A Predator and a Psychopath

by Jay Kerk

  She threw her bag on the desk and paced the room. “First,” she said, “get the bitch out of here. Second, let’s work on your case together.”

  I thought back on all my conversations and texts with Stephanie. In retrospect, her admiration had been too good to be true. I had hoped to ask her out and start a proper relationship. I’d have to get accustomed to calling her Rosa.

  What a fucking fool.

  Andrea sat back down on the couch arm. She took my face in her hands and turned it toward hers, tilting closer to me.

  “I’ve been reading about your case since you hired me here. I believe something went very wrong, and I believe you’re innocent.”

  She kissed me. I barely moved my lips. I was scared of breaking down again, fearful of what Rosa could have discovered. Was I afraid because I was guilty? I couldn’t focus. Andrea was still trying to kiss me.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. “I’ll fire her ass,” I stood up. “Tonight. Fuck her.” I hugged Andrea and thanked her.

  CHAPTER 4:

  AND ACTION

  I’d spent all my time reading my case files, and since day one I’d been reading the Internet coverage and people’s speculations.

  The time came to meet our long-retained private investigator. A car pulled into my driveway, and a short woman got out. I ran downstairs to greet her before she knocked. We exchanged pleasantries, and I offered her coffee, which she said was much needed. I watched her grimace as she entered the living room, and I wondered if she reacted to the old smell or a new one.

  She sniffled a lot, probably because of allergies to the dust, or from the smoke of my cigarettes. I never asked anyone if I could smoke inside—people were free to leave if they didn’t like it.

  “I’ll bring you up to speed regarding the work done so far,” Danny said. “I must be straight with you about the fact that the first six months were intense and very different from how it’s been this past year. But with you here, we can think together, we can do things differently—detailed, comprehensive.”

  It seemed as though she had rehearsed this part.

  “I want you to tell me everything from your perspective,” she said. “Every detail is important.”

  For her winning was getting proof of who the killer was, whether it was me or someone else, so she intended to invade my space and memories.

  “No worries,” I said. “I understand. Whatever’s necessary.”

  She nodded and cleared the table, pulled out folders from her bag, and I excused myself to refill my coffee. I took mine Irish, half and half. I was a bit worried she would smell the liquor on me; I drank quite a bit those days; I called it the noon to the moon buzz.

  After I shared my side of the story and what I remembered, she said, “The reward for finding Mathew brought in countless useless and misleading information, but we had to attend to each tip. Did you go over the case files?” she said.

  I nodded. She picked up the first folder.

  “The most important part of any investigation is the crime scene. I’ll spare you the details, but you should know that in your house there was no physical evidence whatsoever: DNA, body fluids, hair, tissue, prints, tire marks, or even shoe traces.” She waited for me to say something.

  “Go on, please.”

  “Here are some things we know regarding Lea’s and Lisa’s murder. The belt used to strangle your wife didn’t give us any information, and there were no signs of a struggle. They recovered two 9mm bullets.” She cleared her throat. “But they found no gun. No witnesses.”

  “Okay.”

  “Nothing else led us anywhere. Now, let’s discuss the other important locations relevant to the case,” she grabbed another folder. “The school, both cars, your other office. The new one and Lea’s studio.”

  “I remember the studio, I rented it for her as a birthday gift. She didn’t have space at home for drawing.”

  “Okay, that’s a relief,” Danny chuckled, still sniffling. “I was worried you might not remember.”

  I smiled politely.

  “So,” Danny sighed, “there were two working theories.”

  “Okay,” I said, drinking my coffee faster. Oh god, this really hurts.

  “Our theory is that the killer is a middle-aged male who hated Lisa, and while strangling her, Lea interrupted him, so he shot her. Or...”

  “Or my second personality is responsible,” I interrupted.

  “The second personality is the police’s theory, and it’s all over the press—that you’re the killer and your split personality is responsible. Either you killed them both, or you were in love with your daughter, and you killed your wife after she discovered the relationship and killed Lea. Notably, you didn’t have gunshot residue on your hands whereas your late wife did. That’s why they went with the split personality theory.”

  “So what are you doing with these theories? The second personality one doesn’t concern me—let them say what they want. But what are you doing to find Mathew? ”

  “Luke provided me with a list of people who dislike you and your family. None of them fit the profile, and most had solid alibis. What would help is if you could make your own list of enemies.” She said.

  “I will soon,” I said. I felt the anxious sweat beads forming, but the whiskey comforted me.

  “Email me. Go back to your school days if you can.”

  “Okay. Next.” I said.

  “You know your wife was having an affair, and we checked the guy out after the police did. Jeb. He didn’t have a solid alibi, but he and your wife weren’t particularly close, neither of them was in love. In brief, the police eliminated him as a suspect. Which takes us to the next part.” She took out a third folder.

  “Next is the digital evidence. Nothing of use in the phones and laptops and we didn’t get much from the cell phone tower signals. All the times checked out, and nothing seemed odd. Your wife and Jeb didn’t meet much, they didn’t chat regularly. He had no motive. The guy was having marital troubles, but a week prior to the murder, he returned to his wife.”

