by Jim Gallows
29
Wednesday, 1.30 p.m.
Leigh was vacuuming. There was a time, when they had first got married and were living in a cramped apartment on Lake Shore Drive overlooking Lake Michigan, when they didn’t even own a vacuum cleaner. Even when that changed, neither of them had been especially diligent about keeping their house tidy. That just wasn’t their way.
Until they had come to Littleton. Now Leigh seemed to be cleaning everything two or three times a day.
Jake forced a smile to his face. It wasn’t his mother’s fault. It wasn’t Leigh’s fault. It was just life. It wore you down. Best not to say anything about the fight last night and see how the land lay.
‘I found her,’ he said brightly.
‘So I see.’ Leigh was smiling too, but he could see the tightness around her lips. ‘Where was she?’
‘Walking along Berkshire, not a care in the world.’
‘That’s a long way from here.’
‘I know. Any idea how long she was gone?’
Leigh bit her lip. ‘As I said, the bed doesn’t even look slept in. We’ll have to get a lock.’
Jake looked to see if his mother was taking any of this in, but she was pottering around the kitchen, oblivious. Jake knew it was wrong to be talking about her as if she wasn’t there, but in a sense she wasn’t. He frowned slightly, and Leigh caught the message.
‘We’ll talk later,’ she said. ‘Want a coffee?’
Jake did, but he was pressed for time.
‘Sit down – I’ll have it for you in a minute.’
Feeling guilty for each second he was away from the station, he sat on the sofa. The news was showing, sound muted, so he boosted the volume. The second killing was getting blanket coverage. Some reporter he didn’t recognize was describing the scene to the anchor in the studio. She didn’t have much information, but she was spinning it as best she could. Then it struck him that she was spinning the same vague information they had had a few hours ago – the press did not have the identity of the second victim yet. He was impressed. Asher was keeping a lid on this one. Out of respect for Councilman Harper? Unlikely. Much more likely Asher was simply trying to make sure he hogged the limelight himself when he finally broke the news to the press. Probably a late-morning press conference, feeding live to the lunchtime news shows. Police colonel was not an elected position, but the incumbent needed to be a good politician all the same.
Leigh came back into the room. She had a mug of coffee, which she set on the table before settling down next to him. He moved over on the sofa and killed the sound. He tried to keep any combative tone out of his voice. ‘Can we talk about this later?’ he said.
‘We can’t keep putting it off,’ Leigh replied. ‘We have to make a decision soon. Do we get a nurse, or do we find a place where they can take care of her? These aren’t just bouts of forgetfulness. She has a medical condition, and it’s getting worse.’
‘Now’s not a good time.’
‘I know. But when will be? It’s for her own safety as much as anything. She could get hurt on one of her wanders. And they’re happening more and more often.’
‘We can cope.’
‘You’re not here to help with the coping,’ she said.
‘I’m here now.’
‘But in an hour you’ll be back at work, and I’ll be on my own – as I’ve been since we arrived. You do know it’s Christmas, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, aware that his voice was clipped. He softened it. ‘I also know we have a potential serial killer at large, and that people are at risk until I’ve caught him. I have to focus on that.’
‘Insurance would cover the costs,’ was all she said, changing the topic to one where she had the higher ground.
‘It’s not about the cost,’ he snapped.
‘Fine,’ she said. But he knew it wasn’t. This would run and run.
He stood, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed for the door. She hadn’t turned towards the kiss.
As he walked briskly to the car, he was seething. Whatever Leigh said, he would not be putting his mother in a home. Never. Christ, they should be on the same side.
He saw Faith coming up the driveway towards him. ‘Hi, Dad.’ His daughter grinned. ‘What are you doing home? Have you—’
‘Sorry, Faith, I have to go back to work,’ he said, opening the car door. ‘We’ll talk tonight.’
As he made to slide his body into the car, he caught the pained look that clouded Faith’s face. But he did not have time to make it better. Not today. He closed the car door.
What sort of a man am I turning into? That’s my daughter.
He opened the car door and stepped out, spreading his arms. He put a big goofy grin on his face.
Faith smiled back at him, running into his arms. He hugged her tight, feeling her small skinny body folding into his strong arms. She snuggled like she hadn’t since she was seven or eight, and he felt the tension easing around his forehead.
‘Are you coming in for lunch?’ she whispered.
‘I just came for the hug,’ he replied.
30
Wednesday, 2.30 p.m.
When he got back to the station it was chaos. The whole place was buzzing, with three news trucks parked outside. He went in and saw Sara behind her desk, scowling at him. It seemed like she was still bothered by the Johnny Cooper incident.
‘In the conference room,’ she hissed.
This is it: Colonel Asher’s moment of glory.
He walked down the corridor and slipped into the back of the room. Already the press were there en masse, microphones bearing all the major radio and television logos clustered around the simple podium near the door. There were a few chairs to the side, with one or two of the detectives in place. Mills was there. Asher was beside him in full-dress uniform, the gold eagle shining. He was whispering urgently, then he spotted Jake and beckoned him over.
‘How did your lead pan out?’ Asher asked him.
