Undercurrents

by Ridley Pearson

  “Heading around the building. Toward the front, Billy. Over.”

  “Roger. All stations. This looks like it. Confirm four through one.”

  “Four confirm…”

  “Three confirm…”

  “Two confirm…”

  Boldt depressed his CALL button twice.

  “Roger. All stations confirmed.” Beacham hesitated, his line was left open, blocking the ever-present static. “Let’s keep it clean and simple, boys. Mobile nine and thirty-five, positions as planned. Confirm when you’re in position please. Over.”

  Moments later the two cars confirmed.

  Beacham said, “He’s at the front door. Repeat. Suspect is at the front door. Over.”

  “We’ve got it from here, Billy,” said the voice of Paul Rathe, who was stationed in one of the ground-floor apartments.

  The buzzer rang loudly. Louder than before, it seemed to Boldt.

  She faced him, a bewildered look on her face.

  Boldt nodded and pulled the kitchen door closed even further. He told her, “He’s going to try and overpower you, Bobbie. Make sure he gets his chance, but you get your hand between the ligature and your neck. You hear me? You must be ready with that move immediately.”

  She stood before him, unmoving. She hadn’t answered the buzzer. “Damn it, Lou, we’ve been over this!”

  “Answer it,” he said, annoyed by the ringing buzzer. “Quick!”

  She stepped toward the panel on the wall and depressed the button. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Barbara Gaynes?” said a completely different voice than they had heard earlier. A different person, thought Boldt.

  “Speaking…”

  “I got a flower delivery for a Barbara Gaynes, apartment 209. That you?”

  “Are you sure?” she said, repeating what she had been told. “For me?”

  “Listen, lady,” returned the voice. “I deliver until ten o’clock. You want them delivered wilted in the morning, that’s up to you. Just say the word. But say something. It’s pouring cats and dogs out here.”

  Cocky, Boldt thought. Complete change of personality. He knows she’ll bite.

  “No, no,” she said, “come on up,” and depressed the button. She released the button and looked over at Boldt. She was pale white. Her hand was shaking and she held it with the other.

  She’s too green, he worried. She’s too green for something this big. I should have thought of that. Come on, Boldt thought, don’t fall apart on me. I handpicked you for this.

  “He’s headed upstairs,” said Rathe in a faint whisper. The whispering over the line, clouded with static, sent chills through Boldt. Speak normally, he wanted to say.

  Distant footsteps as Lange bounded up the staircase.

  “Roger, I got him. This is station three, Billy,” whispered the detective in the apartment across the hall. “Right. He’s heading down the hall toward you, Lou. You got him, Jimbo?”

  “Station two, Billy. I think so. Come on, fella. Yeah, blue raincoat. That’s him. I got him. It is roses. Just pulled them out…”

  A creak on the other side of the door.

  “Zero hour, Lou. He’s all yours. We’re right behind you.”

  The knock.

  Bobbie looked to the crack in the door where Boldt was watching her from. He nodded.

  She looked to the door, back to Boldt.

  He nodded again.

  Come on! he thought. “Go!” he whispered, risking the entire operation.

  She stepped toward the door—forced herself toward the door. She stopped and took a deep breath. Boldt wondered what she felt like at that moment. He knew what he felt like and he couldn’t imagine how she felt.

  They needed to catch him in the act of attempting to get something around her neck. Assault. Attempted murder. They needed something more than him handing her a bouquet of silk flowers. Beyond that, they had him.

  She opened the door. The flowers were thrust out at her immediately. She reached out to take them. “Wait a sec—!” she started to say, as if pretending to recognize him from his earlier delivery. But Milo Lange was exceptionally fast. Wiry. He sprayed something into her face, yanked her outstretched arm, spun her around, and pushed her through the door, the flowers falling onto the floor. He kicked the door shut behind him.

  Boldt saw her face collapse and her body sag. He had hit her with some kind of powerful tranquilizer that had an instant effect. Pull out the ligature, Boldt commanded. Put the ligature around her neck. Standing there, gun in hand, Boldt began to take a step forward, but checked himself. They had him on breaking and entering now. Was it enough? He hesitated a moment longer. How many times had he pictured the killer’s ritual? How many times had he wished he could have been there to stop it. And now, here he stood waiting for it to happen.

