Presumed Guilty: (A Jefferson Winter novella) (5 page)

Seven hours and forty-five minutes later, and twenty-one miles south, Yoko walked out of the interview room and saw Charlie Dumas stalking towards her. The detective looked like he was about to blow a blood vessel. His face was bright red and his fists were clenching and unclenching, fast, like he was furiously working a pair of worry balls.

Yoko put up a hand to stop him and Dumas ducked left, aiming for the gap between her and the wall. She matched the move and he came to an abrupt halt in front of her. Yoko was only five-two and the detective towered above her. He was closer to six feet, and at least a hundred pounds heavier. It was like a cat staring down a bear.

‘I’m going to kill that bastard,’ he said.

‘No you’re not. The State of Maryland is going to have that pleasure, but only if you keep your cool. We do this one by the book. Eventually he’ll either ask for a lawyer, or one will be appointed for him. Whoever ends up defending him, whether that’s the public defender or a lawyer charging a thousand bucks an hour, we don’t give them any ammunition.’

Dumas just stared like he wanted to kill her.

‘You’ve got a daughter, don’t you?’

‘What’s that go to do with anything?’

Yoko ignored the question. ‘She’s in her early twenties, blonde-haired, blue eyed, pretty. Whenever you look at the victims, it’s her face that’s staring back, and that’s killing you. You’re making this personal, Detective Dumas, and that’s not helping. Do I need to ask for you to be removed from the investigation?’

‘No,’ he replied, tight-lipped.

‘We’ve got our confession. All we’ve got to do is make sure the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, then we hand everything to the DA and let him do his thing.’

‘You’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right. I’m always right.’

The detective shook his head and started to smile, like he was sharing the joke. Yoko kept a straight face and waited for the smile to start slipping, waited until she saw uncertainty flash in his eyes.

‘It’s okay. I’m screwing with you.’

Dumas seemed to crumple in front of her. ‘He actually finds this funny. How sick is that? I’ve been doing this job a long time and I’ll tell you now there are things I’ve seen that give me nightmares, things my wife and children will never know about. But this kid is something else.’

‘He is.’ But even as she said this she was thinking that Winter wasn’t the worst she’d come across.

She wasn’t sure whether this depressed her, or whether she’d become so immune to the horror that it might be time to quit. Maybe she needed a simpler, easier job, one that affirmed everything that was good about life rather than one where she had to deal with death every day.

‘He doesn’t find this funny,’ she said. ‘At least, he doesn’t find it funny in the way you think. He’s a narcissist and a manipulator. He’s trying to amuse himself at our expense. Right now, he’s looking for a reaction, any reaction, which means we don’t give him one.’

Yoko took Dumas’s elbow and turned him around so he was facing the way he’d just come. Then she led the way to the small room behind the one-way mirror. She walked in without knocking. There were two detectives in the room, senior men with a lot of years under their belts.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said in her most pleasant voice. ‘If you’d be so kind as to give myself and Detective Dumas a few moments alone I’d really appreciate it.’

The two detectives shared a look, then glanced over at Dumas, who nodded. They stood up together and left the small room in single file, the last one out closing the door.

‘Is there any way that Winter could know what happened in Alice Harrigan’s apartment?’ Yoko asked. ‘Any way at all?’

Dumas shook his head. ‘No. The number of my people who know about this, I can count on one hand. Hell, I can count them on two fingers, and both of them you just dismissed from the room. The county coroner is the only other person who knows, and I can guarantee that she has not said a word to anyone. We’ve kept the loop tight on this one, Agent Tanaka.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

‘We’ve got our guy, don’t we?’ Dumas did nothing to hide his excitement. He was smiling from ear to ear.

Yoko looked through the glass. Winter was sitting there studying the Coke can on the table, cool and composed. With his scruffy black hair and a face that he still hadn’t quite grown into, he didn’t look capable of killing anyone. He looked like he should be hanging out with his buddies at the mall, checking out the girls and causing trouble. But teenage trouble as opposed to the sort that left you on death row.

That was the thing, though: looks could be so deceptive. How many times had she seen evidence of that? More times than she could remember, that was for sure.

Winter picked up the can and started swiping the condensation away, working his way around it. He took a sip and placed the can back on the table. His head suddenly snapped up and he looked at the one-way mirror as though he could see through it, as if he knew she was watching.

The thought was irrational and came from the same place her parents had planted their shadowy superstitious beliefs. There was no way he could see her. It was impossible. But impossible or not, it didn’t stop the shivers running up her spine.

A flicker of a smile crossed Winter’s face, and Yoko was more convinced than ever that he could see her. The smile disappeared and he went back to staring at the Coke can.

‘Yes,’ Yoko said, more to herself than to Dumas. ‘We’ve got our guy.’

The quiet stillness of the interview room was light years from the whirlwind of furious activity that followed the bombshell Yoko had dropped back at Alice Harrigan’s apartment. Once they’d identified Winter as a viable suspect things had moved fast, and on a number of fronts.

The first break was a TV news clip that showed him in the crowd that had gathered outside the apartment block where victim #2 was murdered. The second break was that he’d also been in the crowd at victim #3’s apartment.

