Prey (Jefferson Winter)

by James Carol

  ‘On the basis of this Lieutenant Jones thinks we should give you the benefit of the doubt.’ Her voice was flat and lifeless, her face tense.

  ‘And you clearly disagree with his decision. So, what? You’d rather I was a murderer? Then again that wouldn’t reflect well on you, would it? It would mean you missed that one the whole way through the Ryan McCarthy case.’ He smiled. ‘You’re not going to Vegas, are you?’

  Mendoza glared at him. ‘The good news is my forced leave has been cancelled. The bad news is that until we have this woman in custody, I’ve been ordered to assist you in apprehending her.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘No it’s not. There’s nothing good about this situation whatsoever.’

  ‘You get to go to Hartwood.’

  ‘I’d rather go to the dentist.’

  ‘And just so we’re clear here, that’s a joke, right? You don’t really want to go to the dentist. I mean, nobody in their right mind wants to go to the dentist.’

  Mendoza shot him a dirty look. ‘Okay, you need to tell me what happened again, from beginning to end. And I want the full story. Everything. Don’t leave anything out. Got it? Not a single goddamn thing.’

  7

  Winter went through the whole thing again, only this time Mendoza broke up his narrative with questions. Poking, prodding, clarifying. As far as he could tell she didn’t get anything new. Omar’s murder was seared into his memory and he’d covered everything in full the first time around.

  ‘You seem pretty convinced that this woman murdered the Reeds,’ she said when he’d finished.

  ‘I am. What she did to Omar proves that she’s capable of killing. And why leave that newspaper behind? She was pointing us in the direction of the Reed murders for a reason. It’s the only reason I can see.’

  ‘Makes sense to me. Okay, so let me make sure I’ve got this straight. This woman was here when you arrived, she came over to your table, spoke to you, stabbed the cook, then left. And the attack was completely unprovoked.’

  Winter nodded. ‘She accused me of not taking her seriously, but, yeah, I’d say that the attack was unprovoked.’

  ‘And you’ve never seen her before?’

  Winter shook his head. ‘Nope.’

  ‘And she used your first name?’

  A nod.

  Mendoza frowned. ‘So she was waiting specifically for you. Which means she’s been tailing you and you didn’t notice. Which means you’re losing your touch.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with me losing my touch and everything to do with her being the real deal.’

  ‘The real deal?’

  ‘We’re agreed that most criminals are idiots, right? After all, that’s how they get caught. Every now and again, though, you come across one who’s smart, one who plans everything down to the last detail. These are the ones who love what they do, and want to keep on doing it. That’s what we’re dealing with here.’

  Mendoza laughed and shook her head. ‘Of course you’re going to say that. I mean, what’s the alternative? That you were outsmarted by an idiot?’

  Winter ignored the dig and shut his eyes. She was trying to push his buttons and that really wasn’t helping. He went through everything in his head again, trying to see how it all fitted together. The camera added a new dimension. He opened his eyes.

  ‘Go back and check the camera footage. You’ll see that she followed me to the diner on Monday night, and Tuesday. She would have visited a third time as well, possibly during the day, to scope the place out. Because I’d been there two nights running she assumed that I’d go there again tonight and timed it so she arrived before I got there. We’re looking for someone who’s around five-nine, but if she’s wearing heels she’ll appear taller. Chances are she won’t have blonde hair during her earlier visits, and I doubt she’ll be dressed in jeans and leather. The hair was fake. Eye colour, too.’

  Mendoza considered all this for a second. ‘I’ll get someone to look into it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother. It’s a waste of time.’

  ‘But it was your idea.’

  Winter shrugged. ‘And now that I’ve had time to think it through properly I’m telling you it’s a waste of time. All you’ll do is prove that she’s methodical, and that’s something I’m prepared to take at face value. It’s a tangent we could do without. We need to focus on the road ahead, not the one that’s disappearing in the rear-view mirror. She’s given us Hartwood and the Reeds, and she’s done that for a reason. I want to know what that reason is.’

