The Quiet Man

by James Carol

  ‘Those sound like rhetorical questions.’

  Winter smiled. ‘What happens is that the doubts start to creep in. And where there’s doubt, there are mistakes. We’d like to believe that serial killers are caught as a result of our brilliant detective work, but that’s another lie, one we tell ourselves because our egos need to be fed. The truth is that most serial killers are caught because they make mistakes.’

  Freeman didn’t say anything for a moment. He was staring at the evidence boards, eyes moving slowly from left to right, taking in the desolation. Winter’s gaze tracked the same arc. They lingered when they reached the last board.

  ‘You need to start thinking proactively rather than reactively,’ Winter said. ‘If you don’t, then next year you’ll be adding another board, and the year after that you’ll be adding another, and so on until they circle the room. Serial killers don’t just quit. They keep going until they’re forced to stop, either because they get caught or they die. This guy is in his thirties, which means he’s got plenty of years ahead of him.’

  ‘Okay, I can see the upside. What’s the downside?’

  The question wasn’t a complete surprise. It was a politician’s question, and Freeman was a politician first and a cop second. He wasn’t going to stop until he was sitting in the big chair.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ Winter said.

  ‘There’s always a downside. What happens if the media discovers that we’ve been using them?’

  ‘They’ll get over it. It might take time, but they’ll forgive you in the end.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live with them.’

  ‘Look, I can’t force you to do this. This is your call. That said, if you’d brought me in to consult on the case, this is what I’d be advising you to do. Strongly advising. Opportunities like this don’t present themselves very often, so when they do, you grab them with both hands. You’d be crazy not to.’ Winter gave it a moment to make sure he had Freeman’s complete and undivided attention. ‘I’ve seen strategies like this one work. It’s a good plan.’

  Freeman was staring at the boards again, weighing the pros and cons. He breathed out a long sigh. Decision made.

  ‘Adams,’ he called out.

  A detective at one of the nearby desks looked over. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Get hold of Geneva Tarantini. Tell her it’s urgent.’

  27

  Twenty minutes later Winter and Anderton were sitting in a booth at the Lollipop Diner. Even though it was the tail end of the lunchtime rush the place was still busy. Ninety per cent of the clientele were cops. Anderton had used the five-minute walk from headquarters to call Sobek and give him another update.

  The diner was decorated like it was the 1950s. White was the dominant colour, pastel pinks and blues providing some contrast. A Betty Boop mural had been painted on one wall, and a giant plastic ice cream and hot dog had been fixed to another. The juke box was just for show, but the music was authentically fifties. Jerry Lee Lewis had been playing when they arrived. Little Richard was playing now. Great tunes from the early days of rock ’n’ roll.

  A waitress came over and took their order. There was a pad in the pocket of her apron and a pencil wedged into her ponytail. She gave the impression that she was counting the minutes until her shift ended. They both ordered burgers. Winter had coffee, Anderton a Coke. The waitress took their menus and hustled back over to the counter. Anderton was staring across the table.

  ‘What?’ Winter asked.

  ‘Hypothetically speaking, what would have happened if Freeman hadn’t agreed to your idea?’

  ‘Then I would have stolen the photographs, used my laptop to create a composite and leaked it to the media. Hypothetically speaking, of course.’

  Anderton laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s what I figured.’

  The waitress returned with their drinks, then hustled away again. Winter tipped some sugar into his coffee and took a sip. It was nowhere near as good as Barnfield’s, but it contained caffeine and right now that’s all he cared about. Those 6 a.m. starts were a killer. He glanced toward the grill, wondering if their burgers were cooking yet.

  ‘So, where are we at?’ he asked.

  ‘Where we’re at is that we now have three murders that make some kind of sense, and one that doesn’t. Which means we’re considerably further forward than we were yesterday. Keep going at this rate and we’ll have this whole thing wrapped up by the end of the afternoon and we can all go home.’

  ‘I admire your optimism.’

