by A N Drew
Marlin leaned forward. "I wanted to pay my respects, that's all, she seemed like a nice girl."
Blood sped through my veins, electrical current sparking. I brought my hands up to the desk and linked my fingers together. "So, you admit you talked to her?"
"Yeah, I talked to her, but that's all. Last time I saw her she ran back to play so I went home."
"You don't see anything strange about a registered sex offender hanging out at a park where children play? Then turning up at the funeral of a little girl that was murdered at the same park?"
The legs of the chair scraped as Marlin shifted his chair on the linoleum floor. "I already said, that was a long time ago. I did my time. I didn't kill her."
"Did you abduct her? Then kill her? Show up to the funeral to view your handiwork?” I'd tried so hard to stay cool but it burst out like a firecracker. I'd told myself I wouldn't lose my temper, but the more I tried to convince myself, the worse it got. My heartbeat bashed against my ribcage, and my face burned.
"No, I didn't take her, my record is history now, I did my time. I told you, I didn't kill her." Marlin's voice changed in pitch, higher, almost a squeal. The worm protested too much. Time to try a different angle.
"If it's all just a misunderstanding, you won't mind taking a DNA test. A swab of your saliva will be enough.” I straightened up in my chair and eyed Jones.
Marlin dropped his gaze to the table, then looked back up. "Am I under arrest? Because if not, I'd like to go home now. I've had better days."
Marlin's collar was only inches from my hands, palms down on the table now. It would take a split second to yank his collar, lift him up off the floor and fling his puny spine against the wall.
I kept my voice quiet, controlling my rage, deep and low. "Yes. You'll be charged with impeding an investigation and further charges are pending. An officer will be in shortly to begin that process. As far as the rape and murder of Jessica Holmes, we need to eliminate you as a suspect. A DNA test will do that."
Marlin stood up. "So, you chased me for what? Because I pissed you off? Stood on your turf? As for murder, you’re guessing. Sounds more like harassment to me." Marlin flung his hands up in the air.
I paused. I needed a moment to compose myself, to wait for the seething pressure in my head to subside. My hands were back under the table, resuming the clenched fist position, but now my nails bit into my palms so hard my palms stung, and something dripped. Possibly blood. "Sit down,” I spoke through clenched teeth. "I'll get the officer to see you and formally charge you as soon as possible. And I'll get the DNA kit."
I stood up slowly, rising to all six foot two of my frame, glaring at Marlin. Marlin might be a dirtbag, but he still had some sense left. He sat back down.
I took a couple of steps towards the black locked cupboard on the back wall of the interview room, unlocked it and reached for a plastic bag. I found it, removed it from the cupboard, locked up again and walked back to the table. I didn't sit. I removed a swab from the plastic bag and unscrewed the lid of the pathology container.
"Open your mouth as wide as you can.” I had managed to park my emotions. Marlin leaned forward to comply. I stuck the swab into his mouth and swiped both sides. I put the swab back in the container, screwed on the lid and put it back in the plastic bag. I wrote "Marlin Jones,” on the outer label, suppressing the desire to write "Filthy Scumbag.”
Marlin sat back in the chair. "Can I go now?"
I pressed my lips together. "No."
Marlin didn't speak; he simply stood up and pulled at his cuffs, screaming about the injustice of it all. I sat at the table and waited for my blood to shift from simmering and back to normal, clenching my fists.
I wanted to lock the worm up for murder, but without evidence, I'd just have to eat it, the frustration, the constant fraying of my mind as I thought of little Jessica Holmes. I still kept her photograph with me, but it had moved from the pocket of my trousers to the inside of my jacket.
I got up and strode out, the door closing on Marlin's bullshit. I pushed out a breath and headed for my desk. Holmberg was still there, pecking at a keyboard.
I stopped and stood beside him.
"He'll be charged, but not with murder—yet."
Holmberg turned away from the screen and looked at me. "Yeah well, I don't like letting it go either, but without evidence..."
