Dangerous Games (33 page)

“Wait and see,” Abby said with a smile. “The real question is, how do you explain showing up here? We need a story. Something too simple to be disproved.”

Tess considered it. “We’re near the river, aren’t we?”

“Couple blocks away.”

“Okay, then. I was cruising the area on the chance that the Rain Man might use an entrance near the river. I happened to see this car parked on a side street and I noticed a struggle going on inside.”

Abby ran the scenario through her mind and saw the plot holes. “No good. Kolb’s connection with Madeleine will come out as soon as they run a background check. She’ll be called in, and she’ll have to admit she met you.”

“You’re right.” Tess looked chagrined. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You don’t have enough practice at this sort of thing. Now here’s the story. You admit you interviewed Madeleine. You were running down a lead on the side. You followed Kolb tonight because you thought he might be the Rain Man.”

“Followed him visually,” Tess said. “I can’t admit to using the tracker.”

“Sure, that’ll work.”

“I don’t know.” Tess looked away. “Michaelson will suspect there’s something more going on.”

“He’s the director, right?” Abby shrugged. “So let him suspect. Suspicions don’t matter as long as there’s no proof. Anyway, you’re forgetting the most important thing. You got him. You got the Rain Man.”

“We got a man who assaulted you in his car. Whether or not he’s the Rain Man remains to be seen.”

“You saw what he had in his pockets.”

“Duct tape, handcuffs—it’s good, but not enough. He could just be a regular nutcase.”

“Could be, but isn’t. He’s our guy. He told me so himself.”

“He did?”

“In plain English. Said I was going into the storm drains like the other two.”

Tess took this in, and her face cleared. “Then it’s over,” she said quietly. “It’s really over.”

Abby frowned. “Well, there’s still his partner to worry about.”

“I’m not convinced there is a partner.”

“He said I was working with you. Someone had to give him that information.”

“Nobody could have. Nobody knows. He was bluffing, Abby. He was working alone.”

Abby let it go. The partner angle was something she could pursue on her own. “Whatever. Anyway, we got the guy we wanted. We ended the crime wave. Saved the day, in the best tradition of Mighty Mouse.”

Tess stared at Kolb, prone on the pavement.

“We did, didn’t we?” she said. “We really did.”

Abby smiled. “I told you we’d make a good team.”

33

An outsider would have assumed that bagging the Rain Man would merit an enthusiastic reception from the staff of the LA field office. Tess knew better. When she arrived with Abby, she was met with uncomfortable silence from Larkin, Crandall, and the others. No one seemed to know what to say—except Mason of the DWP, who clapped her on the shoulder and boomed, “Great work, you
got
him!”

“See?” Abby said in a low voice when they’d moved on. “You have some friends among your fellow
federales
.”

“He’s not a fed. He’s our liaison with DWP.”

“Oh.”

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up, though.”

“That’s me, always looking on the bright side.”

After that, they’d been separated. Abby was to be interviewed. Tess was called to the AD’s office.

As she’d predicted, Michaelson was unhappy with her on a variety of levels. The fact that she’d apprehended the city’s most wanted killer hardly compensated for her flagrant disregard of his orders. She’d pursued the Madeleine Grant tip without authorization. She’d kept secrets from her superior. She’d failed to return to the field office or to accept Larkin’s subsequent phone calls.

“And I’m still not convinced you’re telling me all you know,” Michaelson ended ominously. “I think you’re hiding something, Tess. That’s a mistake. You’ve practiced enough skullduggery as it is.”

She just gave him the same thousand-yard stare that Detective Goddard had used on her earlier in the day.

The stare unnerved Michaelson. He looked away. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said.

“I look forward to it.” Sure she did. She was a masochist.

“For the time being, you’re off this case. Restricted to your desk.”

“It may be difficult to explain to the media why the person who cracked the case is no longer involved in it.”

“The media have not yet been alerted to this arrest. We are keeping this story under wraps until we know exactly what we’ve got.”

“They’ll find out eventually. Then they’ll come to me for comments.”

“Which you are not permitted to give.”

“Which will only heighten their curiosity.”