  ‘There are no problems,’ she said in a mock-serious Buddha voice. ‘Only challenges and solutions.’

  That was worth a smile. ‘So the challenge here is understanding the reasons behind the latest murder. That’s the anomaly.’ Winter thought this over for a second. ‘We’ve ruled out the idea that this is a copycat, right?’

  Anderton nodded. ‘The lab has confirmed that the detonator was once again made from a Christmas-tree bulb. We’ve always held that detail back from the press so we could sift out the crazies.’

  There was that we again. Once a cop. ‘And we’ve established workable theories for the killer moving the action to the bedroom, and for him striking in the morning instead of the evening.’

  ‘Yes to the first part,’ Anderton said. ‘Maybe to the second. You theorised that Myra had to arrive home before Cody because the killer needed time to set things up. But what if that wasn’t the only reason? This year the murders have had more publicity than ever. If the killer is doing this for attention, then it’s working. However, the downside of all that attention is that it increases the level of expectation, which in turn increases the risk. In other words he’s become a victim of his own success. If I was married, I’d be on full alert. I’d be giving strangers a wide berth, and there’s no way I’d answer the door without having the security chain in place. And I can guarantee that I wouldn’t be alone there.’

  ‘It might also go some way to explaining why he’s moved from targeting married couples to targeting a mother and son.’

  ‘It might. Myra Hooper probably thought she was safe. Why shouldn’t she have? Up until now the killer has gone after married couples.’

  Winter thought this over for a second. It was a good theory, one that led to even more theories. ‘Okay, here’s another idea. What if this is a bluff? What if Myra and Cody are a diversion? What if it’s actually business as usual?’

  ‘You think he’s going to strike again this evening?’

  ‘It’s possible. He left that footprint near the Hooper house. You said yourself that nothing like that had happened at the other crime scenes. If his plan is to strike twice then he’s going to be spreading himself thin, which would explain that mistake. Carrying out surveillance on two victims means twice the work. There’s nothing so far to suggest that he’s got a partner, so that means he’s having to do it all by himself.’

  ‘So he starts cutting corners.’ Anderton nodded to herself and found her cell. ‘I’m calling Freeman. He needs to get that photo composite out to the media sooner rather than later. If you’re right then the killer is feeling the pressure. Which means that we need to pile on more.’

  While Anderton made the call, Winter glanced over at the grill again. The cook was constructing two burgers. He probably built a thousand every shift, so there was no guarantee that these were destined for their table. Chuck Berry’s ‘Johnny B. Goode’ was currently playing. When Winter closed his eyes, he could see himself behind the wheel of a big old Cadillac, cruising across town to Lover’s Lane, his best girl in the passenger seat beside him.

  ‘Freeman’s going to get things moving along.’

  Anderton’s voice broke into the fantasy, pulling Winter back into a world where he was chasing down a killer who got his kicks from taping bombs to his victims’ chests. Life in the fifties had never seemed so appealing, or so far away.

  ‘Has he got the composite yet?’ Winter asked.

  ‘Not yet. It shoul
dn’t be much longer, though. He said he’d send it through as soon as he gets it.’

  ‘And you believe that.’

  Anderton snorted a laugh. ‘No. Which is why I’ll keep hassling him until he does send it.’

  The waitress appeared with their food. Up close, it smelled even better than it had when it was cooking on the grill. Winter picked up his burger and took a bite. It seemed like forever since he had last eaten. Anderton went to say something and he showed her the hand. He took another bite, then put the burger down on his plate.

  ‘You’re hungry then?’ Anderton said.

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

  Before she could say anything else the diner door opened and a man entered. He stood in the doorway for a second, head moving from side to side, looking for someone. He noticed Anderton a split second after she noticed him. They shared a smile and he came over. There was an empty space next to Winter, and an equally empty one next to Anderton. His head did a quick side-to-side, then he sat down next to Winter.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Dr Death,’ Anderton said.