The crimes had happened miles apart, and miles from where Winter lived. The only logical reason for him turning up in those places, at those times, was because he was Valentino. No other explanation fit.

Now that they had probable cause, an arrest warrant could be issued. The judge who signed off on it had a granddaughter the same age as the victims. Her picture was on his desk. Blonde, blue eyed, pretty. Valentino’s type.

The judge didn’t say that he hoped they’d found their man, because he couldn’t. Innocent until proven guilty, even when the evidence was overwhelming. But the implication was there, an unspoken thought that filled both his eyes and the room. He’d signed with a flourish, then said, ‘Go get him.’

Back at Alice Harrigan’s apartment, Winter had spent the best part of an hour watching the crowd before slinking away. His vehicle was parked a couple of streets from Darnell Avenue, and when Yoko heard what it was she’d almost choked on her coffee.

Back in the seventies, Volkswagen Beetles had been the vehicle of choice for serial killers. Nobody knew why, but the stats spoke for themselves. The kid might only be nineteen, but he had real a thing for retro. He was a traditionalist, too, going for the old model rather than the weird-looking new version that had come out the previous year.

Bundy was the most famous VW Beetle owner, and it was a well-known fact that Hitler had been instrumental in the car’s design. This might or might not have explained the appeal.

Winter would have known all this, but it didn’t necessarily follow that he was a murderer. Plenty of Beetle owners had never killed a soul, and there was no way that Volkswagen would have started up production again if buying one of their cars turned you into a serial killer.

The kid had driven out of Greenbelt with Keith Sullivan tailing him. From the detective’s regular updates, Yoko knew that he was sticking to the back roads and keeping to the speed limits.

This was a good sign. He didn’t want to be noticed, and the fact he was using the back roads indicated he was going to his secret place. He’d want somewhere out of the way. Somewhere rent was cheap.

But he hadn’t gone to his secret place. Twenty-five minutes after he left Greenbelt, he pulled into the parking lot outside his dorm room on the University of Maryland’s campus in College Park.

They’d given him five minutes to get inside and get settled, and then they’d made their move. Charlie Dumas was leading the charge since this was his investigation. Yoko was right behind him because, technically, this was her arrest, and she didn’t want anyone to forget it.

Winter’s room was on the second floor. It was mid-morning, quiet since most of the students were in class. The few they did see were ordered back to their rooms and told to stay there until the all-clear was given. Nobody had argued, or even asked why. When a gun-toting cop dressed in full body armour tells you to do something, you do it.

The door was cheap and thin, a typical dorm door, and the lock had splintered away on the first attempt with the battering ram.

They’d found Winter on his bed reading a book, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his door had been smashed open. Classical music played softly in the background, something doom-laden and depressing, and appropriate for the occasion.

Casually, as though he had all the time in the world, he picked up a bookmark, placed it between the pages, and shut the book. There was a lot of yelling going on, a confusion of voices. Everyone was shouting for Winter to step away from the bed and get down on the floor.

Dumas had talked strategy beforehand and decided the best way to take the kid down was to overwhelm him. From where Yoko was standing, Winter looked seriously underwhelmed. He was acting like this was an everyday occurrence.

It was almost as if he’d expected this to happen, which made her even more convinced that they had their guy. She’d seen this reaction before. Some bad guys came in noisily, and some came without a fuss. Winter was obviously one of the quiet ones.

The kid stood up in his own sweet time and knelt on the floor. The nearest cop rushed over, pushed him face down into the carpet, pulled his arms behind his back, cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet. Dumas walked over and looked him up and down, studying him. He allowed himself a small smile, then nodded his approval.

The CD player was switched off and a strained hush descended on the room. Dumas took a card from his pocket, cleared his throat, then read what was written on it.

‘Jefferson Winter you are being arrested on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?’

The prompt card was unnecessary. It was something you gave to rookies to prevent screw-ups. Dumas would have Mirandized thousands of criminals. He would have been able to recite the warning from heart.

Yoko understood where he was coming from, though. This was the highest-profile case he’d ever worked, the one he’d be remembered for, and everything was being done by the book. There was no way he was going to screw up. Not going to happen. Not on his watch.

Winter’s reaction surprised Yoko. There was no emotion. Head cocked a little to the right, he stared blank-faced at Dumas and kept staring until the detective looked away first.

Most nineteen-year-olds in this situation would be terrified, and rightly so. An army of gun-toting cops in full battle gear bursting into your life was meant to be intimidating. That was the play Dumas had been going for, and he’d missed by a mile.

The kid waited until Dumas met his eye again, then he grinned at him. There was no real emotion behind the grin. It was a blatant attempt to piss the detective off, and it almost worked.

Yoko saw the colour rise in Dumas’s cheeks. She noticed the way his fists clenched. She could sense his frustration and anger, and realised it would take just the tiniest of nudges to push him over the edge.

She also knew that if he lost it now, it would damage the case more than any Miranda violation.

She’d reached out and gently touched his arm. The way Dumas swung around, she was convinced he was going to hit her. Then, like a sleepwalker coming out of a trance, he’d blinked and his fists slowly relaxed. He stared at her for a second, as though he couldn’t work out who she was or what the hell she was doing there.