  “But doesn’t that give him the motive to hurt Lisa? To make sure she didn’t mess things up with his wife?” I asked, and I lost my breath, I couldn’t handle long sentences.

  “Not really. His wife was his alibi, and she said she knew about Lisa and because they were separated, she looked past his infidelity. Text messages prove he told his wife about Lisa before they got back together.”

  “The wife? Could she be the killer?” I asked.

  “No. she doesn’t fit the profile,” Danny said.

  Fuck you. Don’t say ‘fit the profile.’ Investigate! Do your damn job!

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree,” I said. “You should investigate her.”

  “Actually, she was sick at the time, Mr. Stankovic. Too weak to commit the act. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. Her husband returned home when she started treatment.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “We looked at all Lea’s friends, the police didn’t think there was enough motive. The peculiar thing is that Lea had a boyfriend, and no one knew anything about him, not even her closest friends. One of them mentioned he had sent roses to Lea several times over the last few months, but I could not trace who sent them. The texts from the mysterious boyfriend on Lea’s phone were sent from a burner phone, and we can retrieve nothing.”

  “What did you do about it?” I interrupted.

  “We covered all of her 800-something social media friends, and none of them admitted to being her boyfriend. This is a knot we couldn’t untie.”

  “But this is very important,” I said. “This is what we’ve been looking for. We must find this boyfriend.”

  I got excited. Finally, we had what I had hoped for—a lead.

  “This is where I must be frank with you Mr. Stankovic. People assume you’re the person behind the messages. Especially because the only images on her phone are of the two of you.” She paused for ten seconds. “And your
history of planning dinner dates didn’t work against this assumption.” She said with assertiveness in her voice–she could have bluntly said you are the boyfriend, so please knock it off.

  Not so much for hope. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned the roses I sent Lea. If Danny knew I’d sent them, she might not investigate this further.

  “I feel terrible,” I said. “I really don’t remember a burner. And I assure you nothing was going on between my daughter and me. for god’s sake.”

  “Lastly, we have the interviews with the people surrounding you—neighbors, colleagues, friends, and even family members. Nothing there. They all mentioned how good you and Lisa were to each other and said they thought what you were going through was only a rough patch.” She took out a small pad from her pocket and flipped through it.

  “Okay, so what do we do?” I asked. “Isn’t there anything to be done about the burner, like a new technology or something?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Even if we found it now, let’s say by a miracle, it’s like a used notebook. We won’t know who used it.”

  “But I sent Lea messages from my personal phone. Why would I also send them from a burner?” I asked.

  “The police suggested your other personality sent the messages, provoked by the drugs you were taking.”

  “Okay,” I said. Coffee was over. I wanted her to leave.

  “Anyway, let’s move forward. I want you to send me your list of enemies and to look at the recordings, maybe you recognize someone familiar or something odd we may have missed.”

  “And I want you to look again at her friends, her teachers, and Jeb’s wife, even if she is dead,” I sputtered.

  Danny didn’t reply, but her grimace gave away her thoughts. She pursed her lips and nodded.

  “If you don’t want the job,” I said, “let me know. I can hire someone else.”

  “No, no. Not like that. I—”

  I interrupted. “I know. Chances are low. Extremely low. And a 99% chance it was me. Just forget the chances and concentrate on the task at hand. And what can we do about finding Mathew? Are there any new leads?”

  “Each time we run ads for the reward, we get hundreds of tips. I also want to be direct with you, ultimately, every open investigation reaches a dead end where there are no more leads to pursue. Even the major national bureaus disband large task forces when investigations reach a block. People die, move on, leave the country… no question about our intentions and efforts, but a matter of what else can we do. We won’t stop looking for him. I’ll put together a report about our search’s progress and come up with some new recommendations. We have to stay hopeful.”

  “We have to. Hope is all I have.”

  “One more thing,” she said. “We want your handwriting for analysis. There was a Post-it note in Lea’s studio on which someone had written, I love you, babe. Kisses. Maybe we can analyze the handwriting to find out if you wrote the note. Mind you, even if it isn’t a match, experts say other personalities can have their distinct handwriting.”

  My eyes filled with tears as I wrote the words for the handwriting sample, but I held them until Danny left. I wished I could hug Lea and whisper the words into her ears. I so badly wanted to find the person who had done this to us and to find my son. I believed he was alive; I chose to believe that. People on the Internet accused me of killing and burying him because I couldn’t face having killed his mother and sister.

  I refilled my coffee mug, another day of hard liquor and no medication.

  CHAPTER 5:

  SO WHAT?

  The night after Danny left became the starting point for looking into what had happened, ground zero. I didn’t watch the recordings, but I organized them, so the next day I only needed to press play. Being relatively drunk, I would not remember what I saw, postponing to the following day made sense.

  I woke up with a hangover and my head buzzing; I tried to vomit, but nothing came out. I downed a strong black coffee and studied the whiteboard:

  Male. Middle age. Hate? A sick loon? A burglar (less likely). Lea’s boyfriend.

