The Christmas Killer

  ‘But you’ve seen it before? This compulsion to confess, it seems to indicate a need to punish himself.’

  ‘What college did you get your degree from?’ she asked. Jake felt the rebuke and blushed slightly, but her smile softened it. She went on: ‘You guys can go back to work. I’ll look after him,’ she said.

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I take my coffee with cream, two sugars. And a chocolate doughnut, if you have it,’ she said.

  Mills grinned as she entered the interview room and shut the door firmly behind her. ‘She’s a piece of work,’ he said.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Jake.

  ‘The most beautiful woman I have seen outside of a movie,’ said Mills. He grinned again. ‘And I think she likes you.’

  ‘Then she needs a shrink more than Johnny does.’

  He went back to his desk and checked his emails. He had a reply from the ME.

  To: Detective J. Austin.

  From: Dr V. Zatkin.

  Re: Initial report on suspected homicide victim Marcia Lamb.

  Detective Austin, got your messages. Initial examination suggests a time of death somewhere between 1 and 3 a.m. Monday morning. Cause of death is trauma to the head. Initial examination suggests victim had not engaged in sexual activity in the day prior to her death. More in report to follow.

  They knew most of this already. Sonny had got the call from Marcia half an hour after midnight, and the hang-up had come well before 1 a.m. Assuming Marcia had been disturbed by her killer, that meant he had killed her fairly quickly, but maybe not immediately. He could have had up to two hours.

  The only real news from the ME was that Marcia had not been raped. Jake wasn’t surprised. Sadistic killers were more often motivated by power than sexual lust.

  He typed another email to the forensics lab:

  From: Detective J. Austin

  To: Greater Indianapolis Forensics Unit

  Re: Marcia Lamb

  Guys, I hate to ask but I need anything on this one quickly. Did she scratch his face? Did you find any DNA? Anything we can use, can you keep me in the loop as you find out, rather than keeping it for the final report?

  Thanks

  Detective Austin

  He didn’t hold out much hope. Forensics hated to be rushed, and Jake anticipated that the killer had been too organized, too careful, to leave any clues. He probably knew as much about forensics as most cops.

  He became aware of a gentle floral scent that he vaguely remembered. Pure Turquoise by Ralph Lauren? He had bought that for Leigh on her last birthday. He turned to see Gail Greene standing behind him, a gentle smile on her face.

  ‘You forgot my doughnut,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry. I can get you a coffee,’ he replied.

  ‘That stuff?’ she said with a smile. ‘No, thank you. You’ll have to owe me one.’ She propped herself against one of the desks. ‘Let me tell you a little about your suspect. I don’t think he killed anybody.’

  ‘We guessed that.’

  ‘He has Aquinas syndrome, a compulsion to claim crimes he had nothing to do with. It’s named after—’

  ‘Thomas Aquinas,’ said Jake.

  ‘You’re Catholic?’ she asked.

  ‘My mother is.’ He motioned towards the door of the interview room. ‘Is he going to be OK?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll ever be OK.’ She smiled sadly. ‘He’s a deeply damaged individual. Borderline retarded in terms of intelligence. His mother abandoned him, and he drifted in and out of care. I’m having trouble tracking down exact records. But now he’s living in a project, among drug dealers and prostitutes. He’s fallen through the cracks, and he could be very dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous enough to murder?’ Johnny had got all of the details wrong so far, but Jake would still have to look into it.

  ‘Hmm.’ Gail twisted a lock of her hair in her fingers when she spoke. ‘Typically, people like Johnny are prone to violence and to abnormal expressions of sexuality,’ she went on. ‘For instance, during the interview he exposed himself to me.’

  ‘You should have called me.’

  ‘I’m a big girl.’

  Jake put his hands up in surrender.

  ‘He shows some signs of sexual deviance,’ she went on.

  ‘Paedophile?’