  They fell silent and Winter glanced over at his reflection in the one-way mirror. In his mind’s eye he saw the woman cross the street and disappear around the corner. He heard a ghostly echo of Elvis singing ‘Suspicious Minds’.

  ‘Where do you stand on the nature versus nurture debate?’ he asked.

  ‘I think both arguments are valid. Some people are born bad, some are made bad.’

  ‘I’d agree with that. And in my opinion this one was born bad.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Because I looked into her eyes and saw myself reflected back. The thought flitted through his head but didn’t reach his lips. Instead, he said, ‘Do this as much as I have and you get a feel for what flavour of crazy you’re dealing with. This woman’s a psychopath. Omar’s murder was all about control and manipulation. She’s toying with me. Basically, she’s saying that she owns the board.’

  ‘Okay, I can buy that. So, the next question has got to be why. Why is she’s doing this? From what you’ve told me, we’re clearly dealing with an organised offender, right?’

  Winter nodded. Broadly speaking, serial killers fell into two categories, organised and disorganised. Dr Harold Shipman was one of the most prolific murderers in recorded history, and a perfect example of an organised killer. He was intelligent, ruthless and manipulative. He’d been active in the UK for more than two decades, and during that time it was estimated that he killed more than two hundred and fifty of his patients. Disorganised killers were a lot more chaotic in their approach. As a result they tended to have smaller body counts and were usually caught more quickly.

  ‘So why target you?’ Mendoza asked again.

  Winter shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Okay, assuming that she was following you, surely you would have noticed. You would have seen something, in your peripheral vision perhaps, or picked up that something wasn’t quite right. Even if she was using a disguise, you’re too switched on for that not to have happened.’

  He met her gaze. ‘Was that a compliment?’

  ‘No, I’m just stating a fact.’

  ‘The reason I didn’t notice was because I had no reason to.’

  ‘Explain.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I found the diner by accident a couple of nights ago. Because the food was good I came back again last night. Ditto for tonight. Three nights in a row establishes a pattern. Now, counter-surveillance 101 dictates that you mix up your schedule. If you’re going somewhere on a daily basis, you never go the same way two days running. And you never eat at the same diner two days in a row, never mind three days.’

  Winter and Mendoza locked eyes for longer this time. She nodded for him to go on.

  ‘But the Ryan McCarthy case wasn’t the sort of case where I was going to be targeted, and I’m not in the habit of employing counter-surveillance techniques just in case. That road leads to paranoia and lunacy. If needs be, I’ll up my level of vigilance, but there has to be a credible threat. Ryan was a shy boy. He had his fun in the dark and the shadows. There’s no way he’d be brave enough to go after the people hunting him.’

  Mendoza studied him. ‘It’s okay to admit that you screwed up, you know.’

  Before Winter could respond, there was a knock on the door and Hitchin came in. He was flushed and breathing fast, and he was carrying a small notepad. If anything, his suit looked even more crumpled than it had done earlier. His face was just
as forgettable, though.

  ‘You wanted to know as soon as I heard back from the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office.’

  ‘What have you got?’ Mendoza asked.

  ‘Okay, I can confirm that Lester and Melanie Reed were the victims of a double homicide that took place six years ago in Hartwood, a small town upstate, twenty miles from Rochester. I can also confirm that as far as the sheriff’s department is concerned, the case is closed. The murders were carried out by a local kid.’

  ‘So they’re not looking for anyone?’

  Hitchin shook his head.

  ‘And you’re sure about this?’

  Hitchin laughed. ‘As sure as I can be given that it’s the middle of the night and I’m talking with someone who lives out there in the middle of nowhere.’

  Mendoza turned to Winter. ‘Bang goes your theory that your mystery woman killed the Reeds.’