  With Danny: enemies list, watch recordings, handwriting test, check devices.

  Alone: burner phone? Friends, Lisa’s work, my work + Lisa’s boyfriend and his wife.

  Mathew… with the killer? Alive.

  I tilted my head, smoked a cigarette, and waited for the Aha! Moment, but it never came. I thought I could move again and start fresh. Argentina? Or someplace where I could live on the beach and drink myself to death. Yeah, right.

  I circled the boyfriend and the wife. I underlined “Alive” three times.

  I became less energetic and more hammered, maybe because I had missed my meds. I drifted, and my vision blurred. If someone spoke to me, is my speech coherent? I didn’t want to be paranoid about what others thought. So what if they saw me drifting away or drunk or sleepy? But I could avoid going out and talking to anyone.

  Don’t be paranoid.

  Alcohol withdrawal could also explain my physical state, so I decided to eat something and afterward have a beer to see if I improve.

  As I opened a second bottle, I wondered if my lack of sleep might explain my state of mind. I slept less, just a few hours now, and sometimes only a couple of hours. I decided to try some sleeping pills in the upcoming days.

  The next forty-eight hours were all tears and alcohol. We didn’t have enemies, and the recordings contained nothing in them except everyone in the area walking down streets and entering buildings. Checking the phones and laptops was too painful—my heart ached, I had spells of intense crying. At one point I kissed the screens, hugged the computer, and screamed at the top of my voice. Surely the neighbors heard, called me crazy, and ignored me.

  Danny called. “Do you have the list?”

  I said yes, and she asked me to email it to her. I told her I’d gotten nothing from the recordings, and she said that Lea’s boyfriend had been to the studio, but no one had been able to ID him. She asked me to watch it again. Maybe someone wearing a cap or sunglasses would catch my attention.

  I read Lea’s messages to the guy again. I wanted to check the building security footage for a person in a cap and shades.

  2:23: Lea: “Can you come over? My place.”

  2:25: Him: “Hi, babe. Missed you a lot. Sure. I am thinking about you. You’re really something.”

  2:30: Lea: “Okay.”

  2:31: Him: “Be there in 15. Can’t wait.”

  I jumped to the computer and scrolled to the day and the time of the message.

  And there he was, entering the building.

  I hope the police had checked this initially.

  I put on running shoes, shorts, and a cotton t-shirt. Once outside, I realized my attire wasn’t weather-appropriate. I didn’t want to go back in and change, but the way I dressed wouldn’t serve me as far as appearing sane and stable went.

  After a fifteen minutes walk from home, I arrived at the studio building. I waited for the doorman in the entrance. People were going in and out, eyeing me weirdly. At least I thought they were, but I could have been wrong. Could just be paranoid.

  Finally, the doorman came over to me. “Hello, Mr. Stankovic. It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

  He remembered me. I used to pay him well for extra security.

  “Good. How are you? All is well?”

  Finish the casual talk. No need to attend to his pity or engage with him.

  I showed him a video still of the man in the cap and sunglasses. He looked at the image and at me, a few times, once taking a step back to look at my posture. The asshole thought the man in the photo was me in disguise.

  He said he didn’t recognize the guy, but he remembered him because he’d found it strange that someone kept wearing the ball cap and sunglasses inside. He also said he shared the same observation with the detectives in the early few weeks of the investigation. “In the beginning, I thought he had an eye infection or was hiding bad hair. But he dressed like that every
time he came here, so I knew he did it to disguise himself when he came to visit Ms. Lea—may her soul rest in peace.” The corner of his mouth moved slightly down in a micro-expression of contempt and displeasure. The asshole was confident I was the boyfriend, and that I had killed my wife.

  I went home, looked at the security footage, and recorded every day and time the guy had visited Lea’s studio. If I could prove that the man in the footage wasn’t me, then I could discredit the theory that I had been in love with Lea. The whole case would fall apart. Surely no one else had done this, who cared about proving my innocence anyway?

  I failed. The problem was I hadn’t gone into my office for three months, and so I couldn’t alibi myself. I made up every meeting and appointment I had put in my calendar. Even if I found something on the calendar to show conflict between the visits and my whereabouts, no one would consider it substantial evidence to prove I was not Lea’s boyfriend.

  For a reason I can’t explain, walking back home, I sensed I was being followed. I couldn’t be sure because my senses were numb, so I glanced back every few seconds. Someone behind me took the same turns I took! But suddenly the individual disappeared.

  Shit, am I hallucinating?

  CHAPTER 6:

  INSPECTION

  Time passed smoothly, but I didn’t catch my breakthrough in the case. The sleeping pills helped me sleep but didn’t improve my energy. Luke said my depression caused the lethargy, and that I should take my medication. I didn’t mind taking the pills, but on the other hand, they caused apathy. So I chose the inactivity over the indifference.

  “Are you? Jason? Are you taking your pills?” he asked.

  And I said, “I’m disappointed you’re asking me that. Of course I’m taking them. I need the help, any kind.”

  I will not overmedicate myself, the meds make me accept the tragedy.

  “If you get in trouble, things will end up badly for you.”