  She shook her head and her red hair changed colour in the light from the window. ‘Sufferers from Aquinas syndrome sometimes have predilections towards juveniles, but I don’t think so in Johnny’s case. Necrophilia seems more likely, given his obsession with death and dead people – he showed visible signs of arousal when discussing what he claims he saw.’

  Jake groaned. Now they had another suspect, even if a blind man could see he didn’t do it. Procedure was procedure.

  ‘So, is he capable of having killed Marcia Lamb?’

  ‘Capable, sure,’ she said, clearly picking up on his tone. ‘But it isn’t exactly an easy pathology to anticipate.’

  Jake nodded, unsuccessfully biting back a frustrated sigh. Johnny might not be a murderer, but he could still be a problem.

  He would have to be watched.

  16

  Tuesday, 3 p.m.

  Colonel Asher’s face was redder than usual. And his shirtsleeves were rolled up – never a good sign. He nodded briefly at Dr Greene, then turned to Jake.

  ‘Austin, when you have a moment can you come into my office, please? And bring your partner with you.’

  ‘Duty calls,’ Jake said to Gail. ‘So, what do we do about Johnny?’

  ‘Our resources are limited. I would love to get him into a residential programme and prescribe him the right meds. But it’s not going to happen. And as you have nothing to hold him on, he falls between the cracks again.’

  Jake stood. ‘I’ll get one of the uniforms to process and release him. We’ll give him some money so he gets a good meal tonight.’ He offered his hand. ‘Thanks for coming in.’

  She took it. ‘See you around, Detective.’ Her hand held his for a moment longer than he expected. Then she smiled. ‘Remember, you still owe me that coffee.’

  She turned and glided out.

  Jake turned to Mills. ‘Colonel wants to see us.’

  ‘I heard,’ said Mills. ‘I’ll follow you in a few minutes. I need a coffee.’

  Mills walked a thin enough line without antagonizing the boss, but it wasn’t Jake’s place to say anything. He went into Asher’s office, asking Sara to find someone to release Cooper as he passed.

  ‘Sit down, Detective,’ said Asher, making a show of speaking in a level voice. ‘Where’s Mills?’

  ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’

  Asher rolled his eyes. ‘Forget him for the moment; it’s you I really need to talk to.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I’m running a department here, Detective. We may think of it as a civic service, but we both know this is a business. City Hall budget us, and we produce results for them. We get the stats, the budget grows, and we can use the extra cash to do some real policing.’

  It was sad but true.

  ‘But it works the other way if we don’t come up with the goods.’

  Jake nodded.

  ‘Austin, you’re not giving me results. Why haven’t we charged Sonny Malone?’

  ‘Because he didn’t kill Marcia Lamb.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Asher. ‘Or maybe you’re thinking around corners when this is a straight-line case.’

  ‘Sir, with all due respect –’ Jake saw Asher bristle at the phony phrase ‘– no DA would ever pursue a case against Sonny Malone. Not without solid forensic evidence. The most clueless public defender would rip it to shreds. It would be a waste of time and departmental money.’

  ‘So improve the case – find the evidence to make it stand up.’

  Jake offered a single nod of his head: I hear you, sir. ‘We’ll keep him in the frame as we investigate, but we need to keep open minds. We can’t exhaust the department’s tim
e and resources on just one lead.’ Jake watched Asher’s eyes, wondering how the punch of the ‘open minds’ insult and the we’re-all-in-this-together nod to ‘the department’ would play.

  Mills walked in and placed a coffee mug on the desk, sitting down beside Jake.

  ‘You wanted to see me, Colonel?’

  ‘Ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I’m here now.’

  Asher grunted. ‘Do you agree with Detective Austin about Sonny Malone?’ he asked.

  ‘’Fraid so. He didn’t do it.’

  ‘Let me get the facts straight,’ said Asher, directing his words at Mills – the apathetic man in the room, more likely to agree with him simply to get out of there quicker. ‘Sonny Malone is a violent criminal on early release. For an aggravated assault charge. He deals drugs. His girlfriend finds out he’s screwing around, and she’s furious. With me so far?’

  Mills nodded. Jake didn’t bother. Asher still wasn’t looking at him.