  Winter frowned. ‘So why draw our attention to the murders? What’s that all about?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe she’s just screwing with you.’ Mendoza turned back to Hitchin. ‘Have you got a name for this kid?’

  The detective flipped his pad open. ‘Yeah. Nelson Price.’

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing other than he was twenty-one when the murders took place. That’s another downside with it being the middle of the night. I’m talking to people who are accessing computer records rather than people who were actually involved in the investigation.’

  ‘Any idea where Nelson’s being held?’

  Another shake of the head. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t able to get that information.’

  ‘Who was the lead investigator?’

  Hitchin consulted his notepad again. ‘The person I spoke with said it was most likely someone called Jeremiah Lowe. He was the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department’s number one go-to guy in homicide at the time. Unfortunately it doesn’t really help since he’s dead. There is some good news, though. Hartwood’s Police Department was first on the scene, and the same chief of police is still there. Some guy by the name of Birch. I tried their number, but got diverted to the answering machine. No real surprise there. Hartwood’s tiny. They probably operate on office hours.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Another shake of the head. ‘That’s it for now.’

  ‘I need you to get someone to take another look at the camera footage. We think that Winter was under surveillance.’ She smiled across the table at Winter. ‘Roughly what time were you there on Monday and Tuesday night?’

  ‘Around two.’

  ‘On both nights?’

  ‘On both nights.’

  She turned back to Hitchin. ‘She might be in disguise, so bear that in mind. Also, get someone to check the daytime footage for Tuesday and Wednesday as well.’

  ‘Will do. Anything else?’

  ‘No, that’s all for now.’

  Hitchin left, closing the door gently behind him.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Winter.

  ‘Okay, here’s how this works: you butt out and let me do my thing, and I’ll do my best to butt out and let you do yours. Understand?’

  He answered with a smile.

  ‘I’m serious.’

  Winter waited for her to continue, but she was done for now. He gave it another couple of seconds to be sure, then closed his eyes and pictured himself back in the diner again. He replayed the conversation with the woman, looking for something he might have missed and coming up with nothing. He could hear the tone of her voice, the pitch, the slight whispering tail-off at the end of her sentences. He could see those bright green eyes studying him from the other side of the table. What he couldn’t see was what the hell she was playing at. He opened his eyes and saw Mendoza watching him across the table.

  ‘What’s going on here, Winter?’

  ‘I was just asking myself much the same thing.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I’m pretty sure that we’re not going to get answers sitting around here. I vote we head on up to Hartwood. If we leave now we’ll miss the morning rush.’

  Mendoza was staring at him like he’d just suggested two weeks in Vegas.

  ‘It’s only upstate New York,’ he added. ‘It’s not like you need shots and a passport. If we leave now, I reckon we’d get there by ten, maybe half-nine if we really push it.’

  ‘Jesus, you’re serious about this. You heard Hitchin. Nelson Price did it. Hauling our asses up there will not change that fact. Believe me, I’ve got better things to do with my time than this. Read my lips: I am not going to Hartwood.’

  ‘Is this the point where I have to remind you that Lieutenant Jones has ordered you to assist me?’ Winter smiled. ‘You want to know what would help me out here? What would help me out is for you to get your hands on a really fast car.’

  8

  Mendoza kept her foot down all the way and they made the distance in just over five hours. She’d called in a favour with a buddy in narcotics and got hold of a BMW M3 that had been confiscated in a drug bust. The car had been pimped accordingly. Darkened windows, leather upholstery, metallic white paintwork, and a sound system that turned the car into a nightclub. They’d been pulled over twice. The first time as they’d skirted past Binghamton, and then fifteen miles south of Syracuse. On both occasions Mendoza had shown her badge and they’d been back on the road again a couple of minutes later.

  For the last ten miles the roads had been getting narrower and more rural, the trees taller. Despite the tight turns, Mendoza was still driving fast, and that was fine with Winter. The quicker they got there, the better. He would have preferred to be behind the wheel but at least she wasn’t hanging around. The further they got from New York, the more relaxed he was feeling. The interview room was a distant memory, and there was a sense that things were finally moving in the right direction.

