The Christmas Killer (23 page)

‘Jesus, Austin,’ said Mills as they stood outside the interview room. ‘There was no phone call; I just had to get you out of there. You were—’

‘I know there was no fucking call,’ said Jake, his voice coming out in a snarl. He turned away from Mills and walked down the corridor to the detectives’ office.

He walked straight to the back of the open-plan room. There was a door leading to a tiny canteen, and he went in. It was empty. He slammed the door behind him. Harper, with his smugness, was getting on his nerves. Jake needed to get himself under control if he was going to get anywhere in the interview. He held his head in his hands and tried to breathe through his mounting anger. But it wasn’t working. His pulse was racing, and his head felt light.

He had been working flat out all day. He hadn’t eaten. Maybe that was why his head was swimming, unable to properly focus. There was a vending machine in the canteen. He reached into his pocket and took out four quarters. He bought himself a Snickers bar that he didn’t really feel like. The machine gave the familiar dull
whirr
noise, and he saw the metal spiral begin to move with agonizing slowness. It pushed his Snickers bar out, and it dropped off the display. But the reassuring
thunk
of the bar falling into the tray didn’t follow. He looked down. It had got stuck.

He put his hands on the machine and shook it, trying to dislodge the bar. Nothing happened. He pressed the coin return button, but the machine did not refund him his four quarters.

‘Fuck you,’ he said.

He grabbed the machine and shook it as hard as he could, hearing it scrape against the floor as he dislodged it from the spot where it had stood for a decade or more. He kept on shaking, but still nothing happened. He slid his hands up the edges, thinking that more leverage might do the trick.

‘Shit!’ he gasped, as his palm ran over a jagged edge of metal. ‘Fucker!’

His fist was moving before he could stop it. He punched the machine – once, then again. The glass front shattered beneath his knuckles.

As the glass rained down on his shoes, Jake took a deep breath. He felt the warm wetness on his hand. He looked down. His hand had multiple gashes on the palm and back and knuckles. Already droplets were peppering the floor at his feet.

There was no first-aid box in the canteen but there was a roll of blue paper towels. He ripped off a few sheets and wound them around his bleeding hand. The
paper reddened immediately. Jake took a tea towel that was lying by the coffee machine and wound it tightly around the tissue. Makeshift work – a cop’s speciality.

He stormed out of the canteen, through the detective bureau, through the open-plan office that housed the uniforms, traffic guys, drugs and vice – ignoring the startled looks they gave him – heading towards the reception, where he knew there was a first-aid box.

He was almost there when a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. He looked up.

Not now. Not
fucking
now.

It was Johnny Cooper. He had somehow got past the reception desk. If anything, he was looking worse than a few days ago. He was emaciated and swayed slightly as he walked. Except that ‘walked’ was too generous a term. Johnny was flat-out stumbling. Jake could smell the stale beer breath, which was competing with the urine stench in a race to get far away from Johnny as quickly as possible.

‘I’m sorry, I had to do it,’ he was saying. ‘You
know
. You understand. Journalists, they’re the lowest of the low. I had to go to his house and kill him. He’s been writing bad things, evil things, unholy things—’

Jake had had enough. Hand or no hand, this would be dealt with immediately. He gripped Johnny’s shoulder, feeling the bony ridge under the cheap fabric of the man’s coat. Jake turned Cooper and propelled him to the front desk and the public area.

‘Officer Meredith, arrest this man for Murder One.
Throw him in the holding cell and keep him on ice until I’m ready for him,’ he said.

The young uniform, a look of confusion on his face, stepped up and took Cooper by the elbow, leading him away. Cooper looked a little disconcerted. Jake wondered if he might actually protest his innocence, now that his twisted confession fantasy seemed to be getting a result.

That would be the cherry on the faecal sundae Jake was trying to keep contained in his burning belly.

He glared around. There were nearly a dozen guys in his sight, and at the front desk he could see Sara, a phone to her ear.

‘Listen up, you jerk-offs,’ he shouted. ‘How the fuck did that lunatic just walk right past all of you?’ He glared at them. A number of people looked back, clearly uncomfortable. ‘No answer?’

‘It’s just Johnny,’ one of the guys said. ‘Sara was tied up, so he came into the office. Big deal.’

‘And what if it hadn’t been “Just Johnny”? Huh? What if someone had come in with a knife or a gun? A fucking al-Qaeda man could have come in with a bomb strapped to his fucking chest, shouted fucking “Allah-hu Akbar!” and blown us all to shit, and you wouldn’t have known anything about it until your heads were flying out of here.’

He could see the stunned looks on their faces, and he knew he had gone too far, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Then one of the traffic guys stood up, a grizzled veteran near the end of his twenty. ‘Detective,’ he said, the word sounding like it tasted bad in his mouth, ‘you need to get a grip. You’re out of line.’

Jake let the statement hang in the air for a moment. Of course that was how they were going to react – Jake was not local, and had transferred in from a major city. Though it was never said, least of all by him, the implication of such a career path was that Jake had been demoted, that Littleton was a league – maybe two – below somewhere like Chicago. So Jake’s advice, his assessments, were always going to be taken as condescending, and his compliments patronizing – even if they weren’t.