Jake looked at Mills, who shrugged as if to say, I had to tell him something.
‘Anything new I can tell these guys?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Jake replied.
Asher nodded, then stepped into the office beside the conference room.
‘He’s been like this the past hour,’ said Mills.
‘These cases take time. He has to know that,’ Jake answered. ‘The press have to know it too.’
‘We did have a development while you were out. I’ll fill you in as soon as we’re done here. You handle your … situation?’
Mills was fishing. Jake gave him nothing. He just nodded.
Asher walked back into the room, leading Councilman Mitch Harper. The official looked paler than everyone was used to. His eyes were red.
‘The onion effect,’ Mills whispered.
There was something a little too staged about the councilman’s appearance. Jake remembered when Leigh’s father had died. She didn’t shed a tear until ten days after the funeral. That was the way deep grief hit: it left you numbed and in shock. It wasn’t a thing you turned on for the cameras.
The reporters were beginning to stir.
‘Colonel, any lead on the two killings?’
‘Is it true they are linked?’
‘Councilman, will this double homicide help your law and order bid for the mayoral election?’
Jake winced. That reporter was going to regret that last question once the facts were revealed.
Harper sat on a chair set behind the podium. His head was bowed and he was looking at his shoes, which lacked their usual polish. Something about his attitude and bearing was beginning to sink in with the assembled press men. The room gradually quietened.
Colonel Asher stepped up to the podium, a few typed sheets in front of him. He frowned, looked up, scanned the crowd, looked down at his notes and then began to speak.
‘I’ll keep this brief. As you know, a second body has been found, out by the interstate construction site. We are sa
tisfied this second killing contains several significant similarities to the murder of Marcia Lamb yesterday …’
A wave of sound grew in the room as reporters began to fire questions, but Asher held his hand up to stop them speaking.
The colonel went on: ‘We believe that we are looking for one man for the two murders.’
‘Are you certain the perpetrator is male?’ one reporter shouted.
‘Are you treating it as a potential serial killer case?’ said another.
‘No questions yet, please,’ Asher said. ‘I will read my statement, then we’ll see about questions.’ He looked down at his papers again. ‘The murders are being treated as one case. At this point we are exploring several lines of inquiry. For operational reasons I will not be discussing those with you.’
Jake scanned the crowd. Chuck Ford was near the front, a Dictaphone lying on his knee and a spiral-bound notebook open in front of him. He was scribbling furiously. One of the old-fashioned guys. Other reporters were holding their recorders in the air to catch every one of the colonel’s words.
Jake wasn’t scanning the crowd out of idle curiosity; FBI profilers had determined that serial killers – if that’s what they were dealing with – like to stay close to murder investigations. They often hung out in cop bars, even befriending the investigating officers. It was not a universal trait, but something to look out for. The killer could be here right now.
Asher droned on for a few minutes, doling out a carefully selected package of details. It was important to hold things back, things that could then be used to check the validity of statements the police took later. It was these kinds of details that would weed out the fake confessions, like the ones offered by Johnny Cooper.
The colonel paused, shuffled a new sheet of paper to the top, glanced down, then looked out at the packed room.
Here we go, Jake thought.
‘Every killing strikes at the heart of a neighbourhood, but this one has struck home especially hard,’ he said. ‘Our detectives have identified the second victim … and she was a pillar of the community, someone who worked tirelessly for others.’ He took a deep breath before saying, ‘Belinda Harper.’
The room went silent. Then pandemonium broke out. The voices and the questions seemed to come all at once.
The colonel shouted over the top of them, ‘The councilman has agreed to make a brief statement, appealing for any information that might help apprehend this killer. He will not be accepting questions.’
Harper’s shoulders were hunched as he walked towards the podium. Jake had to admire the way he was holding it together. His voice shook as he spoke briefly about the shock of the discovery, then he blinked away tears as he turned from the reporters. There was a moment’s silence, then he turned back to them.
‘We were together so long,’ he said. ‘She was my life. I don’t know how I will carry on without her,’ he said in a small voice. Then he stepped from the podium.
Immediately the questions began, but Asher was on his feet, hustling Harper from the room. Ten minutes, start to finish. Show over.
Except it’s not, Jake thought, feeling the acidic tingle of the ulcer in his gut. Not yet …
31
Wednesday, 2.50 p.m.
Jake stirred sugar into another coffee as he watched the last of the reporters pull out from the parking lot. ‘You said there were developments?’ he said to Mills, who had appeared beside him.
‘Nothing dramatic,’ said Mills. ‘But we have a new suspect in the frame. Someone you know.’
‘Who?’ asked Jake.
‘Guy Makowski.’
Jake looked at him blankly, so Mills went on: ‘The guy you ju-jitsued at the church protest on Monday morning.’
‘How is he in the frame?’ asked Jake. He was surprised.
‘You asked me to do a background on Belinda Harper. She had no enemies. I mean, nobody liked her, but nobody hated her enough to kill her either. However, she did have a very public fight with Makowski a few weeks back. It was at that meeting about the interstate.’