Michaelson surrendered. “All right, you can continue to participate, but in an observational capacity only. You take no action. You just watch. I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

“That should be interesting to see.”

Together they went to the observation room, where a bank of closed-circuit television monitors displayed the image of Kolb, next door. He sat unmoving at a long table, his wrist chained to a steel eyelet embedded in the wood. Tess thought of Angela Morris and Paula Weissman, both of whom had died with their wrists shackled. She wondered how Kolb liked it.

For the moment he was alone in the interrogation room. Tess assumed Michaelson would send in one of the squad supervisors and a profiler. He surprised her, announcing to the small crowd of agents in the observation room that he was going in alone.

“I took over this investigation,” he said, “and I’m responsible for handling the suspect.”

In other words, having had nothing to do with the Rain Man’s capture, he could at least finagle a way to take credit for his confession.

Tess watched the monitors. On the far end of the table where Kolb sat, a few items had been placed out of his reach. The duct tape and flashlight from his pockets. The notepad and marker found in the trunk of his car. The cell phone in his glove compartment. The idea was to unnerve him, obviously—to show him there was no way out.

He didn’t look unnerved. He looked oddly serene, almost smug. But of course serial offenders were often sociopaths, incapable of emotion.

As she watched, Michaelson appeared on the sweep of TV screens, pulling up a chair at the table. Standard procedure would have been to crowd Kolb, get in his face, but Michaelson hung back, keeping a safe distance between them. It would be nice to think he had some clever psychological strategy in mind, but Tess figured he was just scared.

“Mr. Kolb”—the AD’s voice, crisp and loud, came over the speakers—“I’m the assistant director in charge, Richard Michaelson. I have some questions for you.”

“I don’t have any answers.”

“You’re in serious trouble, Mr. Kolb.”

“Am I?”

Michaelson gestured toward the evidence on display. “You can see some of the things found on your person and in your vehicle. The notepad matches the one used in the abductions of Angela Morris and Paula Weissman. We found an index card with a bank account number on it. Our people are tracking down that account right now.”

“Good for them.”

“There’s a tape recorder, which I assume was used to record your victims’ statements. And of course there are the handcuffs you intended to put on your victim, and the duct tape to seal her mouth, and the cell phone you would have used to call the mayor’s office. In addition, you were carrying a firearm, with the serial number filed off. Possession of a gun is illegal for an ex-convict, and a gun without a serial number—well, that’s illegal for anyone.”

“Maybe I believe in the right to bear arms.”

“Our evidence technicians are continuing to go over your vehicle, and of course they’ve been dispatched to your residence as well. They’ve already found a number of items directly connecting you with the kidnappings and murders in the storm-drain system. Obviously there’s more to come. Now, you were a police officer, and you know you’re not going to walk away from this. We have you. Your only chance for any leniency is to cooperate fully and unreservedly. The game is up, Mr. Kolb.”

Kolb just sat and stared at Michaelson for a long, disconcerting moment. “So,” he said finally, “you running this play on your own?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I have a little experience with the interrogation process. Normally it’s played two-on-one, good-cop, bad-cop. So are you the good cop or the bad one?”

“I’m just trying to talk straight with you, man-to-man.”

Kolb snorted. “Yeah.” He leaned forward and took a closer look at his adversary. “You’re not the good cop or the bad one. You’re not a cop at all, are you?”

“I’m a federal agent.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re not a street hump. You ride a desk, push paper.”

“I do a lot of things, none of which are relevant to this conversation.”

Kolb looked away. “McCallum—she’s a cop.”

“Agent McCallum is an agent of the FBI, just like me.”

“No, I don’t think so. Not just like you.” He turned toward the ceiling, searching for the hidden cameras. “You watching this, Tess? You going to let this empty suit steal your righteous bust?”

His gaze fell on a corner of the ceiling that concealed one of the camera lenses. Tess stared into the monitor and saw Kolb staring back.

“Mr. Kolb,” Michaelson was saying, “this case is in my hands now. It’s me you want to talk to.”

“It is, huh? What was your name again?”

