Hello, Darkness (38 page)

“I don’t think you did it intentionally,” Dean said quietly.

Armstrong turned to him with the desperate expression of a drowning man in search of a lifeline.

The role of good cop fell to him because he played it well. Let Curtis be the hard-ass. For the next several minutes, Dean would be Brad Armstrong’s best friend and only source of hope. He folded his arms on the table and leaned into it.

“Did you like Janey, Brad? I assume it’s okay if I call you Brad.”

“Sure.”

“Did you like her? As a person, I mean.”

“Truthfully, not much. Don’t get me wrong, she was something else.” Suddenly cautious, he glanced at his attorney.

“Sexy and willing?” Dean prompted. “The kind of girl we all wanted to date in high school?”

“She was just like that. But I didn’t particularly like her personality.”

“Why not?”

“Like most girls with her looks, she was conceited and selfabsorbed. She treated people like dirt. You either played her way or she didn’t play at all.”

“Did she ever turn you down?”

“Only once.”

“For another guy?”

He shook his head. “She said she was PMSing and not in the mood.”

Pal to pal, Dean smiled at him. “We’ve all been there.”

Then he sat back and folded his arms across his chest, his smile reversing into a frown. “The problem is, Brad, that most guys would blow it off. Oh, there’d be some frustration and maybe some hard cussing, but eventually your average guy would go have a beer or two, watch a ball game, maybe even find a more accommodating girl. But you take rejection hard. You can’t tolerate it. Which causes you to lash out, doesn’t it?”

He swallowed hard and mumbled, “Sometimes.”

“Like you did tonight with Melissa Hatcher.”

“I haven’t had time to confer with my client about Melissa Hatcher,” the lawyer said. “So I can’t allow him to talk about her.”

“He doesn’t have to say a word,” Dean said. “I’m going to talk to him.” Then, without waiting for the attorney’s permission, he continued. “This girl advertises the merchandise. She’s advertised it to me, to Sergeant Curtis here, and all the detectives in this unit. Any man would take the way she dresses as a ‘come and get it.’”

“So who could blame me for—”

“Do not say a word,” Brad’s lawyer snapped.

Ignoring the lawyer, Dean kept his attention riveted on Armstrong. “Unfortunately for you, Brad, the state of Texas blames you. If you penetrate the sexual organ, mouth, or anus of a child, it’s called ‘aggravated sexual assault.’ Correct?” he asked, turning to the attorney, who nodded curtly.

“How old is Melissa?” Brad asked.

“Sixteen until next February,” Dean told him. “She claims you had sexual contact and intercourse.”

“What if…what if…it was consensual?” Armstrong asked, seeming not to hear the admonitions of his attorney instructing him not to say anything.

“Doesn’t matter,” Curtis answered. “You’re a convicted sex offender. Under Chapter Sixty-two that makes what you did indefensible.”

Armstrong buried his head in his hands.

Dean said, “Your previous conviction for indecency with a minor was a third-degree felony. This is the big time, Brad. It’s a first-degree felony.”

“Not to mention capital murder,” Curtis chimed in.

Without acknowledging Curtis’s statement, Dean proceeded.

“You’ve paid dearly for your inappropriate and illegal behavior. You’ve lost jobs, the respect of your colleagues. You’re in danger of losing your family.”

The man’s shoulders rose and fell in a harsh sob.

“Yet in spite of the costly consequences of your unacceptable behavior, you haven’t stopped it.”

“I’ve tried,” he exclaimed. “God knows, I’ve tried. Ask Toni. She’ll tell you. I love her. I love my kids. But…but I can’t help myself.”

Dean leaned forward again. “That’s precisely my point. You can’t help yourself. Melissa got you so hot tonight that when she said no, you flipped out. You grabbed her, shook her, slapped her around. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t control the impulse, even knowing how much you were going to regret your actions later.

“Your desire to sexually dominate this girl shot your conscience and common sense all to hell. You had to have her, simple as that. Nothing else mattered. Not the punishment you would face when caught. Not even your love for Toni and your children could stop you. It’s a compulsion you haven’t learned to contain. It caused you to do what you did to Melissa tonight, and what you did to Janey.”

“Do not respond,” the lawyer said.

Dean lowered his voice another degree and spoke to Armstrong as though they were the only two people in the room.

“I have a clear picture of what happened three nights ago, Brad. Here’s this sexy, desirable girl who you thought was as enamored of you as you were of her. She’d been seeing you regularly, and you thought exclusively.

“That night, she goes down on you. And it’s great, but you know she’s insincere. You know she’s a liar and a merciless tease. You know that she’s waiting for her new interest to come along and replace you.

“When you confront her about it, she tells you to get lost. You’ve become jealous and possessive, and she can’t stand your whining any longer. Did you honestly believe that she would give up other men for
you?
she asks. You poor, delusional slob.

“You get furious. You ask yourself, where does she get off treating me like this? Calling up Paris Gibson and talking about me on the radio? Who does she think she is?”

Dean’s gaze held the suspect mesmerized. “When you got into Janey’s car that night, I don’t think you had already plotted her kidnapping and murder. I think you’d planned only to confront her, have it out with her, clear the air.

“And maybe if she hadn’t mocked you, that’s the way it would have ended. But Janey laughed in your face. She emasculated you with her ridicule, insulted you in a way you couldn’t tolerate. You lost it. You wanted to punish her. And that’s what you did. You devised a punishment of sexual abuse, befitting what she’d done to you. You hurt her until you decided you’d had your vengeance, to hell with the deadline you gave Paris, and then you choked her to death.”