  They passed a signpost that read HARTWOOD: THE SMALL TOWN WITH THE BIG HEART. Up ahead, was an old wooden kissing bridge that had been painted a rustic brown. It was in pristine condition. A photo opportunity, if ever there was one.

  Mendoza glanced over from the driver’s seat. ‘If this turns out to be one of those Twilight Zone towns and I end up murdered in my sleep, I’m coming back to haunt you. Are you hearing me?’

  Winter laughed. ‘And it would be nothing less than I deserve.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a second.’

  They crossed the bridge at fifteen miles an hour, wood clattering all around them and the sound of that big engine bouncing back off the roof. The BMW rumbled out the other side and was swallowed up by the trees again.

  ‘So why did you become a cop?’

  ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘It’s just a question.’

  ‘I don’t do personal.’

  ‘Nor do I.’ Winter left the statement hanging there and waited for Mendoza to look over. ‘The reason I joined the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit was because I was trying to make sense of what my father did. The reason I left was because I’m still trying to make sense of that. Okay, your turn.’

  Mendoza didn’t say anything for a bit. She kept stealing glances at him from the driver’s seat.

  ‘My dad was a cop,’ she said eventually. ‘So was my grandfather. I guess you could say that it’s the family business.’

  ‘Is your dad still a cop?’

  Mendoza shook her head. ‘He retired ten years ago. Him and my mom moved up to New Hampshire.’

  ‘What about your mom? Was she a cop?’

  ‘No, she was a cop’s wife. She was the one who wanted to move. After thirty years she just wanted to get as far away from New York as possible.’

  ‘I’m guessing she wasn’t exactly thrilled when you decided to follow in your dad’s footsteps.’

  ‘No she wasn’t, but she wasn’t surprised either. Okay, no more questions.’

  A couple of minutes later they reached the town. As
they cruised slowly up Main Street, Winter experienced a sense of temporal dislocation, like they’d travelled back in time to the turn of the last century. There wasn’t a single chain store in sight. No McDonalds, no Walmart, no Starbucks. A red-and-white striped candy pole turned lazily outside the barber’s shop. The drugstore had a sign saying APOTHECARY, and the largest building belonged to the general store. The garage sold gas, and repaired cars, and was one of those businesses that had probably been passed down from father to son for generations. Winter started humming The Twilight Zone theme and Mendoza ignored him.

  Hartwood’s police department was located in a small one-storey concrete office building halfway along Main. Mendoza parked in an empty slot and killed the engine. The dirt-streaked Ford Crown Victoria next to them was more than ten years old and probably had two hundred thousand miles on the clock.

  ‘You think that’s the only car that the Hartwood PD own?’ Winter asked as he opened the door.

  Mendoza ignored him again.

  Winter got out and attempted to stretch away the miles, his fingertips pointing to the heavens. He shrugged his muscles loose, then put on his sheepskin jacket and zipped it all the way up to his chin to keep out the chill. The trees lining the sidewalk were alive with every shade of brown, red and orange, and the sun was burning low in the sky. It was going to be one of those beautiful fall days where you could almost trick yourself into forgetting that December was just around the corner.

  Mendoza straightened her suit and headed for the entrance, Winter tagging along a couple of steps behind. The door opened on to a single room with a long counter separating the business and the public side. Access from one to the other was gained through a yard-long bar-style flap.

  There were two desks and no sign of any ancillary offices, which indicated that the Hartwood Police Department was strictly a two-man affair. Tucked away in one corner was a small six-foot-by-six-foot holding cell. Metal bars, and a metal bedframe that had been bolted to the floor and walls. No toilet, which was probably a blessing. A large map of Monroe County was fixed to one wall, and there was a door in another wall that presumably led out back.