"Yeah, might follow up on the search warrant for Marlin's place. He agreed to a DNA test, but who knows how long that will take."
Thankfully, Holmberg didn't say out loud what I suspected. It would be days or weeks before test results came back. At least now though, my blood flowed at normal speed and my heart pumped along regularly rather than barrelling along at full force.
My desk phone rang, and I strode across to grab it "Jack Fletcher,”
"Jack, it's Rae Swanson. About the Louisa Fein case."
"Yeah, got any news for me?"
"I got the DNA results back. No match. Whoever killed Louisa isn't in our DNA register," Swanson sighed.
I knew without a doubt the scumbag that killed Jessica Holmes, also killed Louisa Fein. I offered up a silent prayer he wouldn't kill again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, hunched over my desk after the painkiller kicked in, I went through the bank CCTV footage again. I must have gone through it a hundred times, scanning, desperate for anything.
Still nothing more.
Garrett arrived and hung his jacket on the back of his chair but didn't sit down.
"You might be interested in this one, Jack,” he said, an edge to his voice.
"In what?” I said, twisting around in my chair to look at him. He stood in front of his office chair, hands in his pockets, gazing at the carpet. Eventually, he looked back in my direction.
"We picked up a pervert up today, exposed himself to a young girl. David McElroy. A bystander called it in."
My gut twisted. "Where is he?"
"In the interview room. He'll be charged with indecent exposure; thought you might like to talk to him before he goes to lock-up, might have some information for Project Beacon."
"Thanks, Ed,” I said. I rubbed my right palm over my face. "Any priors?"
"Yeah, we picked him up last year for exposing himself in public. Got probation for a first offence. But, get this. He drives an orange van, like the one in the CCTV footage. I checked the registration details. It's him."
My stomach felt empty and my throat burned.
"Let me at him,” I growled, standing up. I took a few strides towards the doorway which led towards the front where the interview room entrance lay, just off the main corridor.
Homicides were one thing, but rape and sexual assault on children another, and I didn't like the world we’d fallen into. I'd headed down into the murky world of child paedophilia and needed a cold shower and a stiff drink.
Garrett followed me and stopped a foot away. "Jack, the world of sickos can wear a man down. But leave it alone, hey? Talk only. Don't touch him.” I turned to face him. Ed Garrett watched me closely, looking for some sign I was losing it. He looked as bad as I felt. But I figured if I could play it cool with Marlin Jones, I could keep calm with this pervert.
"I'll play it by the book, Ed,” I said. "But thanks for the heads-up.” I continued walking and paused before the interview door to take a deep breath and get myself into the detachment of yesterday. Before I headed to the room, I grabbed a can of drink from the fridge and shoved it in my pocket.
I opened the door. David McElroy sat at a rickety interview desk the size of a small card table, seated on a plain black chair. The scumbag might appear regular enough to most people, although first impressions of his appearance struck me as weasel-like.
He was rail-thin, with pasty skin and black short hair plastered to his head. He looked up briefly when I entered, revealing a worm of a moustache, then hung his head. He wore a grey hoodie and what looked like matching pants. I took two strides towards the table a
nd sat down across from him. I pulled the can of drink from my pocket and placed it on the table. McElroy grabbed it, opened it, and began drinking.
"Mr. McElroy? I'm Detective Sergeant Fletcher. I'd like to talk to you about what happened today."
The pervert lifted his head and looked directly at me. "I don't know what came over me,” he mumbled. “It was stupid." His voice had a whining tone, grating.
"Yes, well. I wanted to talk to you about that, and I hoped you'd help with my enquiries. Do you mind if I record our interview?"
"I guess it's okay."
So far, McElroy hadn't asked for a solicitor, so we were good to go. I set up the recorder and began first with the date, the location, and the name of the two people in the room.
"Mr. McElroy, I understand you're likely to be charged with indecent exposure, following an incident earlier today. However, I'd like your assistance with an incident that occurred four days ago in Croydon. Can you tell me where you were around 11 a.m. on the 12th of March?"