Jake remembered it vaguely. He had not been working that night. The city council and the contractors had made a presentation at City Hall about the interstate and how it would affect Littleton. It was supposed to be a routine town hall debate, but the event had been hijacked by protesters and the cops had been called out to calm the situation down. Which is why they’d been better prepared for the church event.
Mills pulled out a notebook. ‘I was talking to a friend of Belinda.’
Jake found it jarring hearing the deceased being called by her first name, but he hadn’t known her like Mills had.
‘It seems that Makowski is one of the ringleaders of the anti-interstate faction, and he was at the meeting with his cronies, kicking up a rumpus. They weren’t allowed in, but they were on the steps of City Hall as people arrived, trying to intimidate everyone. Makowski blocked Belinda as she arrived.’
‘Did he target her specifically?’ asked Jake.
‘I don’t think so. She was just another rich bitch getting out of a nice car, and he picked on her.’
‘Where was Harper while this was going on?’
‘Inside, with the other councilmen.’
‘Interesting.’
‘According to Belinda’s friend, Makowski accosted her as she walked up the steps of the building, and blocked her way in. He had a bunch of guys with him, all following his lead, but he was the loudmouth.’
‘Did he touch her?’
‘You’ll love this. When he started giving her the spiel about our heritage being bulldozed, she just looked at him for a moment, and asked him if he’d finished high school. She said, “Even a moron can understand that two hundred jobs in construction is a fair trade for some heritage.” ’
Mills laughed, but Jake was focusing on the humiliation Makowski must have felt at that moment. No one liked being put down, especially not in front of friends following your lead. But when you are put down by a beautiful woman who is smarter than you, and more successful, it can be a painful thing. Guys like Makowski thrive on their machismo. He didn’t have the words or the wit for the cute girls, and he wouldn’t have coped when she had cut him down to size in front of everyone.
‘He must have been mad,’ said Jake.
‘Yeah. Boiling.’ Mills consulted his notebook. ‘And then – get this – after he calls her a fucking bitch she bent forward and whispered something in his ear. No one caught what she said, but it must have been good, because he made a lunge at her, but he was held off. So he ran over to her car and kicked in a panel.’
‘Did she bring any charges?’
‘Yes,’ said Mills, glancing down at his notebook. ‘Misdemeanour assault and criminal damage.’
‘So he has motive. That makes him a person of interest, to say the least.’
‘Moving towards a strong suspect,’ Mills agreed. He leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face.
Jake nodded, agreeing that – procedurally – it was something to keep in mind. Except that it didn’t fit. He had tackled Makowski on Monday and that gave him a feel for the man’s character.
You’re a boaster. You like to boost yourself up. You could kill someone in a bar fight, but it would be an accident.
But … There was always a but. As well as the voice in his head, Jake could hear the voice of reason. Makowski did want the interstate stopped. And two dead bodies had certainly slowed things down. Of course, two bodies wouldn’t stop the work permanently, but Makowski was not a deep thinker. And then there was the choice of victim. Kill Belinda Harper, and he killed the charges against him. That was added motive.
‘Howard, I need you to check for priors. You have a three-strikes rule in Indiana, don’t you?’ Three strikes – three felony convictions – and you could be facing twenty-five years without parole.
‘Yup,’ said Mills, and he nodded at Jake because they both knew what that meant. If Makowski was on his third strike, he had al
l the motive in the world to off Belinda Harper.
‘Let’s go then.’
32
Wednesday, 3.30 p.m.
Figuring the odds were good, they drove to Makowski’s house. They had an address for him, and a few calls established that he worked night shifts at a steel mill. The shift was from midnight to 8 a.m., and he had been late the last two nights. He was becoming a person of more significant interest to Jake, especially where Belinda Harper’s murder was concerned.
Jake just wondered where Marcia Lamb would fit in.
Assuming Makowski slept after his shift, he should have been just about waking up.
‘How are we going to do this?’ asked Mills.
Jake paused. He knew this would have to be handled delicately. They had no probable cause at this stage and didn’t want to let Makowski know he was in the frame for the double homicide.
‘Let’s ask him about the scuffle on Monday,’ said Jake. ‘Shake the tree and see what falls out.’
Makowski lived on the outskirts of town, where the city merged into the agricultural hinterland. They arrived a little after three thirty. It was little more than a clearing in the trees, with a forty-foot caravan pulled back from the road. The yard was littered with broken bits of furniture and truck parts, and a flatbed pickup was parked outside. The caravan needed work, and the pickup wasn’t new.
‘Give me the projects,’ muttered Jake.
‘Don’t knock it – it’s good hunting country,’ Mills replied.
They pulled off the road and into the yard, stopping beside the pickup. They stepped from their car and crossed to the door of the caravan. In addition to the regular lock – which was about as secure as a shoelace – there was a big padlock on the door. But the padlock was open. There were two signs on the door. The first read, WHATEVER YOU’RE SELLING, I’M NOT BUYING, the second, TRESPASSERS ARE IN SEASON.
‘Nice guy,’ muttered Mills.
Jake rapped on the door. There was no response and no sound from inside. He rapped again. Still nothing.
‘If he’s not at home, can we snoop?’ asked Mills.