  ‘So he has motive.’ He counted the points on his fingers. ‘Did he have opportunity? Of course he did. He knew where she would be late last night. He could get there easily enough. I know he has an alibi –’ Asher said the word with such disdain, Jake was surprised he didn’t make air-quotes ‘– but the alibi of your girlfriend is hardly cast iron, right?’ Now he turned to Jake. ‘You interviewed this girlfriend?’

  ‘It’s on our list of priorities,’ said Jake.

  Asher gave a grim smile. ‘How high?’

  Jake didn’t answer. He could tell Asher wasn’t really looking for one. This little sit-down was more about asserting himself than getting the best out of his men. A trait he probably picked up from the mother who had had him at a very young age, and spent the rest of her life reminding any- and everyone that she had given up a lot for her kids.

  Asher leaned forward over his desk. ‘When you talk to the girlfriend, you make sure you hammer at this alibi. Make sure you’ve made the right call.’

  Jake bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Asher didn’t say ‘we’ve made the right call’; it was ‘you’ve’. This went wrong, Asher was going to protect himself before his men.

  17

  Tuesday, 9 p.m.

  The room was dark except for the flickering screen. Marcia Lamb led the evening news. Interesting coverage – enjoyable, even.

  The first images came from the interstate construction site. A tarpaulin covered the body lying on the ground. A reporter was talking about the police investigation. A suspect had been taken in but released without charge late last night: a large black man who protested his innocence to the camera. Then the clip changed to earlier in the morning, outside the police station.

  A group of people was gathered around the door of the station, drinking coffee and smoking. The press were out in force. That mouthy reporter was there. Ford.

  There will be more media as it goes on. I know that. It’s a good thing. Necessary.

  The screen showed Councilman Mitch Harper on the top step, addressing the press. He was dressed in a dark woollen coat, open to reveal his shirt and tie. The assembled reporters were in a semicircle looking up at him.

  It won’t be long now. I’m sure of it. The forces are building. I can’t delay.

  The report ended, and the broadcast moved on to the next segment. He was about to turn it off when something stopped him. A name from his past. The Chase Asylum. This was interesting too. So the old asylum is being demolished? I haven’t thought about that place in years. So many memories … secrets …

  The anchor’s voice dripped concern as he said, ‘A second skeleton has been unearthed. It is believed that both skeletons could be the remains of children who died in the very institution which was supposed to protect them.’

  The report ended with an appeal for information by the FBI. If the Feds are involved, they are taking this very seriously. More and more interesting. The image of the missing man flashed on the screen. It was black and white, and clearly many years out of date. It showed a man in his mid-thirties with thinning hair and eyes that still radiated coldness.

  The anchor concluded, ‘Investigators are now looking for Fred Lumley, the warden of the Chase Asylum.’

  Old Fred. Who’d have thought?

  ‘Fred Lumley disappeared several decades ago, and has not been seen since.’

  This is all meant to be …

  He rubbed his hands together and smiled thoughtfully. ‘This is what you wanted.’

  18

  Tuesday, 9 p.m.

  Jake sat on the sofa, his shoes off, drinking a beer as he watched the news. The way they spun it both interested and repulsed him. They – whoever ‘they’ were – had wasted no time in attaching the most sensational nickname they could think of to the murderer, to match the snowy imagery and stark black and white shots of Christmas trees that seemed to accompany every report.

  The Christmas Killer.

  And he was fascinated by the news from Springfield.

  Downstairs was empty. An air of peace filled the house. As the news went to commercials he heard footsteps on the stairs. Leigh walked in. She was dressed in a robe with stains on it, and looked tired.

  ‘Babe, you look great,’ he lied. ‘I got us a Chinese.’

  She smiled weakly. ‘We ate two hours ago. You have it. Whatever’s left I’ll heat up for lunch tomorrow.’

  The Chinese had been his peace offering – so much for that.

  ‘I got a nice bottle of wine as well,’ he said.