Armstrong stared at Dean in stunned horror. He looked over at Curtis, whose visage remained unmoved and unchanged. Then, folding his arms on the table, he laid his head on them. In a tormented, cracking voice, he groaned, “Oh, God. Oh,
God.
”

Curtis and Dean honored the attorney’s demand to have a few minutes alone with his client and left the room. Curtis was smiling and rubbing his hands together, relishing the coup de grace.

“He hasn’t signed a confession yet,” Dean reminded him.

“It’s a matter of pen and paper. By the way, you’re good.”

“Thanks,” Dean said absently. This had been round one of what would probably be a lengthy and exhausting interrogation, but several things about it were nagging him. “I didn’t ask him specifically if he’d heard Janey on the radio talking about the jealous lover she was about to dump.”

“But you alluded to it and he didn’t deny it.”

“He denied calling Paris about Janey.”

“Before we even asked, which says ‘guilty’ to me,” the detective argued.

“He knew about Paris’s connection because it was in the news. His phone records refute the allegation that he called her.”

“There are several ways he could have placed those calls without it showing up on records.”

“Making weird phone calls hasn’t been part of Armstrong’s MO before. Why now?”

“Maybe he needed a new thrill. The Valentino phone calls spiced things up for him, and at the same time wreaked havoc on Paris. He wanted to get his kicks and get revenge. The calls accomplished both.”

That made sense, but only after you massaged it into place. “Valentino’s calls have a meanness to them that I just don’t see in Armstrong. He’s sick, but I don’t think he’s evil.”

Curtis frowned at him irritably. “Forget motivation for a moment and consider some facts.”

“Such as?”

“His occupation. He’s a dentist.”

“The chemical scouring,” Dean said, musing out loud. The medical examiner had been able to confirm that, like Maddie Robinson, Janey’s body had been astringently washed.

“Right. It’s the kind of thing a medical man would do.”

“It’s the kind of thing a meticulous psychopath would do, too. Someone with a compulsion for scrubbing away his guilt.”

“Armstrong straddles both categories.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the closed door of the interrogation room. “Janey was restrained. She was tortured. She had bite marks, for godsake.”

“We’ll get impressions of his bite for comparison.”

“My point is, none of Armstrong’s priors involved violence or even hinted at a propensity for it. He was a creep, but he wasn’t a violent creep.”

“What is this, Malloy?” Curtis asked crossly. “His own
wife
told us that his violent tendencies had been escalating.
You
said that was a natural progression for his particular psychosis. Are you second-guessing yourself?”

“I know what I said, and I was right.”

“Okay then. He knocked Melissa Hatcher around tonight.”

“There’s a wide gulf between knocking a woman around and torturing one before squeezing the breath out of her.”

“Not in my book. And probably not in the book of the woman being knocked around.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Curtis,” Dean said angrily. “I’m not excusing either. I’m just saying—”

“Ah, shit, I know what you’re saying,” Curtis grumbled, then expelled his frustration on a gust of breath. After a short pause that allowed tempers to cool, he asked, “Any more misgivings?”

“The photography.”

“Armstrong admitted that he might have taken some pictures of Janey.”

“‘Some.’ ‘Might have.’ He talked about the photography as though it was no big deal. Janey indicated otherwise. Before we start on Armstrong again, do you mind if I get Gavin in here and ask him more about this?”

Curtis shrugged. “I’m for whatever will help nail this guy.”

Dean stepped into the corridor and motioned for Gavin. He got up, leaving Melissa sitting with a couple Dean assumed were her parents.

“What’s up, Dad?” he asked. “Has he confessed?”

“Not yet. In the meantime, I’d like you to talk Sergeant Curtis and me through everything Janey told you about Valentino. Any detail you can remember. All right?”

“I already have, a dozen times.”

“One more time. Please.”

They found Curtis pouring himself a cup of coffee. He offered them one, but they declined. Curtis took a sip from his Styrofoam cup, then said, “At the risk of beating a dead horse, even an offhanded remark Janey might have made could be important, Gavin.”

“I wish I could remember something else, sir. She told me the guy was older. Older than us, I mean. That he was cool, knew how a woman liked to be treated.”

“We’re mainly interested in the photography,” Dean told him.

“She said he was a camera freak,” Gavin said. “Lights, lenses, an elaborate setup. He posed her himself. Moved her around, you know, her arms and legs. Head. Everything.”

“Could she have been exaggerating to impress you? Make you think of her as a model, like in
Penthouse?
”

“It’s possible,” he replied. “But if she was exaggerating, she sure did her homework, because she knew a lot about it. She mentioned shutter speeds, stuff like that. Said he tinkered with gadgets to get each picture just right, and would get mad if she didn’t cooperate.”

“He didn’t just fire off a few naughty snapshots,” Dean said to Curtis. “If you study the picture that Janey gave Gavin, you can tell it was taken by an amateur trying to be artistic.”

“And you don’t think Armstrong is capable of that?”

“Capable,” Dean said. “But if you’re out cheating on your wife, who is more than likely waiting up for you, do you take that much time with photography?”

While Curtis was still mulling that over, he happened to glance beyond Dean’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Dean turned to see who had caused Curtis’s distraction and saw Officer Griggs coming toward them. The rookie’s grin dissolved under Curtis’s frown and tone of stern disapproval.

“I…I was given the all clear, sir. Told it was okay to leave. But I was anxious to know if Armstrong had confessed, so instead—”

“You left Paris out there alone?” Dean asked.

“Well, sir, not—”

“Who told you to leave?”

“John Rondeau.”

From the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Gavin’s reaction to the mention of Rondeau’s name. He reacted not with the expected dislike, but with alarm.

“Gavin? What is it?” His son stared back at him, whey-faced.

“Gavin?”

“Dad…” The boy had to swallow hard before he could continue. “There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”