Saints Of New York (50 page)

Radick was gone for more than
three hours. When he got back he looked like crap.

'There is something seriously
wrong with this fucking planet,

Frank.
The stuff they have over there . . .' He shrugged off his jacket and dropped
into his chair.

'Seen
it all,' Parrish replied. 'I stopped asking questions about why people were so
fucked up years ago.'

'But
all that shit, man . . . Jesus, what the fuck is that all about?'

'It's
an addiction, Jimmy, just like smack or coke or booze. It's an addiction. Some
people are just wired up that way and no-one knows why.'

'Un-fucking-real,'
Jimmy exhaled.

'Sad
thing is that it's very real indeed.'

'You
get any word back on this submission to LA?'

'Not
a sound. Valderas . . . Jesus, I wouldn't want his job. I've been chasing him
around the building all afternoon. Finally cornered him in the canteen.'

'And?'

'And
he says that Haversaw is going to speak with someone who'll speak with someone
else's assistant-fucking-deputy some- thing-or-other, and we might get word
back by Monday. That's if we're lucky.'

'Christ,
it makes me wonder how the fuck we ever get anything done around here.'

'Let's
go get a room for McKee, okay? That is something we can do.'

McKee
arrived promptly. He showed up in the lobby, informed the desk sergeant that he
was there to see Detectives Parrish and Radick, and when Radick went down to
get him he was seated quietly in the foyer reading a newspaper. He smiled when
he got up. He extended his hand. He seemed pleased to see Radick. Radick - in
all honesty - could not see the guy making snuff movies.

They
reconvened in the same interview room. Parrish was already seated by the time
Radick and McKee arrived. Parrish got up and greeted the man warmly. Parrish
appeared calm, measured, self-assured. McKee seemed the same.

Radick
took his chair near the door, McKee's back to him, Parrish facing him and to
his left.

McKee
began by asking what other possible questions Parrish could have for him. He
made it clear that he was not willing to be subjected to any inappropriate
questions, that he had already sought legal advice, that he had the phone
number of a lawyer and he would call him given the slightest provocation.

Parrish
began by apologizing to McKee. 'I cannot expect you to understand the pressure
we are sometimes under,' he said. 'But I do appreciate your co-operation, your
time, your willingness to assist us. If you want a lawyer present now then
please call him.'

'I
have nothing to hide, Detective Parrish,' McKee said. 'I think you know this by
now. However, as I said before, I will not be bullied or harassed.'

'All
I can say is that I am sorry for the trouble and upset we've caused you. You
are not under arrest, and these interviews are being undertaken because you
have been so helpful.'

'In what way?'
McKee asked.

'Because
we're still around the edges of this thing,' Parrish replied. 'Because we're
still looking at the possibility that Lester Young might have been connected to
this matter.'

McKee's
eyes widened. 'I would find that really hard to believe,' he replied. 'I knew
Lester for a long time, and I always held him in the highest regard.'

'I
appreciate that, Mr McKee, but we cannot avoid the conclusive evidence that
the disappearances and deaths of these girls are connected to Family Welfare.
We just cannot get away from that. Two girls perhaps, three unlikely, but seven
girls—'

'Seven? I
thought there were only six?'

'Yes,
sorry. You're right. Six girls. So, as I was saying, six girls go missing and
wind up dead, and each of them is connected. That's far and away beyond the
bounds of any coincidence.'

'I
agree,' McKee replied. 'But Lester Young? He died back in December last year,
and there have been murders since then, haven't there?'

'Yes,
there have. But let's get off that for a moment. I wanted to ask you whether
you had heard of something called Absolute Publications.'

McKee frowned.
'Absolute Publications? What is that?'

'It's a
publishing firm, Richard.'

'Well
yes, I gathered that, but what do they publish? Why might I have heard of
them?'

'I'm
not saying you have heard of them. I was just wondering
if
you had.'

'No,
I can't say I have. What do they publish?'

'Well,
I don't know for sure about everything that they publish, and as far as I know
they're out of business now.'

'But
you must know something otherwise you wouldn't ask me about it.'

'Well,
I know that they publish pornographic magazines, Richard. I know that much
about them.'

McKee
opened his mouth to speak. He closed it again. He glanced back over his
shoulder to Radick but said nothing. When he looked back at Parrish he seemed
pale, a little worried.

'You
have
heard of them?' Parrish prompted.

'No,'
McKee said suddenly. He spoke too quickly. He knew it. Parrish knew it.

'Richard?'

'Okay,
so I used to read magazines like that—'

'Used
to?'

'Christ,
man, I'm a single guy. I've been divorced for three years. I don't get out
much. I don't go on dates . . .' He looked embarrassed, awkward.

'I
know exactly what you mean,' Parrish replied. He smiled reassuringly. He was
trying to make McKee feel alright about reading stroke mags. He was trying to
make it safe to talk.

'I
mean, it's not against the law or anything—'

'Depends
what's in them, Richard.'

'Meaning?'

'You
know what I mean.'

McKee
was silent. He did that about-to-speak-and-then-say- nothing thing a couple of
times, and then he looked away towards the door.

'Did
you go and see my ex-wife?'

'I
can't answer any questions, Richard.'

'You
went and saw her, didn't you? She told you that I used
to
read stuff like that. What did she do?
Did she keep some of
those
things?
Did she show you some of the magazines that I left
there?'

'I
can't answer that question, Richard.' 'Bitch!' McKee snapped suddenly. 'Fucking
bitch!'