  Her smile brightened a little. ‘Now you’re talking!’

  ‘Tough day?’

  ‘You could say.’

  She walked into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of wine, taking Jake’s beer bottle from him and putting it on the table.

  ‘Scooch over.’

  He straightened up in the sofa, making room for her, and flicked off the TV. She sat down, leaning into him.

  ‘I could do with a head rub.’

  Jake smiled. He enjoyed these moments when they made up, with the kids in bed, his mother in her room, and the den empty except for him and his wife. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Gently he shifted his body into the corner of the sofa while Leigh slid down until her head was resting in his lap. He began to massage her temples, moving his fingers in small circles. After every six circles he softly swept his fingers over her brow. It was a routine he had perfected over the years. Generally Leigh would fall asleep, and he would cover her with a blanket.

  But tonight he could feel her tension. Despite her tired appearance he knew her mind was churning.

  ‘Where’s my mom?’ he asked.

  There it was – he could feel her brow furrowing under his fingers.

  ‘Gone to bed, I think,’ she said. ‘We were watching the news a few hours ago and she suddenly got up and left the room.’

  Jake grimaced. It made his mother sound like a troublesome child. He remained silent but continued with the massage.

  After a few minutes Leigh spoke again. ‘Faith is beginning to worry me.’

  Jake had been married long enough to know that bland reassurance was not what Leigh wanted. Instead he made a non-committal grunt that could be interpreted as sympathy, encouragement or agreement … and waited.

  ‘Her behaviour is becoming more of a problem. She’s always moping. She doesn’t talk to me any more.’

  ‘She’s a teenager, honey. Did you talk to your mother when you were a teen?’

  He should have kept his mouth shut. Leigh shuffled under him, then sat up straight. The head rub was over.

  ‘She’s twelve, not sixteen! She needs to show some respect, and she needs to help more. She just comes home from school and goes up to her room. Have you been in there? It’s a dump.’

  ‘It’s a phase.’ Out came the bland reassurance. ‘There’s been a lot going on. She’s just trying to cope.’

  ‘It’s more than that. Last night she was in our bed. That hasn’t happened since she
was five. She’s clingy one minute, running away from me the next. And she’s been having nightmares again.’ She hesitated then dipped her head as she said, ‘Do you think having your mother here is healthy for a young girl?’

  Jake felt a pang of hurt, but she ploughed on.

  ‘Jeanette’s behaviour is becoming more erratic every day. Most of the time she doesn’t even recognize Faith. You’ve seen it too.’

  He had seen it. He’d seen the rejection in his daughter’s eyes when her grandmother didn’t know who she was. But he wasn’t going to let Leigh blame his mother and her illness for everything that was wrong in this house.

  ‘There are other things going on that could have unsettled Faith.’

  There was ice in her voice as she asked, ‘Other things?’

  ‘You know – the move and everything. New friends.’ But his backtracking wasn’t going to work.

  ‘Do you think Jakey is the problem?’ She looked incredulous, disgusted even. ‘Are you seriously telling me that the arrival of a baby brother has upset her this much?’

  Jake changed tack.

  ‘I can’t move my mother to a home.’ He was pleading with her. ‘We could get a nurse. We have some money saved up now, and it won’t be for ever. I could get a good nurse, and that would help a lot.’

  ‘And have another stranger living in the house?’ snapped Leigh.

  Jake felt his fists tighten. Now he was angry. ‘My mother is not a stranger,’ he said.

  Leigh ducked her head. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong.’ She sighed and tried to place a hand on his leg, but Jake reached for his beer to move out of the way. ‘What I meant was she’s changing all the time. She sometimes knows me, and sometimes I’m her sister, sometimes a shop girl. She’s becoming a stranger. And she needs more and more care every day. I already have a baby to look after.’

  Jake downed the rest of his beer. He needed time to compose himself.

  ‘If Jakey needed special care we would give it to him. My mother is family and we’ll do what we have to. One thing we won’t do is shove her in a home at Christmas.’ He stood. ‘I need to get some air.’