The moment passed, and the kid was taken away.

‘It’s just the two of us now, Jefferson, so how about you tell me what really went on in the bedroom?’ Yoko’s tone was casual and conversational, and completely at odds with the way she felt.

‘Just the two of us and the camera.’

Winter nodded towards the corner of the room, and she thought,
This is it, this is the point when suspicion becomes certainty
. These were the moments she lived for. The endgame. You’d moved the pieces around the board and set your trap, now you waited for your opponent to walk into it.

There was always that heart-stopping moment when you were convinced that you’d missed something obvious, that your opponent was about to spring a surprise.

Then they made the move you thought they’d make, and they made it because it was the only move they could make, and the reason for that was because you owned the board. They’d be sitting there wearing the face of a checkmate loser, and it was one of the sweetest sights in the whole world.

Yoko glanced over her shoulder to double-check the camera was running, and saw the reassuring blink of the red light. She hoped the technology wouldn’t let them down. It was unlikely, but it could happen. When the future was balanced on a knife-edge anything could happen.

Winter followed Yoko’s gaze to the camera, then looked her straight in the eye and started talking. His voice was different from earlier. It was alive and vibrant. The sparkle Yoko associated with guilt was there. He sounded proud of what he’d done, and that pushed any doubts away.

For the next few minutes he described everything he’d done to Alice Harrigan. In detail. At times Yoko had the distinct impression that he was back in the bedroom, reliving the memories. He’d shut his eyes as he talked. It was almost as if he was giving a running commentary on the pictures flashing through his head.

The more he talked, the more Yoko’s dislike grew. Somewhere along the line dislike turned to hatred. Later, she was able to pinpoint the exact moment that happened.

It was when he’d looked straight at her and described how he’d ‘made love’ to Alice. There was no way that what he’d done could ever be described as ‘making love’. What he’d done was a complete bastardisation of the act. It was a complete perversion of all that was good.

She was supposed to be objective, and usually she was. The ability to stay detached no matter what she was faced with was one of her greatest strengths. At that moment, though, she could relate to how Dumas had reacted earlier. She wanted to hurt Winter for what he’d done to those girls. Hurt him bad.

Instead, she smiled and let him talk and did her best not to give any indication of how she really felt.

Yoko couldn’t understand how he’d managed to get under her skin. It was so unlike her. A large part of it was his age. He was so damn young, and so bright. Beyond bright. This kid would make your average Mensa member look like an idiot.

He should have a stunning future ahead of him. Instead, he was going to spend the next ten to twenty years on death row, and then the State of Maryland would execute him.

Perhaps that’s what made her so angry, the loss of all that potential. It was such a waste. Here was someone who could have done anything with his life, and yet he’d chosen to be a murderer.

The only reason he’d been caught was because he was so young. If he’d been older and less impulsive they’d have another Ted Bundy on their hands. No doubt about it. Returning to the crime scenes was a dumb thing to do. Ultimately, that was what had led to him being caught. As much as she liked to believe otherwise, his arrest had little to do with brilliant, painstaking detective work on their part and everything to do with poor impulse control on his.

If Winter had been older, maybe even just a year or two, he would never have made that mistake. They’d caught a lucky break there. Yoko didn’t frighten easily, but she’d be the first to admit that the idea of an older, more cunning version of this kid out there having his fun scared the crap out of her.

Winter stopped talking as suddenly as he had started. It was like a tape recorder had been switched off. Even though Yoko knew he’d finished, she gave it a couple of seconds in case he had anything else to add.

Nothing.

He reached for his Coke can and drained it. The small hollow thump when he placed the empty can back on the table sounded much louder than it should have. There was something final about that sound, like a full stop. It was a sound that said
we’re done here
.

‘Maybe you’d like to call that lawyer now,’ she said.

‘No, I’m fine. Another Coke would be good, though. If it’s not too much trouble.’

Yoko gave it another second in case he changed his mind, then got up and headed for the door. She felt uneasy. They had a full confession, and he’d spent the last few minutes telling her things only the killer could know, so why had she got misgivings?

Then there was the way his voice had brightened, the way he’d become animated when he’d started talking. She’d seen plenty of guilty people, and Winter was obviously guilty. She’d met plenty of psychopaths, too, and this kid was a textbook psychopath. Look up psychopath in an encyclopedia and you’d see a picture of Jefferson Winter staring back at you.

So, despite the overwhelming evidence condemning him, why was she having doubts? And why did she feel like she was about to step into a trap? More worryingly, why wasn’t Winter wearing the face of a checkmate loser?

Yoko got up to leave, then turned back like there was something she’d just remembered. ‘I keep meaning to ask. What did you do with their hearts?’

Winter smiled a smile that kept growing until it turned into a grin.

‘What do you think I did with them, Agent Tanaka? I ate them. Those girls are a part of me. For now and for ever more.’

Yoko thought she was done with hating him. She thought that now they had enough evidence to nail him she could finally let go and get her objectivity back.

She was wrong.