The Quiet Man

by James Carol

  Winter didn’t think he was here when he arrived, but couldn’t be certain. The timing was crucial. If this guy had been here, then he was just being paranoid. He hadn’t planned on coming here for a drink. This bar had ticked enough boxes to tempt him inside, but he could easily have kept on walking to the next one. And if this guy was watching him, how did he get here first? That would require the ability to see into the future, or a time machine, and Winter wasn’t buying either of those explanations.

  On the other hand, if he’d come in after him then that raised a whole host of new questions. Winter picked up his glass and took a sip. His gaze skirted across the mirror, and kept going, stopping at the big screen. For a short while he watched a bunch of grown men chase a ball around a perfectly manicured acre of grass, and thought about what this all meant.

  He glanced at the mirror again. The curious guy had positioned himself so the angles were conducive with catching his reflection, but that meant the angles also worked in reverse. At the moment the guy had his head down, eyes fixed on his phone, thumb swiping from bottom to top as though he was reading something. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. That didn’t matter though. He was exercising his right to be invisible, and the cell phone was as good a prop as any. Who was going to look twice at someone playing with their cell? Every single day you were going to see a hundred people doing that exact same thing.

  Winter took out his own cell and unlocked it. He found Anderton’s number and typed a quick text.

  In Frankie’s. Down by the river. Being watched.

  Her reply arrived ten seconds later.

  What? Who?!?

  White male, early 30s, five five, slight build. Unremarkable. Surveillance savvy.

  The killer?

  Interview aired two hours ago. Do the math.

  Calling Freeman. Stay where you are. Be there soon.

  Before Winter could respond, another text appeared.

  DON’T DO ANYTHING!!!

  His response was short and sweet:

  14

  Certainties only become absolute after the fact. Up until that point there is always something waiting to crop up and prove the theory wrong. Winter had a pretty good idea what was happening here, but there was still that sliver of doubt. The curious guy was nursing a beer, eyes occasionally straying toward the big screen so that he had an excuse to look in the mirror. Winter was doing the same. An occasional glance at the big screen, his eyes tracing an arc that meant his gaze passed over the mirror. The fact that the guy was still here supported two possible theories. What happened in the next ten minutes would decide which one was correct.

  The first thing that happened was that Anderton turned up. Winter noticed her in the doorway and waved her over. She’d changed outfit since he saw her last. She was still wearing jeans but these were new on, clean and pressed. Her blouse had been swapped for a grey T-shirt with a picture of the New York skyline on the front. Her sneakers were newer and a lot less battered than his. Her hair was wet, from either the shower or a bath. Winter was betting on her being a shower person. Pragmatists preferred showers, dreamers preferred baths. The curious guy was playing it cool. He hadn’t reacted at all, just carried on watching the game.

  The second thing happened twenty seconds later. By the time Anderton had got halfway across the room, the door opened again and Freeman entered. Freeman was Anderton’s successor, and as such the buck now stopped with him. The fact he was here without a SWAT team, or body armour, or a gun, meant that theory number one had just become an absolute certainty.

  Winter stood up again and waved to him. For a moment Freeman looked confused, as though he wasn’t sure how to respond. Should he wave? Should he acknowledge him? In the end, he didn’t do either, he just kept walking across the room and stopped at the table. He was in his late forties, handsome, with a solid chin and good facial symmetry. This was a face made for TV. His superiors would have been looking for someone they could present to the media. It made sense. This investigation had come under a good deal of criticism, so they would be searching for ways to win back some support. According to Anderton, Freeman was an idiot, but her opinion was understandably biased. At the very least he’d probably turn out to be halfway competent. Unfortunately, halfway competent didn’t cut it. You wanted your best people on something like this. Looking at Freeman, Winter wasn’t convinced. He’d met enough politicians over the years to know one when he saw one. He nodded to the table where the curious guy was sitting.

  ‘There’s your killer.’

  Freeman didn’t look over. He just stared at Winter and said nothing.

  ‘He’s a white male,’ Winter went on. ‘Which puts him in the right racial demographic. He’s in the right age group, and the right sort of build. And he just so happens to have turned up here after I was on TV. I say we get the handcuffs out and arrest him. What do you think?’

  ‘I think we should all sit down so we can discuss this in a civilised manner.’

  ‘Yes, we should,’ Anderton said.

  Nobody moved. It was like a Mexican stand-off, albeit without the guns and the inherent sense of danger. Winter sat down first. Then Freeman. Anderton gave it a couple of seconds then joined them.

  ‘You’re using Winter as bait,’ she said.

  ‘No, he’s using himself as bait. Isn’t that right?’

  The question was aimed in Winter’s direction. Winter kept his mouth shut.

  ‘The purpose of the interview was to draw the killer out,’ Freeman went on. ‘You’re looking for him to contact you.’

  ‘Me or you guys, it doesn’t matter who. If we can establish a direct line of communication then that would be massive step forward. Even one letter or email would give us a wealth of new information to work with.’

  ‘Let us be clear about something, there is no “us”.’