  ‘The name’s Datt,’ he said. ‘Jack Datt. Laura really needs to work on her stand-up routine.’

  ‘Jefferson Winter. It’s good to meet you.’

  Datt twisted around and they shook hands. His skin was soft and newly scrubbed. His fingernails were clipped and clean. At a distance he could have been in his mid-forties. Up close, you could add ten years onto that estimate. He was a handsome guy who was wearing well. The years had clearly been low-mileage ones. Unlike Winter, Datt dyed his hair.

  ‘Datt’s the city’s chief medical examiner,’ Anderton said. ‘He carried out the autopsies on the first three victims.’

  ‘Working on anything in particular at the moment?’ Winter asked.

  Datt smiled. ‘It’s been a busy morning.’

  ‘And I suppose you just happened to be passing by?’

  The smile widened. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘My guess is that you’ve already carried out the autopsy on Myra Hooper.’

  ‘You guess right.’

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘We try to be efficient. The fact that the murders happen on the same day each year helps. We don’t normally get advanced warning. I was able to schedule things accordingly.’

  ‘So what’s the lowdown?’ Anderton asked.

  Datt laughed and turned to Winter. ‘What’s the lowdown? Don’t you just love it when she talks like a cop?’ The laugh stopped as quickly as it had started. His face turned serious. ‘The cause of death was massive internal trauma caused by the explosion. The same as the three previous victims. This time one of the venae cavae was ruptured. Free histamine levels indicate that she was fully conscious when the explosion happened. Again, it was the same story with the other three victims.’

  ‘Was there anything different this time?’

  Datt shook his head.

  ‘So, no signs that Myra struggled or fought back.’

  Another shake of the head. ‘There were no defensive wounds. Which is consistent with the other three victims.’

  Anderton turned to Winter. ‘It also supports your theory that the killer was using Cody to coerce Myra.’

  ‘“Do what I say or the boy dies,”’ Winter said.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Anderton turned back to Datt. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Freeman yet?’ Anderton asked.

  ‘Not yet. I was just on my way to meet him.’ Datt stood up. ‘Look, I should get going.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack. I really appreciate you doing this.’

  ‘Any time.’

  Datt did a quick round of handshakes then walked away. He glanced back at the door, eyes searching for Anderton, then he was gone. Winter waited until the door closed before speaking.

  ‘There’s nothing Datt told us that couldn’t have been said just as efficiently over the phone.’

  ‘Your point?’

  ‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’

  ‘No, you weren’t just saying. You were inferring. There’s a difference.’

  ‘I think he likes you.’

  ‘I know he likes me. The problem is that he’s married.’

  ‘Happily?’

  ‘Happily enough. I’ve met his wife a couple of times. She’s really nice.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Damn indeed.’

  Winter took another bite of his burger, drank some coffee, ate some fries. Anderton checked her cell to see if the photo composite had come through. It hadn’t. She tried Freeman’s phone but couldn’t get an answer. Either he was busy or he was ducking her calls. The latter was more likely. Freeman would want to exercise his right to be the alpha in the relationship. She tapped her cell on the tabletop. Once, twice, three times. Plastic connected with plastic to make a sound that was as annoying as a dripping faucet.

  ‘I’d really like to see that photograph,’ she said. ‘Would you say that I’ve given Freeman ample opportunity to send it through?’

  ‘Probably not. However, I’m sensing that you’re not after the truthful answer here, so I’m going to say yes.’

  Anderton started swiping and jabbing at the screen of her cell phone.

  ‘Who are you calling?’

  ‘Geneva Tarantini.’

  ‘Will she give the picture to you?’

  ‘Of course she will. She got promoted last year. Guess who recommended her?’

  Winter laughed. ‘This was your plan all along. That’s why you suggested her.’

  ‘No, I suggested her because she’s the best person for the job. The fact that she’ll give us a copy of the picture is purely coincidental.’ Anderton jabbed at her phone one last time then brought it up to her ear.