'Richard—'

'Jesus, man, the fucking divorce
is done. It's over. What fucking right does she have involving herself in
this—'

'Involving herself in what,
Richard?'

'This case you're investigating.
What the hell d'you think I'm talking about?'

'We just contacted her because we
felt that she might remember you mentioning something in passing—'

'What? What are you talking
about?'

'Back then. When you worked with
Lester Young. One of these dead girls was connected to one of his cases, and
you knew him, and we asked her whether she remembered you mentioning something
about it at the time.'

'And?'

'I can't tell you what she said,
Richard, you know that.'

McKee frowned. 'What the fuck is
this? What's going on here?' He took his cell phone from his pocket. 'I'm
calling my lawyer—'

Parrish paused for effect. It was
obvious what he was doing, but he did it anyway. 'Do you think you need to call
a lawyer, Richard?'

'Oh come on! Jesus Christ, this
isn't fucking
Law and Order.'

'No, it isn't, Richard, it's a great
deal more serious than a TV show.'

'You know what I meant. Cut the
bullshit theatrics, for Christ's sake. You think I have something to do with
these disappearances, these murders? Is that what you think?'

'I'm looking at this with no
preconceptions right now,' Parrish replied. 'I'm trying to maintain as
open-minded a viewpoint as I can.'

'Bullshit, Detective, that's
bullshit and you and I both know it.' McKee leaned forward. When he spoke again
his voice was louder than normal, each word stressed carefully as if he was
explaining something to a foreigner. 'I. Am. Not. The. Man. You. Want. You
understand me? I am not who you are looking for.'

Parrish acted as if McKee hadn't
spoken. 'My father was a cop, you know that?' 'No, I didn't know that, Detective.
I would have no reason to know that.'

'Well,
he was, and he used to say something. It was a long time before I really
understood what he meant. He used to tell me that not all victims were created
equal. You understand what that means?'

'Of
course I do.'

'Well,
you're a smarter man than me.'

'I
can do without the sarcasm, Detective. You have to appreciate that I work with
victims too.'

'I
know you do, Richard, and that's why this case is possibly more disturbing than
most. It's not just about young girls being abducted and murdered, it's about
what happens to them between the abduction and the killing.'

'I
have no idea what happens to them.'

'They
wind up in magazines and films, Richard, that's what happens. They wind up in
the sort of magazines that are published by Absolute, and other companies of
that type. But those images, those stills you find in those magazines are not
what we're really concerned with. What we're concerned with is the films that
are made. You know the sort of thing I'm talking about, right?'

'Not
personally no. I know
of
sex movies. Who doesn't? I don't watch sex movies if that's what you're
asking.'

'I
find it hard to believe that someone who buys and reads the kind of magazines
that you do doesn't also watch films, Richard.'

'Well,
I'm not saying I haven't ever watched films like that, but certainly not
recently.'

'And
can you recall the titles of any of the movies you might have seen in the
past?'

McKee
looked down at his hands, at the cell phone on the table in front of him. It
was then that he seemed to notice how he was twisting his fingers together
nervously. He placed them flat on the table. He looked back at Parrish without
flinching. 'No,'
he
said
emphatically.

'You're
sure?'

'I'm
sure.'

'What
about a movie called
Hurting Bad?
You ever heard of
that
movie?'

'No, I haven't.'

'No
need to hurry with this one, Richard. Take your time. Think about it.'

'I
don't need to think about it. I have never seen a movie called
Hurting
Bad.
I presume this is some kind of SM
thing. I don't watch that kind of thing.'

'I thought you
said you didn't watch sex movies at all.'

'I
don't. I didn't. Jesus, you know what I'm saying. When I used to watch sex
movies I never used to watch
that
kind of movie.' McKee paused. He tried to smile. 'Look,' he said. 'I am not the
man you are looking for. I understand what you're trying to do, and if I was in
your position then I would probably be doing the same thing. I would really
very much like to go now. There can't be any more questions you need to ask me.
I have co-operated with you right down the line. I have come of my own
volition. I have tried to be as helpful as I could. Anything more than this and
we're heading in the direction of harassment, wouldn't you say?'

Parrish
was silent. He looked right back at McKee until McKee started to fidget
awkwardly.

McKee
broke the deadlock. He laughed nervously. He got up from the chair. He
retrieved his phone, buttoned his jacket. 'I have to go,' he said. 'I really
have to go now. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of greater assistance to you, but
I have things to attend to. If you need to speak to me again then you should
understand that I will most definitely bring my lawyer. Not because I have
something to hide, but because I am ignorant of the law and I don't want to be
railroaded into something that—'

Parrish
looked up. He smiled sympathetically. 'Railroaded, Mr McKee? What on earth
gives you the impression that anyone's trying to railroad you?'

'Come
on, Detective, we're not in kindergarten. I may not be a lawyer, but I have
dealt with lawyers and with people from Child Services and County Adoption for
most of my working life. I do know something. I am not a complete idiot.'

'No-one is
suggesting that you are.'

'Then why are we
doing this, eh? Why are you bringing me down here to answer questions that I
have no answer for? Why am I the focus of your investigation?'

'What
makes you think you are?'

'Jesus
Christ, it's obvious. The stuff you're asking me, the fact that you've spoken
to my ex-wife—'

'But
you might not be the only person we're speaking to, Mr McKee. You might be one
of several people at Family Welfare we're talking to. We might have visited any
number of ex-wives and girlfriends and mistresses and God-only-knows who else
in an attempt to make some sense of this. What gives you the impression that
you are the focus of this investigation?'