  Winter smiled. ‘My mistake. By “us” I meant “me”.’

  Freeman didn’t return the smile. His mouth and eyes were tight, his expression severe. ‘Okay, I’ll admit it. On the off chance that the killer might contact you, I made the decision to have you followed.’

  Anderton said, ‘And at what point were you planning on informing us about this?’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘And that doesn’t cause you any sort of crisis of conscience? You’re using a member of the public to lure out a serial killer who’s already brutally murdered three people.’

  ‘A member of the public who also happens to have been trained as an FBI agent. Not only that, he’s an expert on serial killers. Let’s not forget that.’ Freeman shrugged. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. What would you have done?’

  ‘I would have at least had the decency to inform him that that’s what I was doing.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t. And the reason you wouldn’t is the same as mine. This sort of trap works better if the bait doesn’t know they’re being watched. They’re less likely to give the game away. You know that as well as I do, Laura.’

  ‘It’s not ethical, Peter.’

  Freeman raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you really want to get into an ethics debate?’

  ‘You should have told us what you were doing.’

  ‘Like the way you told me that you were bringing in an expert on serial killers.’

  ‘That’s not the same. Not even close.’

  ‘Isn’t it? You’ve never been much of a team player, Laura. All that matters is that you get your man, isn’t that right? My guess is that you’ve got this fantasy where you catch the killer and end up looking like a hero.’

  ‘All I care about is that he’s brought to justice. I don’t care who makes the actual arrest.’

  ‘That’s very noble of you. It’s also bullshit.’

  Anderton said nothing.

  ‘The thing is, I do care. The department needs a win. Bringing this killer down would be a major victory for us.’

  Winter cleared his throat. Both Anderton and Freeman turned to look at him. ‘It’s like watching a brother
and sister going at each other. All you do is bicker and fight, but deep down you love each other really.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Okay, I think we’re all agreed that the important thing is stopping this guy from blowing people up. Yes?’

  There were reluctant nods from both Anderton and Freeman.

  ‘Well, the best way to achieve that is if we work together.’

  ‘You’re talking about sharing information?’ Freeman said.

  ‘That’s correct. It’s like they say, two heads are better than one. Although in this case, you’ve got the heads of the whole of the Vancouver PD’s homicide division, while we’ve got just mine and Anderton’s. Group them all together and that’s a hell of a lot more than two heads, though. If we put our minds to it we could move mountains.’

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘As a heart attack. There will be things we discover that you miss and vice versa. You claim you want to catch this guy. I’d argue that the best way to achieve this is by pooling our resources.’

  Freeman considered this. ‘Okay. But there are limits to how far we can go. Due to the nature of the investigation, there will obviously be some information I can’t share.’

  ‘I understand. We’ll be happy to take whatever we can get.’

  ‘And I’m not so naive as to believe that you’ll share everything you’ve got.’

  ‘Of course you’re not. And I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by suggesting otherwise. What I can promise is that we will pass on whatever we can. One more thing. I need you to call off your watcher. I spotted him, which means that the killer would have spotted him as well.’

  ‘But you’re a member of the public. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.’

  Anderton laughed. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Okay, I won’t have you tailed. But you’ve got to promise me that if you get even a sniff of this guy you contact me.’

  Winter crossed his heart. ‘Hope to die,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

  ‘It won’t. This guy prefers a hands-off approach, which means he won’t want to get too close. The only place he might make a move on me is at my hotel. And before you say anything, I don’t need anyone watching my hotel. I can handle him if he comes for me there.’

  Freeman didn’t look convinced.

  ‘So, is there anything you’d like to share?’ Winter asked.

  ‘Not at the moment. What about you?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  Freeman stood up and straightened his jacket. ‘Laura’s got my cell number, should you need to contact me.’

  He started walking toward the door. The curious guy joined him at the entrance and they went out together. Winter watched the door close, then turned to Anderton.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘What I think is that I need a drink.’

  ‘I know somewhere we can go. It’s not far.’

  ‘What’s wrong with this place?’

  Winter looked at the big screen and the tired-looking sports memorabilia and the miserable barman, and saw the bar for the depressing dive that it was. He got up and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

  ‘Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.’

  15

  The Shangri La was one of the most exclusive hotels in Vancouver, which also made it one of the most expensive. Winter felt no guilt about staying here. Sobek could afford to pay for an airplane he never flew, cars that he never drove, and a luxury house that he didn’t live in. He was throwing money away hand over fist. On that basis Winter was more than happy to have some thrown in his direction.

  Anderton was walking around the suite, picking things up, putting them down, exercising her right to be curious. She had a tumbler of vodka and Coke in her hand. Winter was drinking a twenty-one-year-old Springbank, courtesy of Sobek. Last time he checked, this was retailing for four hundred bucks a bottle. And that was the second reason he’d wanted to get out of Frankie’s. Blended whisky was fine as a means of getting alcohol into your bloodstream, but a single malt was an experience. Mozart’s ‘Jupiter’ Symphony was playing quietly in the background, the music providing a pleasant counterpoint to the buzz he was getting from the Springbank.