  Lange yanked the roll of duct tape from his back pocket, released her, letting her fall ungainly to the floor, and tore a strip of tape from the roll.

  Enough!

  Boldt pushed through the door, gun aimed at Milo Lange’s head. “Police. Don’t touch her, Lange!” he shouted loudly enough to be heard through the wall, much less over the radio transmitter. Lange snapped his head up, incredulous. The door kicked open behind him and the sound of two shotguns being cocked echoed through the room.

  “Police!” the detectives shouted.

  “Give me the excuse, Lange,” Boldt said, waving the gun, wondering who was controlling his mouth and his thoughts. He had never experienced this degree of hatred. He was completely unprepared for it. He wanted to kill the man. Eager to kill.

  “Jesus loves us all,” said Milo Lange. He smiled and dropped the tape.

  50

  “Are you sure you feel up to this?” Daphne wondered. “You look awfully tired.” Her brown eyes were red and glassy, her hair pulled back.

  “I’m exhausted. But yes, I’m ready. I’ve made a list of things we discussed.”

  “You don’t need any coaching from me. You’re one of the best criminal interviewers this force has. What the rest of us spend years trying to learn, you seem to know by instinct. How about the public defender?”

  “The PD’s in there now. I’m told Lange won’t discuss Justin. I don’t buy that.”

  “His rules, Lou. You know that. He doesn’t have to talk to us at all.”

  “Then why has he agreed to?”

  “Control is a big factor here, Lou. By killing someone, he controls them. By agreeing to talk, he controls us.”

  “What crap! Should we refuse to talk until he tells us where to find Justin?”

  “My professional opinion? No. He needs to talk to us. He may change his mind in there and tell you what you want to know. Work with him. You’ve read his statement. Use it. Thank him for it. You’ve done this kind of thing more times than any of us. You don’t need me to tell you what to do.”

  Shoswitz rounded the corner at that moment, and Boldt cut her off. “How’s Bobbie?” Boldt asked.

  Shoswitz nodded. “She’ll be fine. An animal tranquilizer is all. He stole it from the vet’s. Suspended it in alcohol—damn near impossible to detect, I’m told. But she’ll be all right.”

  “Here we go,” Boldt said as he paused at the door.

  Daphne offered a smile of confidence. Shoswitz nodded.

  Lange’s dark eyes tracked Boldt as the detective sat down and faced him. Boldt turned on a tape recorder and dictated the specifics of time, place, and persons present.

  He knew the most important thing was to establish an immediate rapport with the criminal—to convince the man of his sincerity. He had done similar interviews dozens of times. Yet none was similar, he reminded himself. Right now, at this particular moment, this interview seemed the most difficult thing he had ever faced.

  He said, “You offered to speak with me. Why?”

  “I thought you would have questions.” The man’s voice was in a high register. He spoke softly and airily. “I thought you would want to know some things.�
�

  “Yes,” Boldt admitted. “I do. I’m very familiar with what you’ve done. I’ve worked on this since April. You managed to elude us for quite some time.” He swallowed and forced out, “You were very careful. Very thorough.”

  “I was. God helped me to do it.” Proud. Defiant.

  “I want you to know how much we—I—appreciate your agreeing to talk to us.” He glanced over at the PD. “This can be very beneficial to us both. I think we can both get a lot out of this.”

  “Credit where credit is due, eh? Yes, credit where credit is due. I want to help, if I can.” Lange paused, studying Boldt carefully.

  The defender, a young man in a new blazer, interjected, “We would like my client’s cooperation mentioned at the omnibus hearing, and would expect the courts to show some leniency regarding same.”

  Milo Lange said, “I want to teach you the difference between God’s work and the work of his imitators.”

  “That would be good for me,” Boldt acknowledged. “I’d certainly appreciate that. I’d also like to talk about the boy.”

