I was watching from one of the video monitors in a room adjacent to the interrogation room when Malcom was brought in. The door opened, and a uniformed police officer led him in.
‘Just take a seat,’ the officer said. ‘Someone will be with you shortly.’
The officer left the room immediately.
Malcom looked confused and devastated. At first his eyes circled the room, but suddenly he stopped at the dress on the table. He approached the table, took a close look at the dress and moved back a couple of steps. He seemed puzzled by what he was looking at. And then he began to sob quietly. He walked to one corner of the room, sat down against the wall, his face in his hands and cried.
‘What now?’ Frank said, over my shoulder.
‘We’ll wait and see,’ I answered, my eyes glued to the monitor. ‘Give him a bit of time by himself. He’ll be thinking of a thousand-and-one options. If he killed the girl, right now he’s trying to come up with his best version of the event. Or maybe he doesn’t care any more, and he’s going to tell us the truth.’
Frank didn’t answer. I could feel his breathing behind my neck. I’d forgotten how accustomed we’d become to each other, and if he’d put his hand on my shoulder, I probably would have let him.
Half an hour later, Malcom was still in the corner of the room. He was motionless and had stopped crying.
‘What now?’ Frank asked again.
‘He’s coming to terms with what’s happening to him. He looks in control on the outside, but my bet is that he’s feeling really confused at the realisation of what he has done and how he’s going to cope. It’s not always easy to face your own demons. If I walk in now, I might lose him. Give him another half hour. I want him to be so ripe, the truth is going to fall on the table like a rotten apple.’
Frank shifted his weight. ‘I’m going to get coffee. I’m tired of standing here watching this jerk dealing with his conscience. He should have thought about it before he killed the girl. If you’d let me walk in there, I’d get the truth out in five minutes.’ I was about to pass a comment, but he must have sensed it and smartly changed the topic. ‘Do you want anything from downstairs?’
‘Coffee, black, no sugar.’
Frank left, and I was alone in the room, watching Malcom huddled to one corner of the room, getting myself psyched-up for the interrogation. To make this a success, I had to get friendly with him, make him believe I was on his side. If he thought for one minute I was here to frame him and throw him in jail, he’d refuse to talk to me. Or he’d come up with the biggest lies just to get me off his back.
Fifteen minutes later, just when my elbows were getting sore from resting my head on the palm of my hands, Malcom finally stood up. He looked around, dazed as if he’d just discovered he was alone in this strange room. He circled the room and for the first time noticed the camera attached on the east wall. Then he observed the dress up-close without touching it, and finally took a seat at the table, an expressionless mask hiding his fear.
The last hour must have felt like an eternity, and I’d have hated to be in his shoes right at this moment. Knowing he was going to be asked about the digital photographs of naked teenagers we found in his computer, and whatever else he knew we’d found in his room, must have been hard to accept. He’d built this secret lie around him, indulging in his own fantasies, probably believing nothing would ever go wrong, and now his world was being shattered. People jabbed an accusing finger at what he had done. I wasn’t sure what was going through his mind at that moment, but it certainly wasn’t visions of freedom.
As much as I wanted to burst into the room because I felt we were both ready, I waited for Frank to come back with his coffee. I needed someone to watch over this on the monitor, just to give me that extra mental support while I was performing.
Ten minutes later, Malcom was still sitting at the table when Frank walked back in the room with three coffees.
‘Thought I’d bring him one too, just to set his tongue loose,’ he said as he placed two paper cups next to the monitor.
‘Thanks.’
I stood from my chair and headed for the interrogation room.
The interrogation room, painted white, felt smaller than it looked on the monitor. The camera gave it a distorted wide-angle effect, giving the impression that at least twenty people would fit in the room, when in fact five would have been a crowd.
When I stepped in the room with a bundle of files twelve-inches thick, Malcom’s eyes shot to me straight away. The files were a bluff, but he didn’t know that. They were padded with blank photocopy paper just to make him believe we had more on him than he thought. I was trying to create an atmosphere of ‘big brother is watching you.’ I wanted him to feel hopelessly unable to deny what he had done.
I looked straight into his eyes. ‘How are you handling it?’ I said, placing his coffee on the table.
He glanced at the steaming coffee, then at me with a look that said he’d never asked for a brew. I read him his rights once more under video-taped eyewitness, but he declined having a solicitor, saying he didn’t need one because he was innocent.
‘I know you just want to go home,’ I went on. ‘But I’m here to help you. It’s late, and I’d like to get home too. So, the sooner we get this over and done with, the sooner we can leave this place.’ I took a seat next to him, close enough to get friendly, but not so close that he’d feel uncomfortable.
He just stared at his coffee.
‘Drink it,’ I continued. ‘You haven’t swallowed anything for the last hour. It’ll make you feel better.’
He grabbed the cup and gulped half its contents in one go. After placing the cup back on the table, he took a deep breath and said, ‘Am I being charged with murder?’
‘No one’s being charged with anything. We’re just here to talk.’
‘Talk about what? I didn’t kill her.’
I tilted my head and said, ‘Look, Malcom, I know you’re pretty angry right now. If someone had locked me up for an hour in this room, I’d be angry too. The fact is that I’m not here to frame you. I’m here to find out the truth.’