  Anderton stopped by a large map of Vancouver that was fixed to one wall. There were six photographs next to the map, three a side. Isabella Sobek. Alicia Kirchner. Lian Hammond. The pictures on the left had been taken during happier days. There were smiles and laughter and no indication that they were living on borrowed time. The pictures on the right had been taken at the crime scenes and showed their brutalised bodies. The three murder sites were marked on the map with red crosses. Anderton picked up a Sharpie and drew a red circle that enclosed them. The circle more or less matched the one that Winter had already drawn in his mind.

  ‘This is his hunting ground,’ she said. ‘He’s operating inside his comfort zone.’

  ‘It’s also where he lives,’ Winter added. ‘More than any other place that comfort comes from the place you call home.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how many people live in that area?’

  Winter shook his head.

  ‘Almost a hundred thousand.’

  ‘So we go door to door.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how many houses are in that area?’

  ‘I didn’t say it would be easy.’

  Anderton walked over to the window and looked out. It was almost nine and the sun had more or less disappeared. The horizon was glowing orange, the city lights coming on.

  ‘You know, this suite’s bigger than my whole apartment,’ she said.

  Winter laughed. ‘Stop exaggerating.’

  ‘I wish I was. My place has two bedrooms, although one of them is more like a closet, and the living room is the size of your bathroom. I bought it twenty-eight years ago, before I was married. Back then it was all I could afford. I could buy a bigger place now, but what’s the point? Mine does everything I need it to. It’s got somewhere for sleeping, somewhere for working, and somewhere I can fix meals. I guess I’ve never been much of a homebody.’

  ‘Me, either. I tried it once but it never really took. I had a house in Virginia when I was working at Quantico. Correction, I’ve still got a house in Virginia.’

  ‘But you don’t live there?’

  ‘I haven’t been back in years. I should sell it. I don’t know why I haven’t.’

  ‘Sobek’s got a house that he doesn’t really live in, too.’

  ‘Yes, but at least my kitchen doesn’t look like Beirut on a bad day. And why the comparison?’

  ‘Just thinking about good psychopaths again. So how high do you score on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist?’

  Winter smiled and said nothing.

  ‘Higher or lower than Sobek?’

  ‘What is this? The Guantanamo Bay admission test?’

  ‘No, Winter, it’s a conversation. So, have you ever been married?’

  ‘You’re kidding, right? Seriously, who’d have me?’

  Anderton looked him up and down. ‘A shave and a haircut, and some new clothes, and you’d look almost presentable. We might have to smooth off some of your sharper edges, though. For a start, we’d need to do something about your pedantic streak. That could get annoying real fast.’ Anderton laughed briefly, then turned serious. ‘Freeman doesn’t play nice. He’ll smile to your face, then stab you in the back. He’s not going to give up information easily.’

  ‘I don’t expect him to, but every little helps, right? What’s important is that we’ve opened up a line of communication with the one person who theoretically knows everything about the investigation. We’re talking the mother lode. And, anyway, he’s not our only potential source of information within the department, is he?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘No need to get so defensive. It’s just a question. It’s what people do when they’re having a conversation.�
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  Anderton stared and said nothing.

  ‘Up until you were pushed out, you were the Vancouver PD’s lead investigator. You clearly made some enemies, otherwise Freeman wouldn’t be doing your job. But I’m betting you made plenty of friends, too. Friends you still keep in contact with. Friends you chat about the weather with, and last night’s game, and, I don’t know, any relevant developments in the investigation, perhaps.’

  More staring. More silence. Anderton took a sip of her drink then walked over to the sofa and sat down. Winter sat in the armchair. For a while they said nothing, the music washing over them. This was the last symphony Mozart composed, and it was arguably his finest. It contained so many emotions. Hope, despair and everything in between. It was the human condition set to music. Each new hearing was a unique experience.

  ‘I’d never have taken you for a classical music fan,’ Anderton said. ‘Rock music, yes, but not classical.’

  ‘My mom was a piano teacher. Mozart was her favourite composer. When she was pregnant she used to put headphones on her bump so she could play his music to me.’

  Anderton laughed. ‘People actually do that?’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’

  ‘You said that your mom was a piano teacher. She’s not retired, is she?’

  Winter shook his head. ‘No, she died.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why? It’s not your fault.’

  ‘No, it’s not, but that’s what people say in these situations. So, did your mom teach you to play?’

  The question sparked a memory, a good one from the days before their lives were ripped apart. Winter was sat at the piano in the practice room, his mom squashed up against him on the stool, their hips pushed hard together. His mom would play a phrase and he would play it back in a higher octave. Part of the game was that his eyes were closed. Whenever he peeked she’d tell him off. ‘You don’t need your eyes, Jefferson. Learn to listen. Feel the notes.’ She’d be smiling as she said it, though. There was always a lot of laughter during those lessons. In her later years she never laughed. Albert Winter did plenty of unforgiveable things, but stealing his wife’s laughter was right up near the top of the list. There were times like now when Mozart reminded Winter of his mom. The despair, the hope and everything in between.