“Richard Michaelson.”

“Okay, Mike. Here’s the thing. I don’t
want
to talk to you. And I’m not
going
to talk to you. I’m not
ever
going to talk to you.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re a dickwad.”

Michaelson stiffened. “That kind of talk is not helpful, Mr. Kolb.”

“Fuck you, Mike. How about that? Is that helpful?”

The AD rose from the table with ostentatious dignity. “I hope you enjoy sitting around in custody. With this attitude, you may be here a long time.”

He was halfway to the door when Kolb said, “Send McCallum in.”

Michaelson turned. “What was that?”

“I’ll talk to McCallum.”

“I don’t believe Agent McCallum is in the building.”

“Cut the bullshit. She’s here. I can smell her. She’s in the next room, watching me on a TV monitor, and wishing she was asking the questions because she knows she can handle me a lot better than you can. Isn’t that right, Tess? Hey, Tess, tell your boss he’s an asshole. Tell him it’s time to let one of the grown-ups have a turn.”

He was looking into the same camera lens. It was as if he were seeing her through the glass screen of the monitor.

“You’re only making things worse for yourself,” Michaelson said.

“Give me McCallum. I’ll have a conversation with her. I may not tell her what she wants to hear—but I’ll talk.”

Michaelson returned to the observation room, looking flustered and uncomfortably aware that his status was at stake. Tess didn’t say anything. She knew that if she made any comment or suggestion, it would boomerang on her. Whatever was decided had to be Michaelson’s idea. He had to save face.

Finally he said, “Tess, he seems to feel he has some kind of connection with you, Christ knows why. Maybe you’d better take a crack at him.”

He spoke loudly so everyone could hear, as if it were something he’d just thought of, a brainstorm, an executive decision.

“Yes, sir,” Tess said quietly, willing to give him the pretense of dignity he needed.

She was about to step out the door when his voice stopped her. “Agent McCallum. You’re not wearing your ID badge.”

She’d forgotten to clip it to her lapel. “I had a few other things on my mind.”

“The rules matter. Put it on.”

As power plays went, this was rather sad. Still, she couldn’t suppress her irritation as she dug the laminated badge out of her pocket and clipped it in place.

He was right, though. The rules did matter. It was a lesson she wouldn’t let herself forget.

34

Tess walked into the interrogation room and saw Kolb smile. He felt he’d won this round. Tess was determined to give him no more victories.

She sat at the table. “I don’t know why you’re being uncooperative,” she said without preliminaries. “You can only hurt yourself at this point. We have more than enough evidence to put you away.”

“Do it, then.” His eyes glittered with uncanny assurance. “Lock me back in a cage. You’ll feel safer that way.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re scared of me.”

“Am I?”

“Damn straight. You’re terrified—because you know what I am.”

“And what is that?”

“A man.”

“Are you saying I’m afraid of men?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you are. Maybe that’s why you’re a frigid bitch. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m saying I’m a man. Not just a male. A
man
. And in your world, that’s the one thing that isn’t allowed.”

“I’m not following you, Mr. Kolb.”

“Sure you are. It’s like I’m looking right inside your head, reading all your secrets, isn’t it?”

“Not really.”

“You won’t admit it, but you know it’s true. What scares you is that I’m better than you. I’m stronger, smarter, tougher. I’m in control.”

“You’re wearing handcuffs. Does that sound like you’re in control?”

“This is how you want me. Manacled, caged. That way I’m no threat. You can’t allow me to be on the loose. Your whole fragile social order is based on denying that men like me exist. When you find one of us, you throw us in a dungeon, keep us out of sight, so this fantasy you’ve constructed can continue uninterrupted.”

Tess was surprised by Kolb. He saw himself as a big man, a figure inspiring terror and awe, when in fact he was only an inflated ego, a puffed-up narcissist. He was big only in his own eyes. “I’m not the one dealing in fantasy,” she said mildly.

Her dismissive tone seemed to rattle him. He raised his voice, squared his shoulders. “You can’t face the reality of what you are and what I am. You don’t dare to even look at me—you’ll be blinded by the light.”