by James Carol
He was talking in a cold, flat voice like he was reading names from a phone book. Given what he was saying, the delivery was all wrong. The least Yoko expected was a little sparkle in his voice. She nodded for him to continue.
‘So I waited and I waited, and I waited some more. And then finally I heard the key turning in the lock. I positioned myself at the side of the door, and the second Alice stepped into the room I hit her with the stun gun. She fell back against a wall and slowly slid down it. I caught her before she hit the floor. Got to watch out for noise, right? With these shared apartment buildings, there’s no telling who might be around.’
A pause, a sip. More staring.
‘So you’ve incapacitated Alice. What happens next?’
‘Now we get on to the real fun and games. I stripped off her clothes, then bound her with duct tape. Before the effects of the stun gun wore off, I carried her to the bathroom, put her in the bath and slashed her femoral artery. This part of the process can get messy, so I’m wearing a white plastic coverall. Two minutes and fifty-three seconds later she was dead. She got the record, by a whole ten seconds.’
‘You timed it?’
Winter shrugged. ‘It’s not like I had anything better to do.’
Yoko didn’t react. He was trying to bait her. Trying and failing. If he wanted her to bite then he was going to have to do better than that.
‘For you, it’s what happens post-mortem that’s important. The death itself is just a means to an end, isn’t that right?’
A barely perceptible nod. ‘I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a sadist.’
‘You’re father was a sadist, though, wasn’t he? Chasing those poor girls around the woods with a rifle. They must have been scared out of their minds.’
‘I have no father,’ Winter said quietly.
He reached for the Coke can and turned it until the logo was facing him. Yoko settled back in her chair and flicked a flame up from the Zippo. She considered pushing his buttons again just for the hell of it, then decided not to. She stared at the flame a second longer, then killed it with a snap of the lid.
‘So, Alice is dead. What happens next?’
‘I clean her up with the shower, get as much blood off as possible, then carry her through to the bedroom. It’s weird how much lighter she feels. You don’t think of blood as having weight but it does. It’s heavy. Take a gallon of the stuff out of a body and it’s going to make a difference.’
The kid smiled again, and again Yoko didn’t react. She sat absolutely still and resisted the urge to slap that smug look off his face.
‘What’s the matter, Agent? That doesn’t tickle your funny bone?’
‘I guess I’m just selective about what makes me laugh.’
Winter shrugged. ‘Okay, so I get to the bedroom and I get Alice made-up all nice in her prom dress, then I string her up from the ceiling. I pose her, then sit on the bed and just look at her for a while. She really is beautiful. I’ve got the window open, and the breeze blowing through the room makes the dress shimmer.’
Yoko stared across the table without saying a word, and Winter stared back, his face blank. Twenty seconds passed. Thirty. Then he smirked. It was a look that said, But we both know that’s not the whole story.
‘You want to know what we really got up to in the bedroom,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you?’
Yoko felt colder than she’d ever felt in her entire life. Part of it was the fact that she was now certain she was sitting opposite Valentino.
The second reason was that she was one of a very small group of people who knew what had really happened in the bedroom. With cases like this you always held something back, a salient fact you could use to separate the lunatics from the real perpetrator.
‘And what did you get up to, Jefferson?’ Yoko’s voice was as cold and emotionless as Winter’s.
He nodded to the one-way mirror. ‘Are you sure you want me to go into that with everyone watching?’
Chapter 9
Seven hours and forty-five minutes earlier, and twenty-one miles north, Charlie Dumas had spun around to face Yoko, his face wrinkled like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘There’s a kid in the crowd who’s acting strange,’ she told him. ‘With a big show like this, the bad guys often come back to watch. They can’t stay away. It’s like bees and honey. This kid is displaying the sort of behaviour I’d associate with an unknown subject who’s come to watch. His interest is focussed on the crowd rather than what the police are up to.’
Dumas was nodding like this was the best news he’d heard all year.
‘An unsub like this one gets off on the reaction to their work,’ Yoko went on. ‘They love to see the shocked looks, and they love to hear people talking about how twisted the killer is. The fact they’re stood right there and nobody has a clue gives them a thrill like you wouldn’t believe. That’s why the staging is so elaborate. They’re looking for maximum impact, and the reason for that is they want an even bigger crowd next time.’
‘Are you sure this is our guy?’
‘Not a hundred per cent, but he’s certainly a person of interest. Someone worth talking to.’
‘That’s good enough for me.’
Dumas grew by a couple of inches, and he turned to leave, his hand already reaching for his radio.
‘Wait a second,’ said Yoko. ‘You need to take a couple of deep breaths before you go charging in.’
‘But we need to get this kid in custody, and sooner rather than later.’
‘No we don’t. We’ve got almost a whole month before Valentino strikes again. For once time is on our side.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘Who’s your best surveillance person?’
‘That’ll be Keith Sullivan.’
Yoko thought for a moment. ‘Okay, get Sullivan to keep an eye on this kid. I want to know where he goes when he leaves here.’
‘What if Sullivan loses him?’
‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Serial killers usually keep their trophies at home because they like to have them close by. However, most trophies would look fairly innocent to the casual observer. A piece of clothing or jewellery, the sort of thing you can easily explain away. A human heart is another matter altogether. How the hell do you explain that one?’
The slim smile that slid across Dumas’s face was there and gone in the time it took to blink. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you’re going to have on your mantelpiece, that’s for damn sure.’
‘There’s every chance this kid’s going straight to wherever he keeps the hearts. He’ll be buzzing from hanging around the crime scene, and he’ll want to be somewhere he can completely immerse himself in his memories and fantasies. We catch him with the hearts and his next stop is death row.’
‘Okay, that makes sense. I’ll get Sullivan onto it.’
Dumas reached for his radio again, and Yoko put a hand up to stop him.
‘One more thing. Get your people to go through the crowd photos from the previous crime scenes. See if you can place this kid at them. If you don’t get any luck there, try the TV networks; someone’s bound to have some film footage. One thing you can absolutely guarantee is that he was at the other crime scenes.’
Dumas nodded like this made sense, then brought the radio up to his mouth and started talking. Yoko glanced over his shoulder and saw Alice Harrigan suspended from the ceiling like a waxwork model.
If you stepped away from the horror of the act, there was a dark sort of beauty in the way the body had been posed. There was also something arresting about the contrast of the baby-blue silk and the bloodless white of Alice’s face.
In her original profile, Yoko had speculated the unsub was an artist, quite probably a moderately successful one. There was a confidence and arrogance in the way the bodies were displayed that implied competence. This was someone who was very serious about their art.
Because of the sophistication of the crimes, her speculation that the
killer was in his late thirties or early forties also fit. He would have needed time to complete his training and establish himself in the art community. He needed the patience that came with age.
If it turned out that this kid was the unsub, then she was wrong about his age. However, she still thought he was an artist. The only difference was that he’d be at art school rather than out there making a name for himself. Whichever art school he was at, he would have been noticed. Valentino had more than a little talent.
‘Agent Tanaka.’
She turned away from Alice. The crime-scene photographer was walking along the narrow hallway towards her, his camera clutched in his fist.
‘Detective Dumas,’ Yoko called into the bedroom. ‘I think you might want to see this.’
The photographer punched a button on his camera and held it out so she could see the screen. Dumas was already hovering at her shoulder.
‘Top left, facing away,’ the photographer said. ‘That’s your kid, right?’
Yoko nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s him. Can you zoom in?’
‘I can do better than that.’
The photographer hit a button and the next photograph appeared on the screen. The kid was smack-bang in the centre of the shot, looking to his right. It was pretty much just him in the picture. Yoko allowed herself the slimmest of smiles.
‘This just gets better and better,’ she said. ‘The kid’s called Jefferson Winter.’
‘How the hell can you know that?’ said Dumas.
‘Because I’ve met his father a couple of times. Does the name Albert Winter ring any bells?’
‘The serial killer?’
‘One and the same.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘No detective, I am most certainly not shitting you.’
Chapter 10
Seven hours and forty-five minutes later, and twenty-one miles south, Yoko walked out of the interview room and saw Charlie Dumas stalking towards her. The detective looked like he was about to blow a blood vessel. His face was bright red and his fists were clenching and unclenching, fast, like he was furiously working a pair of worry balls.
Yoko put up a hand to stop him and Dumas ducked left, aiming for the gap between her and the wall. She matched the move and he came to an abrupt halt in front of her. Yoko was only five-two and the detective towered above her. He was closer to six feet, and at least a hundred pounds heavier. It was like a cat staring down a bear.
‘I’m going to kill that bastard,’ he said.
‘No you’re not. The State of Maryland is going to have that pleasure, but only if you keep your cool. We do this one by the book. Eventually he’ll either ask for a lawyer, or one will be appointed for him. Whoever ends up defending him, whether that’s the public defender or a lawyer charging a thousand bucks an hour, we don’t give them any ammunition.’
Dumas just stared like he wanted to kill her.
‘You’ve got a daughter, don’t you?’
‘What’s that go to do with anything?’
Yoko ignored the question. ‘She’s in her early twenties, blonde-haired, blue eyed, pretty. Whenever you look at the victims, it’s her face that’s staring back, and that’s killing you. You’re making this personal, Detective Dumas, and that’s not helping. Do I need to ask for you to be removed from the investigation?’
‘No,’ he replied, tight-lipped.
‘We’ve got our confession. All we’ve got to do is make sure the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, then we hand everything to the DA and let him do his thing.’
‘You’re right.’
‘Of course I’m right. I’m always right.’
The detective shook his head and started to smile, like he was sharing the joke. Yoko kept a straight face and waited for the smile to start slipping, waited until she saw uncertainty flash in his eyes.
‘It’s okay. I’m screwing with you.’
Dumas seemed to crumple in front of her. ‘He actually finds this funny. How sick is that? I’ve been doing this job a long time and I’ll tell you now there are things I’ve seen that give me nightmares, things my wife and children will never know about. But this kid is something else.’