"Um, I don't remember exactly. What day was that?"
"The 12th was a Tuesday,” I said. A day I'd never forget. The day Jessica Holmes disappeared. Days later I'd told Will Holmes his girl wasn't ever coming back.
"Uh, I'm pretty sure I ran a few errands, some shopping, banking, that kinda thing." McElroy rubbed his chin, then stared at the wall behind me.
"So, you were at Bank East around that time on the 12th March?"
"I don't remember the exact time, but it's possible, yeah. I bank with them and was there on that day.” He took a drink, paused and looked at me directly. "What is this about?"
David McElroy struck me as unusually cooperative. At the prospect of being arrested and charged, most offenders were definitely not so willing to answer direct questions. It was time to get to the point.
I dragged my chair closer to the table. "Your orange van was seen outside the bank, and a little girl Jessica, was bundled into the car. Jessica's body was found some time later.” I let the statement hang in the air.
McElroy wasn't quite so quick to answer this time.
"I had nothing to do with that. I don't go around killing kids,” he said quietly.
"Why, then, was there a car outside the bank, with the same appearance and registration as your car, and why did a child—who later turned up murdered—get into it?" I’d never seen the plates, but I wasn’t about to tell McElroy that.
McElroy no longer met my gaze and cleared his throat. He paused for a while longer this time.
"I had nothing to do with that girl. I'm not a murderer,” he said again. Although he was no longer staring at me, McElroy had progressed to now staring at his hands on the interview table, rather than staring at his feet.
"You admitted you were there at the bank at that time, on that date. It was your vehicle, and a murdered child got into it. Jessica Holmes."
"Anyone could have used the car."
"Yes, they could have, but you've already admitted you were outside the bank at that time and on that day. Why did you do it? Same reason you exposed yourself in public? For cheap thrills?"
McElroy lifted his head. His eyes appeared glassy black, blank and soulless without a trace of light. "I told you. I had nothing to do with that girl’s disappearance or her murder."
"You haven't explained how your orange van was outside the bank on the day she went missing, or why she was seen getting into your car. Where did you take her? How did you kill her?"
A muscle flickered in McElroy’s cheek. "I told you, I had nothing to do with that. I didn't kill anyone. Anyone could have had the car on that day."
"Such as? Who did you loan the car to? As you said, you were at the bank that morning, running errands. Let’s be honest here. If I parked my car somewhere, I’d definitely notice if someone else broke into it and took it for a spin. For one thing, I’d call that theft and I’d report it to the police. So, what’s your story? Either you loaned it, or you were using it yourself.”
I reached over for a pen and notepad, pausing the pen over the pad, and looked at McElroy expectantly. I had my guy. The burning hot blades in my gut and the swirling storm in my chest told me this was him. This pervert, this worm…here was the scumbag that had tortured and killed little Jessica Holmes, Louisa Fein, and possibly the two others, Taylor Wentworth and Bianca Baker.
I decided to try a different tactic.
"This guilt, this bad feeling you may have inside, there is a way to get rid of it. And you know what that is, don’t you?"
Stony silence. Again, McElroy met my gaze then looked down at his lap.
"I understand. I've been there. If you tell the truth, and tell me what happened, and get it out, you'll feel better."
After a couple of seconds, McElroy lifted his head and looked directly at me. "I'll talk to you if you turn off the recording."
"I can't do that,” I said.
"You want the truth, I'll give you the truth but no recording,” he said, his voice edgy.
I hit the button and turned off the recording. I did my best to suppress the surge of anticipation. Finally, here and now, I'd get a confession and put this bastard away for a long, long time.
"I didn't abduct the girl you're talking about or kill anyone." McElroy paused, and he smiled slyly. "But I'm sure she was a sweet little girl, sweet and delicious,”
An inferno blew up, raging upward from my gut, blood racing through my chest and my neck. In a split second, I'd pushed back the chair—which scraped loudly on the old linoleum floor—and lunged forward, grabbing the worm by the collar and lifting him out of his seat. His eyes bulged, and he managed to blurt out, "What the..."
