Watch Me (7 page)

‘And you’ll get them. First, though, there are a couple of things you need to get for me.’

I reeled off my list then handed him the key for the Senator’s Suite at the Imperial. Taylor narrowed his eyes at me as if he was trying to peer inside my head.

‘If you want, I can write that all down,’ I offered.

Taylor just stared.

‘And change your clothes. That uniform’s got to go.’

Taylor’s stare turned into a glare, then he walked over to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and glanced over his shoulder.

‘When I get back I want those answers.’

10

The door clicked shut and Taylor’s footsteps faded away. I spent the next five minutes rearranging the room, fussing and moving stuff around and getting comfortable. Then I plugged in my laptop speakers and set the computer to play some tracks at random.

The first act of
The Marriage of Figaro
filled the room. The act opens with Figaro measuring the space where his bridal bed is going to go. This was Mozart at his most playful and it never failed to make me smile. Even when things got really dark this had the power to bring light back into the world.

I phoned down to Hannah and asked for the Wi-Fi password and some coffee. In addition to the usual junk, my inbox contained an email from Chief Olina Kalani of the Honolulu Police Department, and a new request from the New York Police Department.

Requests like the one from the NYPD came in on a daily basis. Two or three requests wasn’t unusual. The problem was that there were too many for me to deal with, so inevitably I ended up letting down more people than I helped. This was something I’d had to learn to live with, but it wasn’t easy. Some days I feel like that Dutch kid who tried to stop the leaks in the dyke with his fingers, but instead of water it’s blood leaking through my dam.

The tone of the email from Chief Kalani was polite but pissed. The media had jumped on the story of his rapist, and the news was filled with scare headlines. An investigation like this was bad enough without fear being added into the mix. I typed out a quick reply asking him to send everything he had on the case, and signed off by saying that if anything jumped out at me I’d let him know. Once that was done, I logged onto the webpage the unsub had set up.

07:22:20.

For a whole minute I just watched the screen, the seconds ticking away, those numbers marching ever closer to zero. During that time another six pixelated stick figures went off to meet their maker. It was one of the longest minutes I’d ever known.

I put the laptop to one side then lay down on the bed and closed my eyes and thought about what I’d learned so far. While
The Marriage of Figaro
played in the background, I thought about Gulfstreams and brand-new cop cars, and a small-town sheriff’s department that could afford to issue me with a blank cheque. I thought about paintwork that gleamed and windows that shone. Mostly I thought about Sam Galloway’s final moments, about flames licking at his skin, and that infinitely slow slide into agonised madness. I thought about the minutes leading up to his death and wondered about what he might have seen. In particular, I wondered about
who
he might have seen.

So far there were three things I knew for sure.

Firstly, wherever Sam’s killer was, whatever he was doing, he would be blending in like a chameleon right now, because that’s what killers like this one were exceptional at. They blended in. This guy was the quiet neighbour who always gave you a cheery wave and a polite hello. He was that work colleague who helped you out last fall when your car broke down. Who knows, he might even be the buddy whose barbecue you attended at the weekend.

That’s the thing with this type of killer. Bump into them on the street and you’d never know what they really were. They had wives and kids and jobs. They had lives. But those lives were an illusion, smoke and mirrors to hide their true selves.

I knew all about the smoke, and the mirrors. My father was a master illusionist. Fifteen murders over a twelve-year period and nobody suspected a thing.

The second thing I knew for sure was that Sam’s killer would be obsessing over what he’d done. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He would be doing his best to treat today like it was just any other day. He’d be saying all the right things and making all the appropriate responses. If anything, he’d be even more careful than usual to make sure he blended in.

And all the time last night’s events would be playing on a loop inside his head, an endless procession of sounds and images intruding into his every waking thought. In quieter moments, when he was sure he was alone, he might steal a few seconds to fully immerse himself in the memories, but the rest of the time he’d be making sure it was business as usual.

The third thing I was absolutely certain of was that unless somebody stopped this guy he would strike again.