  Lange shot the PD an angry look. Back to Boldt. “The boy?” he wondered.

  “Justin Levitt.”

  “The boy? I don’t know anything about any boy,” he said.

  “The young man.”

  “Oh, the young man.” Lange rolled his eyes and for a moment only the whites of his eyes showed, and Boldt felt his stomach turn.

  The PD jumped in. “My client will not field questions at this time concerning Justin Levitt.”

  “A boy’s life is at stake here!”

  “A boy?” asked Milo Lange, rolling his eyes the same way. “Bad boy,” he said in the voice of a woman. “Bad boy.” He shoved his hand into his crotch and squirmed.

  “Off-limits, Lou. Completely off-limits,” the PD demanded. “Or this ends right here.”

  “Your statement—your confession, Mr. Lange—raises several questions. I will address them in order, according to the statement. First, you stated you were instructed to ‘free’ these women—”

  “The Lord is my shepherd,” said Milo Lange. Another voice entirely from the ones he had used at Bobbie Gaynes’s apartment.

  “…and that the instructions came in the form of voices—”

  “His voice. There is only one voice. I said nothing about voice. One voice. The voice of My Lord.”

  “Are you a member of the church? A member of a local parish?”

  His thin, colorless lips formed a vague smile.

  “Do you belong to a local parish, Mr. Lange?”

  “I belong to God. I do the work of My Lord.”

  “You ‘free’ women?”

  Another one of those nods. “Yes. That’s correct.”

  “Women who were members of Market Video, the place of your employment, as is stated here.”

  “Filthy women. I do His work. I free them of the Devil.”

  “There’s no mention here of placing the women under surveillance, Mr. Lange. Watching them. Did you watch these women before ‘freeing’ them?”

  “I was to wait until they were alone. I had to be certain they were alone. He watched over me. He helped me to do it correctly. His work, you know? I do His work.”

  “So you watched them?”

  “Yes, I watched.”

  “And you determined they were home alone? How did you do this?”

  He smiled more fully. “He helped me.”

  “I need your help, Mr. Lange. I thought you would be willing to help. How did you do this?”

  “Easy,” he said. “If she comes alone and no one visits her, then she is still alone.”

  “So you did watch them?”

  He nodded.

  “And you knew they were alone.”

  He nodded again. “Credit where credit is due. It is His work. He told me when they were alone. He is never wrong.” Again his pale lips curled.

  “Did you do this on nights you were working?”

  He shrugged. “I did this when He asked me to.”

  “But some of those nights you were working, weren’t you? Could you clear that up for me?”

  “Not many deliveries after eight. You see? It used to be some evenings I would sit and wait for hours. Nothing to do. He helped me to fill my time. I do His work.” Lange asked for a cigarette. The PD looked for Boldt’s permission and the detective nodded. The PD stuck a cigarette between Lange’s lips and lit the cigarette for him. At the instant the match lit, Boldt recalled picking up the curled black paper match in the carport behind Croy’s. Lange raised his cuffed hands to his face and pulled the cigarette out.

  It made Boldt think of something. He asked, “Do you smoke grass, Milo?”

  Lange shook his head.

  “Any kind of recreational drugs?”

  Again, Lange shook his head. “Just say no,” he quoted with his strange smile.

  Boldt realized they could confirm this a number of ways, but he believed him. It meant the profile had been flawed here as well. He said, “Did He ask you to take the boy?” Boldt tried once more.

  “No way, Lou,” interjected the PD. “You don’t have to answer that, Milo,” he told the man. Lange nodded. “I’ll pull him out of here, Lou. I’m warning you.”

  “You want a dead kid on your conscience?” Boldt hissed at the man.

  A buzzer on the wall rang and Shoswitz’s voice came through the speaker. “Lou, can we talk a minute, please?”

  Boldt didn’t turn around. He raised his hand to ward off the lieutenant. They didn’t need to talk. He and Lange needed to talk. Boldt took a deep breath. He was close enough to this man to kill him with his bare hands. And he felt tempted.

  Boldt nodded again. “Where did you come from, Milo?”