  28

  Anderton’s cell beeped twice as they were driving through Renfrew. She checked to see who it was, one eye on the screen, one eye on the road. Her sudden smile indicated good news.

  ‘Geneva Tarantini?’ Winter asked.

  ‘She’s sent through an attachment containing the composite.’ She tossed the phone over. ‘Open it.’

  It only took ten seconds to download the attachment. Tarantini had done a good job. There were glimpses of all three husbands, but look again and it was like seeing a completely different person. Did the killer look anything like this? Not that it mattered if he didn’t. Photo composites were a vague approximation of a vague witness’s vaguest memory. Most of them looked nothing like the person they were supposed to look like. Then there was the fact that the purpose of this one had nothing to do with identification and everything to do with unsettling the killer.

  Anderton turned into King Street and pulled up at the kerb. She killed the engine and held out her hand. Winter handed her the phone and she spent almost a full minute studying the composite. He could sense her excitement. It would be so easy for her to convince herself that she was looking at an actual picture of the killer. She had been chasing this guy for the past three years and at last she’d caught his scent. There was still a long way to go, but there was a sense that things were finally moving in the right direction. Winter could feel it. He was sure that Anderton could, too.

  Scott Hooper’s apartment block was ten yards further on along the sidewalk. It had been constructed in the fifties or sixties from concrete, steel and glass. The neighbourhood was a determinedly middle-income one. The vehicles parked on the street were relatively new and the buildings were all in a good state of repair. They walked over to the entrance foyer side by side and took the stairs to the second floor. Hooper’s apartment was the first one they came to. Anderton knocked and stepped back. Winter heard a door opening somewhere inside. He could hear footsteps coming closer. The door swung open.

  It took one second for recognition to kick in, and another second for Hooper to react. His hand curled into a fist and he took a step forward. Before Winter could work out what
was going on, Hooper punched him in the face. The pain was immediate and all consuming. His left cheekbone felt as though it had been shattered and his sinuses were on fire. He couldn’t see for shit because his eyes were watering so much.

  Hooper brought his hand back to punch again, and Winter brought his arm up to block the blow, already knowing it was too late. Some people were built for combat. He wasn’t one of them. His brain worked fast enough to process what was happening, but his reactions let him down every time. He shut his eyes and braced himself, waiting for a whole world of pain to come crashing down. This was the punch that would have him down on the canvas, the one that would put him out for the count.

  It didn’t happen.

  Winter was suddenly aware of a whole flurry of movement going on around him. He opened his eyes. Anderton had a hold of Hooper. His arms were behind his back and his face was pressed hard up against a wall.

  ‘Get off of me!’ he yelled.

  ‘Mr Hooper, I need you to calm down.’

  Anderton was talking calmly, like this sort of thing happened all the time. Winter was betting it had been a while since she’d pulled a move like this. Even so, she still had it. Some things you never forgot. A noise from the hallway caught his attention. A scared face was buried in the shadows on the other side of the doorway, eyes shining in the gloom.

  ‘It’s okay, Cody,’ Winter called out. ‘There’s just been a small misunderstanding here. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Stay away from my son,’ Hooper hissed. ‘Do you hear me? Keep away. You’ve done enough damage.’

  Anderton pulled on his arm and he let out a yelp.

  ‘Hey, you’re hurting me.’

  ‘Mr Hooper, you need to calm down. If you can do that, I’ll let go.’

  ‘But he said that Myra would live.’

  All the fight suddenly went out of him. His body went slack as his muscles lost tension and strength. One second he was ready to take on the world, the next he was beat. Anderton held on for a second longer, then let go and stepped back. Hooper sagged against the wall. There were tears in his eyes. Cody came up behind his father and grabbed hold of his arm. In that moment he looked much younger than ten. Winter rubbed at the spot on his cheek where he’d been punched. It was swollen and tender and hurt like hell. There would be a bruise there for sure, but at least nothing seemed broken.