There was one other thing that I was ninety-nine per cent certain of. That bombshell was going to be dropped on Taylor when he returned. I wasn’t sure how he’d react. Hopefully he’d be able to put his personal feelings aside and view things objectively. If he didn’t then I was on my own. That said, unless I’d read Taylor all wrong, I was confident it wouldn’t come to that.

A soft knock on the door brought me back into the here and now. I closed the laptop lid, got up off the bed and let Hannah in. She carried her tray to the bedside table and put it down, the smell of fresh coffee following her across the room. There was a banana on the tray. I looked at the banana, looked at Hannah.

‘That’s not a candy bar.’

Hannah smiled. ‘Ten out of ten for observation. Taylor said you were good. If you’ve got a problem with your blood sugar level, fruit is better. It’s a proven fact.’

‘It doesn’t taste as good‚ though.’

‘You’ll thank me later.’

I reached for the banana, looked at it like it was some sort of torture device, then peeled it and started eating.

Hannah’s smile turned into a grin. ‘You’re looking healthier already.’

‘I’m expecting a discount on the room.’

The grin turned into a laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

I tipped two sugars into my mug and took a sip. It wasn’t in the same league as the Blue Mountain coffee served on the Gulfstream, but it was strong and packed with caffeine and it would get the job done.

‘Unless you’ve found the secret to eternal youth, I’m guessing you’re not the original Hannah.’

Hannah laughed. It was a great laugh, melodic and inviting. I wanted to hear more of that laughter. A lot more. Occasionally you meet people in life who you’re immediately drawn to. Something just clicks into place, and you instinctively want to know everything about them.

‘That was my grandmother,’ she was saying. ‘She bought this place back in the sixties. It’s been in the family for more than fifty years.’

‘You’ve known Taylor for a while, haven’t you?’

Hannah nodded. ‘We went to high school together. I was a couple of grades above him.’

‘The older girls don’t tend to give the younger guys the time of day. At any rate, that’s how it was when I was at high school.’

‘It sounds like you’re talking from experience.’

‘Hard, bitter experience.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Alison Blane. She was two grades above me.’

‘And she broke your heart.’

‘Shattered it into a thousand pieces. So how come you were even aware of Taylor’s existence?’

‘Because he was the best defensive tackle Eagle Creek High has ever seen, or is ever likely to see. He was a legend.’

‘That figures.’

Her eyes narrowed and she smiled a smile that made her look much older. ‘You’re circling around something, and I’ve a pretty good idea what that something is, so I’d appreciate it if you’d get to the point. As much as I’m enjoying this little trip down memory lane, I’ve got work to do.’

‘What’s Taylor’s first name?’

‘And why would I tell you a thing like that? Especially since Taylor’s just given me fifty bucks not to tell you.’

I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and waved it in front of her. ‘Because Ben Franklin trumps Ulysses S. Grant any day.’

Hannah plucked it from my fingers. ‘I reckon that might just about do it.’

11

Taylor arrived back twenty minutes later, lugging a whiteboard that was as big as he was, a plastic shopping bag hooked around one meaty finger. He shook the bag onto the bed beside me. Inside was a collection of different coloured marker pens and the bottle of single malt that had been left in my suite at the Imperial. The whisky was a thirty-year-old Glenmorangie. Very classy indeed. It was rarer than diamonds. Whoever bought it knew their stuff.

I cracked the seal, opened the bottle, put my nose to the mouth and inhaled deeply. For a moment I was transported to a cold, wild place that was light years away from Louisiana in August. I could smell the peat and the heather. A cold, hard rain pricked at my face, while dark storm clouds roiled above my head. I put the cork back in and placed the bottle on the dresser.

Taylor was dressed in black jeans and a plain black shirt. Black sneakers and black socks. There was a Glock in the holster around his waist. It wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was a step in the right direction, albeit a small one.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘You look like a cop who’s had all his badges stolen.’

‘Better than looking like a fading rock star who’s desperate to relive his glory days.’ He nodded to the whiteboard. ‘Where do you want this?’