"You piece of shit, you fucking parasite! You killed those little girls, tortured them, raped them. I should...” I'd completely lost control, and in my rage, a tiny bud of saliva had landed on McElroy's collar.
The door burst open, and Garrett was by my side in a heartbeat, pulling me off David McElroy. I took a breath and dropped my hands.
Garrett didn't look at me at first, focusing on McElroy. "Please take a seat. An officer will be with you shortly,” he said. McElroy was wide-eyed, straightening his shirt and beginning to hurl abuse at us both. Garrett had the presence of mind to take the electronic recording device and remove it from the room, grab a plastic bag to pick up the can, and then dragged me out, slamming the door shut.
"What the fuck happened to staying cool?” he hissed in the corridor outside the interview room. "Come on, let's get some coffee."
He shoved the recorder into his pocket, put the can inside a plastic bag, and strode off towards the kitchen, and I stumbled behind him, lost in thought. In the light-filled kitchen, I leaned back against the sink and closed my eyes, willing my heart rate to slow down and taking a couple of deep breaths. All I could think about was Jessica Holmes under the cold ground, beaten, raped, butchered—while her father wept.
Sure, I shouldn't have lost my cool, but something about this case had got under my skin, wormed its way in to gnaw at me, slowly dissolving the detective I thought I was. I hated that it had got personal. All I could think of was Will Holmes, his suffering, his grief.
He'd never get over this, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever forget it either.
Garrett focused on getting some fresh coffee. He emptied the coffee pot and set up fresh coffee and filters, rather than dealing with me or looking at me. Maybe he needed to pause to get his bearings too. He flicked on the switch beneath the coffee pot and turned towards me, leaning one arm on the bench.
He shook his head. "Might be best to keep this between us for now; Hicks doesn't know about it, and McElroy might rant and rave, but without the recording, he's got nothing." He held the sealed bag containing the can out to me. “You might want to get this to the lab”
"Thanks,” I mumbled and took the bag, staring at the floor for an answer that never came. As I lifted my head, I caught a presence leaning on the kitchen doorway to my right.
Selena Hicks.
Shit.
"I don't know about what?” she said and leaned further into the doorway.
Neither of us spoke. Eventually, Garrett opened his mouth to speak. I cut in ahead. "I interviewed a perp, McElroy. Indecent exposure charge. He's involved in the Holmes case, the little girl’s murder."
"Project Beacon? The one with the media all over us? Tell me you didn't lose it again, Jack,” she said, her voice quiet. One thing I'd learned was to keep my head down when boss lady got quiet. That usually meant I was in for a worse time than a show of direct anger from her.
Neither Garrett nor I replied.
"We'd better have a chat, my office. Now,” she said and walked away. I trudged down the corridor to put the bag down, before heading for her office. I knew I'd get an ass-whooping. I hoped Hicks wouldn't take me off Project Beacon.
She entered her office and shut the door behind me.
"Sit,” she said tersely.
I backed into the brown chair, inches away from her desk in her small office. I figured at that moment, it would be best if I said as little as possible.
"What the hell was that all about, Fletcher? Right now, you've got two options, spill your guts, or I find out later. I promise you, if I find out later that you didn't tell me everything, you're off Project Beacon.” Her frown hardened, and she barely moved from her position, back ramrod straight and hands flat on her desk.
"A guy was pulled in and charged with indecent exposure, McElroy. He tried to grab a kid from the toilets in a shopping centre, got stopped by a member of the public. I have his vehicle on CCTV footage outside the bank. I can't see him inside the van, but I can see Jessica Holmes getting in the car."
"Go on.”
"Garrett told me McElroy was in the interview room and being charged with indecent exposure. He checked the reg, and it matched McElroy’s. So, I talked to McElroy. I might have grabbed him around the collar of his shirt."
"I see."
"He won't admit to any of it, the murder, the torture of that little girl. The rape. So, when he made a snide comment about her, I lost it..."