  “I’m the son of a whore,” he screamed, his face distorted with rage. He had shifted personalities and Boldt had been unprepared for it. Lange’s eyes grew fiery and intense. He glanced at his attorney. “I told you I would not discuss my family! Don’t you people listen?” At Boldt he screamed, “I will not discuss my family.”

  “That’s fine with me, Milo. Whatever you want. You’re the teacher here. I’m just here to learn.” Boldt bit back his anger. If he brought up Justin again, Shoswitz would pull him from the interview and assign it to someone else. After all this, Boldt had no desire to sit on the other side of a two-way mirror and watch someone else handle his case. He settled himself down and decided to get what he could.

  “I work morning, noon, and night,” Milo Lange said to the table. “I’m tired.”

  Boldt spoke extremely softly, trying to mirror Lange’s tone of voice and even his body language—two important factors in maintaining rapport. “I worked morning, noon, and night on this case,” he said, deliberately using the killer’s words. “I’m tired too,” he added, waiting.

  “I know you did. But he confused you,” Lange said.

  “He?”

  “The other one. He confused you, I think.”

  “Other one?”

  “I told you!” he shouted. “I didn’t free them all. I read in the newspapers…” His voice trailed off and he grew distant.

  Boldt hesitated only briefly, deciding not to pursue “freeing them” yet. “Did you read the newspapers, Mr. Lange?”

  “Call me Milo,” he said perfectly normally. “Yes, the newspapers. Every day. Morning, noon, and night. I followed it all in the newspapers. What good are lessons if they teach no one? Every day,” he repeated. “Did you know I’ve read the Bible sixty-three times?” He grinned, showing his horrible teeth.

  “I read the newspaper every day also,” he added.

  Lange nodded. “We’re a lot alike, you and I.”

  Boldt nodded back at the man. His stomach winced. “Why did you free them, Milo? Can you tell me that?”

  “Certainly I can tell you. I ought to know, right?” He twisted his hands together thoughtfully. “They were dirty,” he said in a whisper. “Filthy women. Unholy. I had to teach them. It wa
s God’s will.”

  “God’s will for them to die?”

  “For them to be punished. Yes.”

  “Was there one thing that told you these particular women had to be punished?”

  “The videos. That filth. That showed me who I was after. I knew which women were impure of spirit and heart. If I was told to deliver that video to a woman, I knew. I punished them. I did it for all of us. I punished them for such thoughts. I freed them of the Devil.”

  “You raped them,” Boldt blurted out, wishing he had not.

  “I punished them. Of course I punished them. I didn’t rape them. I fucked them. I screwed them. They wanted to be fucked, didn’t they? Why else did they rent that movie? Answer me that! Yes, they wanted to be fucked. They wanted it bad. Just like the girls in Summer Knights wanted it bad. Just like that. Isn’t it so? Isn’t it so? I’m sure they did. I’m certain of it. Ha! Girls with filthy minds. They wanted to be fucked, so I fucked them. He wanted them killed, so I killed them. I do God’s work. I thought that would make sense to you.”

  “It does, Milo,” Boldt said, fighting the stinging in his eyes. “So it wasn’t to please yourself… the… fucking, I mean.”

  “Me? Please me? You don’t understand at all, do you? You think I fucked them to please me? They’re filthy whores, all of them. Dirty-minded filthy whores. What pleasure could I derive from such a person? To please me? Of course not! To teach them a lesson about the penalty for wanting something we shouldn’t want!” he explained. Again he shoved his hands between his legs and rubbed himself.

  “Earlier, you mentioned not killing them all. How many women did you kill, Mr. Lange?”

  “Kill?”

  “Free.”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight women. Is that correct?”

  He nodded.

  “For the sake of our records I would appreciate a verbal reply.”

  “Eight. That is correct.”

  “Do you remember their names?”

  “The names of angels? Who forgets the names of angels?”

  “If I may interrupt?” Boldt looked quickly over at the PD, who told his client, “You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to, Milo.”

  “You want their names? Of course I know their names.”