‘Over there by the wardrobe, please.’

Taylor propped the whiteboard up against the wall. It needed to go end-on because of the lack of space.

‘Answers, Winter.’

‘You’ll get them once you’ve passed the third test.’

‘Test? What are you talking about?’

‘It’s just a couple of questions. Nothing to worry about.’ I made a sour face. ‘At least I hope there’s nothing to worry about. Okay, question one: have you ever murdered anyone?’

‘What! Of course I’ve never murdered anyone.’

‘Question two: is lying ever acceptable?’

Taylor just glared.

‘Answer the question.’

‘No.’

‘So little Jimmy’s puppy has just died and his mom tells him that Scraps has gone over Rainbow Bridge to live at Sunshine Farm where he’s going to spend all his days chasing rabbits and eating prime rib-eye steak.’

‘Okay, I guess there are times when white lies are acceptable.’

‘And that’s what you truly believe. You wouldn’t be lying about that now, would you?’

‘Enough already. I have no idea what you’re up to, but if you don’t start making sense in the next two seconds, then I’m walking and you can find yourself another sucker to play your mind games with.’

I cracked a smile. ‘Congratulations. You’ve passed with flying colours.’

Taylor shook his head and made for the door.

‘A bad profile is the best way to screw up a case.’

He froze with his hand on the handle.

‘You’ve got a whole load of questions running around your head, but that one’s up there at the top of the list.’ Taylor stared at me, and I stared right back. A nod towards the bed. ‘Have a seat. Let’s talk.’

Taylor walked over to the bed and sat down.

‘I needed to know if I could trust you,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘We’ll get on to that. The other thing I needed to know was whether I could work with you. On the plane when I asked your opinion on the film clip, I wanted to find out if you’d tell me what you thought rather than what I wanted to hear. I hate “yes” people. Then back at the station house, I needed to know if you could think on your feet. You knew the profile I gave was bullshit, but you kept your mouth shut. Good call, by the way.’

‘But why? I don’t get it.
Really
don’t get it. Why go to all the trouble?’

‘Because there’s one massive assumption that’s been made with this case, an assumption that’s based on a piece of misdirection that even I’ll admit is pretty impressive.’ I paused for a second to catch my thoughts. ‘Okay, when I gave the profile I said we were looking for a white male who’s five foot nine and in his thirties, slim-built and college-educated. Five pieces of information. Two of those pieces of information are correct, and three might be correct.’ A shrug. ‘Then again they might not be. So, which two are correct?’

‘It’s a trick question,’ said Taylor. ‘All five are correct. You got the information from the film clip. The guy who tossed the match was definitely white and slim-built, and five-nine is in the right ballpark. The nature of the crime, chances are he was college-educated and in his thirties. It’s not exactly rocket science, Winter.’

I kept my mouth shut, gave Taylor a couple of seconds to think through what he’d just said.

‘Shit. The guy who tossed the match isn’t the unsub. That’s the assumption, right?’

‘You almost had it earlier back on the plane when you said the firestarter could have been a robot.’ I held up my hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. ‘You were that close. The lack of emotion was the key. You were right about that. And there are easier ways to kill people, more efficient ways. You were right about that, too.’

Taylor’s eyes were wide open and he was giving me his complete and undivided attention. Any thoughts of leaving had dissipated.

‘Fire is a nasty way to kill someone. The only person who would choose fire as a murder weapon is a sadist, and a sadist would react very differently from the guy in the film. A sadist would draw things out as long as possible. He’d take his time. He’d play around with his props. He’d shake the jerry can so his victim would hear the gasoline sloshing around inside. He’d light a couple of matches and let them burn down to his fingertips before blowing them out. He’d taunt his victim until he broke. Then he’d torch him.’

‘Jesus,’ Taylor whispered. The faraway look on his face was made up of a mix of horror and revulsion.

‘The one thing a sadist would never do, not in a million years, is march straight up to his victim, douse him in gasoline then toss a lit match on him. Where’s the fun in that? Our firestarter was coerced into doing this.’