‘He is.’ But even as she said this she was thinking that Winter wasn’t the worst she’d come across.
She wasn’t sure whether this depressed her, or whether she’d become so immune to the horror that it might be time to quit. Maybe she needed a simpler, easier job, one that affirmed everything that was good about life rather than one where she had to deal with death every day.
‘He doesn’t find this funny,’ she said. ‘At least, he doesn’t find it funny in the way you think. He’s a narcissist and a manipulator. He’s trying to amuse himself at our expense. Right now, he’s looking for a reaction, any reaction, which means we don’t give him one.’
Yoko took Dumas’s elbow and turned him around so he was facing the way he’d just come. Then she led the way to the small room behind the one-way mirror. She walked in without knocking. There were two detectives in the room, senior men with a lot of years under their belts.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said in her most pleasant voice. ‘If you’d be so kind as to give myself and Detective Dumas a few moments alone I’d really appreciate it.’
The two detectives shared a look, then glanced over at Dumas, who nodded. They stood up together and left the small room in single file, the last one out closing the door.
‘Is there any way that Winter could know what happened in Alice Harrigan’s apartment?’ Yoko asked. ‘Any way at all?’
Dumas shook his head. ‘No. The number of my people who know about this, I can count on one hand. Hell, I can count them on two fingers, and both of them you just dismissed from the room. The county coroner is the only other person who knows, and I can guarantee that she has not said a word to anyone. We’ve kept the loop tight on this one, Agent Tanaka.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘We’ve got our guy, don’t we?’ Dumas did nothing to hide his excitement. He was smiling from ear to ear.
Yoko looked through the glass. Winter was sitting there studying the Coke can on the table, cool and composed. With his scruffy black hair and a face that he still hadn’t quite grown into, he didn’t look capable of killing anyone. He looked like he should be hanging out with his buddies at the mall, checking out the girls and causing trouble. But teenage trouble as opposed to the sort that left you on death row.
That was the thing, though: looks could be so deceptive. How many times had she seen evidence of that? More times than she could remember, that was for sure.
Winter picked up the can and started swiping the condensation away, working his way around it. He took a sip and placed the can back on the table. His head suddenly snapped up and he looked at the one-way mirror as though he could see through it, as if he knew she was watching.
The thought was irrational and came from the same place her parents had planted their shadowy superstitious beliefs. There was no way he could see her. It was impossible. But impossible or not, it didn’t stop the shivers running up her spine.
A flicker of a smile crossed Winter’s face, and Yoko was more convinced than ever that he could see her. The smile disappeared and he went back to staring at the Coke can.
‘Yes,’ Yoko said, more to herself than to Dumas. ‘We’ve got our guy.’
Chapter 11
The quiet stillness of the interview room was light years from the whirlwind of furious activity that followed the bombshell Yoko had dropped back at Alice Harrigan’s apartment. Once they’d identified Winter as a viable suspect things had moved fast, and on a number of fronts.
The first break was a TV news clip that showed him in the crowd that had gathered outside the apartment block where victim #2 was murdered. The second break was that he’d also been in the crowd at victim #3’s apartment.
The crimes had happened miles apart, and miles from where Winter lived. The only logical reason for
him turning up in those places, at those times, was because he was Valentino. No other explanation fit.
Now that they had probable cause, an arrest warrant could be issued. The judge who signed off on it had a granddaughter the same age as the victims. Her picture was on his desk. Blonde, blue eyed, pretty. Valentino’s type.
The judge didn’t say that he hoped they’d found their man, because he couldn’t. Innocent until proven guilty, even when the evidence was overwhelming. But the implication was there, an unspoken thought that filled both his eyes and the room. He’d signed with a flourish, then said, ‘Go get him.’
Back at Alice Harrigan’s apartment, Winter had spent the best part of an hour watching the crowd before slinking away. His vehicle was parked a couple of streets from Darnell Avenue, and when Yoko heard what it was she’d almost choked on her coffee.
Back in the seventies, Volkswagen Beetles had been the vehicle of choice for serial killers. Nobody knew why, but the stats spoke for themselves. The kid might only be nineteen, but he had real a thing for retro. He was a traditionalist, too, going for the old model rather than the weird-looking new version that had come out the previous year.
Bundy was the most famous VW Beetle owner, and it was a well-known fact that Hitler had been instrumental in the car’s design. This might or might not have explained the appeal.
Winter would have known all this, but it didn’t necessarily follow that he was a murderer. Plenty of Beetle owners had never killed a soul, and there was no way that Volkswagen would have started up production again if buying one of their cars turned you into a serial killer.
The kid had driven out of Greenbelt with Keith Sullivan tailing him. From the detective’s regular updates, Yoko knew that he was sticking to the back roads and keeping to the speed limits.
This was a good sign. He didn’t want to be noticed, and the fact he was using the back roads indicated he was going to his secret place. He’d want somewhere out of the way. Somewhere rent was cheap.
But he hadn’t gone to his secret place. Twenty-five minutes after he left Greenbelt, he pulled into the parking lot outside his dorm room on the University of Maryland’s campus in College Park.