‘But I didn’t kill her.’
‘I’m not saying you’re lying. It’s just that... well, let’s face it, even if you haven’t killed the girl, evidence points to you. With the photos we found in your computer and the underwear stuffed in your pillow, people are asking questions. You’re going to have to explain yourself just to get your name cleared.’ I opened one of the manilla folders and retrieved three A4-size, colour print-outs of Tracy Noland in the nude retrieved from Malcom’s computer. I spread them on the table, hoping to get him stressed.
‘It’s not a crime to take photos.’
‘Some types of photos, I’m afraid it is. But that’s another matter, and I certainly wouldn’t worry about it at this stage. What I’m concerned about is how a jury is going to connect naked photos of Tracy Noland stored in your computer, and a girl’s underwear in your possession, without believing you had something to do with her death.’
His eyes deviated to the blue dress, but he didn’t talk about it. I was certain he was dying to know why the dress was on the table. I was waiting for him to make a slip of the tongue, to say something about the dress. And since he claimed he never killed Tracy Noland, how would he know that was the dress she was wearing when she got killed? Of course, he could have guessed because, after all, whose dress was it going to be other than Tracy Noland’s? But the way he would deliver his questioning would more or less be an admission to his guilt. If he’d asked me what that dress was, nothing would be clear. But if he asked why Tracy Noland’s dress was spread on the table, then I’d ask him how he knew it was Tracy Noland’s dress, after which he might get confused and eventually admit to the murder.
But he never asked.
Malcom continued to proclaim his innocence. ‘You know I didn’t do it. I would never hurt Tracy. Never.’
I shifted on the chair. ‘You know, Malcom, I’m goi
ng to be honest with you. I don’t know whether you killed Tracy or not. I know we found enough circumstantial evidence in your room, and personally I’d like to believe you haven’t killed her. Unfortunately, that’s me. I tend to have some basic faith in human nature. But Senior Sergeant Frank Moore, you know, the man who searched your room with me?’
He nodded.
I went on, ‘Well, he believes you did it. And other people believe you did it too. Everyone’s going to come down on you like a ton of bricks. And when it happens, I won’t be there to uphold your version of events. Which means if this whole thing goes to court with what we’ve got at the moment, you’ll probably get life either way. You have to talk to me and convince all of us you didn’t do it, if that’s the truth. Is that the truth, Malcom?’
Anger crept in his tone. ‘Why doesn’t anyone believe me? I didn’t kill the girl!’
‘And if you did, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.’ I paused. Then: ‘You liked Tracy, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ His tone lessened by a couple of notches.
‘And why Tracy and not the other kids?’
‘I like other kids too. But Tracy and I had a lot in common. I already told you the other day when you came to visit.’
‘But you never said what.’
‘We both liked photography. I’d like to take them. She liked to be the subject.’
‘Did you like to take pictures of Tracy?’
‘She enjoyed it. So, yes, I guess I enjoyed it too.’
‘And that’s all you felt about Tracy. She was just nice to photograph.’
‘Yeah... that’s all.’
I looked at him for fifteen seconds without saying a word. The look on his face told me he knew what was coming.
‘See, Malcom, we’re having a problem here. You’re telling me you liked taking pictures of Tracy because she liked to have her picture taken, and that was more or less the extent of your relationship with her.’
‘Friendship.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It wasn’t a relationship; it was a friendship.’
‘Okay, friendship. Problem is you have naked pictures of Tracy in your computer, which implies you wanted more from her than just friendship.’
‘They’re only pictures. They’re not even real pictures. I never took pictures of Tracy naked.’
‘But you did convince her to strip to her underwear?’
I could feel his frustration building up. ‘Ah, come on. You’re making it sound like she didn’t have a mind of her own. You talked to people. You know she could think for herself. I didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. When I asked her, she said yes straight away. It didn’t take any convincing.’
‘Okay, okay. So let’s say she agreed. Now, you’re a young man, and you’ve got a young girl near-naked in front of you, and you’re telling me you didn’t feel anything?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Malcom, what about the photos in your computer? If you didn’t want to see Tracy naked, then why did you bother enhancing the pictures and adding pubic hair to her groin when there was none in the first place?’
He blushed embarrassingly.
I continued, ‘I know how hard this is Malcom. Most people don’t understand. The girl was there, she was willing to play games. She was willing to have her picture taken, willing to take all her clothes off, except her underwear. And you began feeling something for her. I mean, she is a pretty girl, isn’t she?’
He didn’t answer.
I continued, ‘I think she’s pretty. I think she’s young, but I can tell that one day she would have turned into an attractive young woman. Is that what you thought too? Is that why you added the pubic hair on the photographs? Because you didn’t want to see her as a child?’
He looked at me relieved. ‘Yes. I’m not into child pornography. It’s just that Tracy was there. And I changed her. She wasn’t a child any more.’
‘You changed her?’
‘On the photographs. You can tell she’s not a little girl any more.’
