come on in, Jim. We’re going to meet with Chris in his office for a bit, and then you can go meet with Max.” She said this with a hand on my elbow guiding me down the hall. “Oh, and here’s a restroom you can probably use about now after that drive.”
I thanked her and made use of the facility. She was waiting as I came out, and again she guided me toward the office at the end of the hall.
Chris Brownlee was sitting at his desk in the FBI uniform: black slacks, white shirt, and striped tie. The navy blue blazer was hanging on a clothes tree behind him. He stood to greet me, and his handshake was firm. There were humor lines around his eyes, but no humor in his face as he studied me.
He was about five feet ten inches tall, and I guessed his age at forty-something. He was fit without looking like he worked very hard at it, and I got the sense that he was working very hard at controlling his anxiety over something.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Stanton,” he began formally. “Have a seat. Marcia tells me you might be able to help us with Mr. Hennessey. So tell me, how is that so?”
I was surprised by the question. “I guess I’d have to know what you want, and what you have done so far that hasn’t worked.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I assumed that you have some innate talent that would make a man like Hennessey open up to you as opposed to our experienced hands having had no luck so far. What makes you think you can open this man up, Mr. Stanton?”
I was stunned, and looked at Marcia but got no clue from that quarter. She was intently staring at something above and beyond Brownlee’s face.
“I have no innate talent to make Mr. Hennessey bare his soul to me, Agent Brownlee. I am acquainted with him, and would have never suspected him of any wrong doing prior to last Thursday, and despite all the superficial linkages we might have between him and the missing girls, I can’t quite get my mind around the possibility that he’s responsible.”