He had to ignore the fact that he did think the Littleton guys weren’t doing things the right way. He could bring any procedural complaint up later – after he’d caught this killer. For now he needed these people on his side, so he had to play nice. But he couldn’t.

‘There’s a fucking killer still out there!’ he yelled.

The Littleton cops simply turned away and went about their business – whatever they were doing before Johnny Cooper’s show-stopping arrival. Jake considered following up, then realized there was no point. They weren’t going to listen to him. He had had his claws, however shallowly, into Mitch Harper, and his grip had been loosened by Johnny. Like an Olympic hurdler whose stride is disrupted, he was going to clip the next hurdle.

He just hoped that clipping it would not take him right out of the race.

He turned and marched into the interview room where Johnny waited.

Johnny looked up as Jake entered the interview room. His eyes were big, and his face was pale. Jake could see he had been crying.

‘Please help me,’ Johnny said. ‘I need to be stopped. I don’t know why I did it. I saw him on the television, and the voices told me I had to do him too. I said no, but they made me. I’m so sorry …’

Jake could feel the band of pressure around his forehead squeeze a notch tighter with every word Johnny uttered. His teeth were grinding. He had heard enough. Leaning forward until he was right in Johnny’s face, Jake said, ‘Stop wasting my time. You didn’t kill Ford. You didn’t kill anyone, and you never will.’

Johnny recoiled as far away from Jake as he could. His lip trembled.

‘You know why you won’t kill anyone, Johnny?’ Jake sneered, putting extra emphasis on his next word: ‘
Ever?
Because, in your own sad, pathetic way you’re sicker than the guys who actually do have the
balls
to go out and take a human life. Because you
want
to be a killer.’ He made sure he hit the word ‘want’ as hard as he could. ‘You think about it. Dream about it. Probably jerk off over it sometimes, when you can get it up. Which I bet is extremely rare these days. But you just don’t have the
guts
to actually do it.’

Johnny looked at him, eyes blinking rapidly.

‘I … I … I killed plenty,’ he said.

‘You didn’t kill anyone.’

Jake reached up and roughly wiped his brow. As he did so the towel came loose from his hand, and he felt some of the blood smear across his face. Some drops flicked off and landed on Johnny.

Johnny flinched and rubbed at the drop on his shirt. ‘But I’m—’

‘I’ll tell you what you are!’ yelled Jake. ‘You’re a bum who desperately wants to be noticed,’ he said. ‘You’re a pathetic little man who everyone ignores. If you can’t be a nice guy, you’ll be a bad guy. Anything to get some attention. Am I right, Johnny?’

His blood was boiling. He didn’t care. He grabbed Johnny by the shoulders, blood from his hand streaming over the bum’s clothes, and shoved him from the holding cell.

‘You don’t have the guts to be a killer,’ Jake snarled as he led Cooper back through to reception. ‘It’s not in you. You’re a nothing, a nobody.’ Jake pushed him again and Johnny stumbled. ‘I don’t ever want to see you in my station. Not for anything.’

He propelled Johnny out of the front door and turned. As he walked back in, he could hear Johnny muttering behind him, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

Sara was glaring at him. ‘Detective, your hand—’

Jake didn’t stop. He stormed to the room where Harper was waiting for him.

‘Interview resumed with Mitchell Harper,’ Jake said, his words almost drowned out by the interview room door slamming behind him.

‘I thought we were finished here,’ said Harper, a flicker of nervousness seeming to pass over his eyes.

‘We haven’t even gotten started,’ Jake said. ‘I asked you if you had anything to volunteer. You had your chance. Now let’s get down to basics. I know your marriage wasn’t perfect. I know Belinda knew about your affairs.’

Harper went pale.

‘Yes, your “meetings” with a local working girl are not exactly a secret,’ said Jake. ‘Although I wouldn’t have thought a guy like you would have to pay for it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Harper avoided Jake’s gaze; he seemed to be scanning the walls for a hidden door through which he could escape.

‘I’m talking about Leanne Schultz,’ Jake said. ‘Ring a bell? The hooker you were seeing for a year.’

Harper’s mouth fell open.

‘She said you liked it rough. “Brutal” was actually the word she used.’

‘I … It wasn’t like that.’ Harper looked shocked.

‘No? What was it like?’

‘It was … a mistake.’

‘Probably not your first, and definitely not your last.’ Jake wiped his face with his bandage. He could taste the blood from the cut in his mouth.

‘Shouldn’t you get that hand looked at?’ said Harper, feigning concern.

Jake ignored him. ‘How many of Littleton’s hookers do you see?’

Harper ran a hand through his hair, his eyes widening and narrowing as he internally debated whether he should tell the truth or go the usual politician’s route. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. He’d made a decision. ‘I strayed once. It cost me dear. But Belinda forgave me. She was a patient, forgiving wi—’

There it was. A contradiction. Jake leaned forward, ignoring the twinge of pain in his hand when he placed it on the table. ‘You told me she was volatile.’

‘Belinda … was a complicated woman.’