It was getting increasingly difficult to agree with him, but I felt I was breaking through. ‘That’s true, Malcom. She does look older, especially in the pictures you’ve stored in the computer. So you liked the idea of Tracy being older?’
‘Yes, that’s right. That’s why I wouldn’t have killed her in the first place. She was only a child.’
‘So, if Tracy had been a grown-up, would you have asked her to have sex with you?’
He hesitated for a few seconds as if I’d asked him a trick question. Finally, after puzzling over an appropriate answer, he said, ‘I guess so.’
‘And you haven’t asked her?’
‘She’s a child. I know the difference between a child and an adult. You’re trying to make it sound like my mind is confused, but it’s not. There’s a difference between fantasy and reality. And I know the difference. I mean, look at all those magazines out there. Every time a man flicks through the pages of a porno mag, does that mean he’s having sex with another woman? It’s a bloody fantasy. And that’s what these photos of Tracy were, a goddamn fantasy. Enhanced, manipulated pictures of Tracy. I didn’t have sex with her, I didn’t ask her to have sex with me, and I certainly didn’t kill her.’
I wasn’t giving in. ‘What about the underwear? How does that fit in?’
‘It’s not hers. I stole it from Target.’
‘Why?’
‘To bring the fantasy alive.’
‘And did it?’
‘Did it what?’
‘Bring the fantasy alive. Did you at any time believe Tracy wanted to have sex with you? Did you ask her, and she said no? Did you force yourself on to her, but she refused, and then you tried to shut her up? Is that what happened?’
‘No.’
‘You tried to shut her up, but she wouldn’t, so maybe you covered her mouth with your hand and didn’t realise how strong you were?’
He shifted on his chair and said, ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more. It’s private, and I don’t have to talk about it.’
Now was not the right time to lose him. ‘You’re going to have to talk about it at some stage. Now, you can talk to me, or you’re going to tell your story in front of a judge and a jury. I’m sure you don’t want to tell this story in front of twenty strangers. Why the underwear? Was it the same as the ones Tracy used to wear?’
He nodded. ‘But it wasn’t hers. She wouldn’t have given it to me in the first place.’
‘Did you ask her?’
‘Of course not. Do you think I’m crazy?’
‘I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you liked Tracy, and something didn’t go according to plan. I think you might have killed her by accident. If you killed her by accident, I can help you. I can talk to the prosecutor and work out something. It matters how and why she died. But if you say nothing to me, you’re going to sink all the way to the bottom.’
‘You know what I think? I think the only thing which didn’t go according to plan was you guys turning my room inside out. That’s what went wrong. And now you’re trying to pin me down with a murder.’
‘So, who do you think killed Tracy if not you? Do you agree that you’re looking like the most likely suspect at the moment? What am I supposed to believe? What would you believe if you were in my shoes?’
‘I don’t want to talk any more.’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair while emptying his cup of coffee. ‘Can I have a break?’
I stood from my chair. ‘Sure, you can have a break. Take whatever time you need, but the sooner we finish this, the sooner you can go home.’
He didn’t answer and threw his head between the palms of his hands.
‘Do you want another coffee?’ I asked while grabbing both empty paper cups and my stack of files.
He shook his head, and I left the room.
‘For heaven’s sake, he’s as guilty as hell,’ Frank barked as soon as I returned to the mo
nitor room. ‘You’re playing around with him. Rough him up a little. Push him a bit. Jesus, you’re talking to him as if this whole thing was an accident. He killed a child for heaven’s sake!’
‘Mind your own business, Frank,’ I snapped. ‘You do your job, and I’ll do mine. I’m in charge of this investigation, and you’re only here to watch. If you’re going to tell me how to do my job, then you might as well leave. I’ve already got Goosh on my back doubting every move I make. I don’t need you as well.’
He pursed his lips and made a whistling sound. ‘Oops, sorry. I didn’t realise you were so touchy. Fine, go ahead with your method of interrogation. Just don’t expect me to sit there all night holding your hand.’
‘I’m not expecting anything from you, Frank.’ I looked at his empty paper cup. ‘Do you want another coffee? I need some fresh air. Let him simmer in his own juice for the next half hour.’
‘Sure.’
I snatched his cup and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I stopped at the ladies’ room to refresh myself. I let the tap run while checking my reflection in the mirror, surprised at how tired I looked. Gently, I splashed water on my face, feeling the cold liquid enter every pore, bringing some relief to my exhausted mind. Just as well I had no foundation on, or it would have run down my neck.
The interrogation wasn’t going as well as I had anticipated. To begin, Malcom hadn’t reacted to Tracy’s dress whatsoever. I was hoping he would eventually break down and confess. In the past, I found the method to be effective. Usually, I would put the weapon of the crime on the table with blood still left on it. The reaction was always the same. The accused would feel extremely uncomfortable faced with the weapon he used to kill his victim. And then, throughout the interview, he would keep glancing at the weapon. Eventually, he would give in and admit to the crime. The problem with Tracy Noland’s death was that there had been no weapon found. According to Dr Charles W. Main, the young girl died of suffocation, so whoever killed her didn’t use a weapon but his own hands.
The Kristina Melina Omnibus: First Kill, Second Cut, Third Victim Page 37