‘What kind of “complicated”?’

Harper opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was floundering.

‘Was she aggressive, Councilman?’ Jake pressed, talking quickly. A barrage of jabs now. He was going to get through that guard to land the haymaker. He could feel it. ‘I’ve been told she was a very
passionate
lady – you’ve described her that way yourself. Is it possible that her emotions could get the better of her on bad
days? Maybe she struck back at you with a retaliation fuck?’

Harper’s lips were moving, on autopilot, knowing that a response was needed, but still no sound came out.

Jake decided to change his angle of attack – whipped hooks around the ears to bewilder and disorientate his opponent. ‘Where were you the night Leanne Schultz was killed in the hit-and-run?’

Harper looked stunned. His face was ashen, and his fingers, gripping the chair, were white. Then suddenly his face collapsed. He put his head in his hands as his body shook with sobs. After a moment he looked back up at Jake, wiping his eyes and nose with the backs of his hands. He got himself under control. ‘Leanne was just sex. Nothing more. And she was right: it was rough. I lived out my fantasy. I thought there was no harm in it. We all have our … dark sides, right? Our secret wants?’

‘Do we?’ Jake asked, a savagely sarcastic tone in his voice.

‘She pushed me. She said she was going to the press, and I lost my head. I hit her. I regretted it straight away. I took her to the hospital.’

‘You didn’t take her to the hospital. The cops took her to the hospital.’

‘How do you
know
all this?’ he whispered, looking at Jake with a mixture of fear and amazement.

Jake sat back in his chair. ‘I’ve read Chuck Ford’s files.’

‘It was a low point,’ Harper said.

Jake noticed that Harper did not register any surprise that the now-dead reporter had the information. ‘How did you straighten that out?’ he asked.

Harper shrugged. Beaten. ‘I lied to the police. I perjured myself – and back then I had some influence. It just went away.’

‘And Leanne Schultz?’

‘She was cool about it once I paid her off.’

‘And Belinda?’

‘She called in a divorce lawyer. I almost lost everything. I
did
lose my place in the party – if it wasn’t for that whole affair, do you think I’d be running for mayor of this hick town? I’d be state governor by now.’

‘So how did you make Ford go away?’ he asked. ‘Threaten him?’

‘Fifty grand.’

Jake let the silence linger. Let it stretch. He held Harper’s eyes unflinchingly, knowing that the silence was the worst part for the councilman. In silence his mind would have less protection against the guilt. In silence he would feel the sting of that guilt more acutely. He would talk simply to drown out his own thoughts, hoping that would deflect the guilt. And if he kept talking, there was a chance that he would say something he should not.

‘I did a lot of bad things,’ said Harper. ‘I betrayed Belinda. But I wouldn’t lay a hand on her. You don’t think I would kill her and Ford over that? She had forgiven me. And Ford was happy with his pay-off.’

‘Convenient that I’ll never be able to question
them
about that,’ said Jake.

Harper recoiled as if he had been struck. ‘Belinda did forgive me. We worked through it all.’

Jake could not resist the urge to lean forward. Put Harper under more pressure, he might crack. Jake could feel that the councilman’s breaking point was close. A barrage of one-twos, and he might have Harper down on the canvas.

‘I don’t buy it. Here’s what I think. Belinda didn’t forgive you. She
never
forgave you. She stayed with you because there was something in it for her. She took a gamble on you all those years ago, banking on you becoming a man of influence – and you did. But you screwed around on her, and – no matter how ambitious she was – she just could not accept that. She could not forget it, could not simply let it slide. And you knew this, didn’t you? You knew, as soon as you achieved your political goals, as soon as you became mayor, Belinda would have your balls in her hand for the rest of your life together. So you made sure that life together wasn’t too long.’

‘No,’ Harper muttered. ‘I didn—’

‘And that fuck, Ford,’ Jake continued, getting into a rhythm. ‘That bastard was hanging over you like the blade of a guillotine. An easier decision – no dithering required. But then, once you’ve gone as far as butchering your wife, killing a hack journalist who already took fifty grand from you must be comparatively easy, right?’

‘No!’ shouted Harper. ‘What are you saying? I didn’t kill them. I couldn’t. I loved Bella. She loved me. She made my life hell for a while. She punished me, and I deserved it. We were good.’

Time to switch up again. Another body shot to drag the guard away from the face. ‘What was the sex like, with the prostitute?’ Jake asked.

Harper didn’t answer.

Jake pushed some more. ‘Rough stuff, right? You like to hurt women. You like to cause them pain. You need to dominate, right? A powerful man in a powerful position, and in your home – your own home – your wife was ruling the roost, telling
you
how things were. You couldn’t handle that – but you couldn’t take it out on Belinda because she had the trump cards. One word from her to the press, your career is over. So you seek out nameless whores. Whores nobody cares about, and nobody defends. Dominance without reprisals – just the way you like it, right? The way things never were with your wife. The wife you ended up—’

‘No!’ screamed Harper. He seemed years older than when they had picked him up.

The door of the interview room crashed open. Mills burst in, his face red and grim.

‘Detective Austin! Outside.’