Watch Me (5 page)

He looked tired, though, bone-weary, like all the fight had been knocked out of him. My guess was that he wouldn’t be running for sheriff in the next election. If that decision hadn’t already been made, then what happened to Sam Galloway had tipped the scales. Here was someone desperate to leave the troubles of the real world behind, someone who spent his days staring at the pictures on his office wall and dreaming of a time when he could while away his remaining years fishing for marlin and drinking bourbon.

‘Thanks for coming at such short notice,’ said Fortier.

‘No problem.’

‘I’ve got to admit, though, I’m surprised you came at all. When I contacted you, it was a real long shot. I know you usually only deal with serial killers and this guy isn’t a serial killer, but I’d been following what you’d been up to in South Carolina, and since Charleston is only a short plane hop away, I thought what the hell. Nothing ventured. Anyway, anything you can do to help, we’re all ears. Anything you need, just ask.’

The speech sounded rehearsed, like he’d spent all morning in here practising. ‘Serial criminals,’ I told him.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Serial criminals. I deal with them all. Kidnappers, rapists, arsonists, extortionists, murderers. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this guy
is
a serial killer.’

‘How do you figure that one?’

‘Because Sam Galloway’s murder was pure theatre. Here’s a question for you: what do you think’s going to happen when the countdown hits zero?’ I could tell by the look on his face that he’d already considered this‚ and that we’d come to the same conclusion. ‘Unless you catch this guy, and catch him quickly, he will kill again, and again. He’s going to keep going until someone stops him. Believe me, he’s just got started.’

‘So you don’t think this is a one-off?’

‘Not a chance.’

Fortier seemed to shrink in front of me. He’d clearly wanted a different answer. All the same‚ nothing I’d said had come as a great surprise. If this murder had been a one-off it would have made his life easier. One murder was a headache, but a series of them was a nightmare.

‘What’s the situation with the press?’ I asked.

‘All quiet on that front. The town has a weekly newspaper, the
Eagle Creek Courier
. It’s pretty much a one-man show. Harry Spindler, the fellow who runs it, prefers drinking to writing. The next edition doesn’t come out until next week. So long as he’s got something to put on his front page by then he won’t give us any trouble.’

‘What about outside town?’

‘Shreveport and Monroe are the closest big cities. Nothing much happens in Eagle Creek, so I doubt the media folks there could even find us on a map.’

‘Nothing much happened until now.’

‘I’m confident that when they come knocking, I can handle them.’

I didn’t doubt that. In my experience a typical sheriff was five per cent cop and ninety-five per cent politician. Fortier might look like he was on the ropes, but he also looked as though he’d been doing the job long enough that he could successfully run interference with the press without breaking much of a sweat.

‘It would be good if we could keep this as quiet as possible for as long as possible,’ I said. ‘This guy’s looking for an audience and if we can deny him that then it might push him into doing something dumb in order to get attention. The dumber they act the easier they are to catch.’

Fortier smiled and for a brief moment I caught a glimpse of the man he’d been three decades ago, someone with ambitions, and dreams that didn’t end at the rippling line where water met land.

‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘Same goes for the website. We need to keep that one quiet too. That’s another cry for attention. Who knows about it?’

The smile slipped, and the old guy who dreamt of marlin and bourbon was back. ‘Too many people. It’s common knowledge within the department, and I obviously told the police chief. And the mayor, of course, he needed to know.’

‘Damage limitation’s the name of the game there. Put the word out to keep this as quiet as possible. I doubt it’ll do much good, but you never know.’

‘Horses and unbolted stable doors.’ Fortier shook his head. ‘I should have thought that one through.’

‘The fact the media aren’t camped out in your parking lot is a good indicator that they haven’t picked up on the website yet. That’s going to get them more excited than a dead lawyer, you can bet on that. Who knows, maybe you can keep a lid on this.’ I thought for a second then added, ‘Silly question, but I’m guessing that everyone in town has heard about Sam Galloway by now?’

Fortier snorted a laugh. ‘What do you think?’

‘A town this small, I think it would be a miracle if they hadn’t, and I’m not a great believer in miracles.’

‘We haven’t discussed your fee yet.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I charge what I think people can afford. For me the case is more important than the money. I promise I won’t bankrupt you.’

Fortier chuckled at that. ‘I’d like to see you try.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

The sheriff waved the question away. ‘Send your bill through when you’re done. And make sure you include all your expenses. I’m taking it you’ll need a little time to get up to speed before you give us a profile.’

I glanced over at Taylor, waited until he met my eye, then said, ‘Officer Taylor brought me up to speed on the plane. I’m ready to give the profile whenever you are.’

7

Sheriff Fortier led us along a corridor and stopped at a door that had
CAPTAIN ANTHONY SHEPHERD, CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DIVISION
stencilled in gold on the smoked glass. He knocked once and pushed the door open. Shepherd was on the phone. He looked over at us, indicated that he’d just be a second, then wound up the call.

We went through the introductions and the handshakes. Shepherd did the staring thing. He was in his mid-forties, fit and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair. His moustache was neatly trimmed and his glasses had thick black frames. He was wearing a plain brown seersucker suit, a white shirt and a red tie.

Unlike Fortier, Shepherd still had plenty of fight left in him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d snuck into Fortier’s office and tried that big leather chair on for size.

Shepherd did look stressed, but the reason was obvious. It had been ten years since the last murder happened in Dayton. In the last century there had only been twenty murders, an average of one every five years. The one thing those murders had in common was that the victims were killed by someone they knew. A husband, a brother, a friend. In a couple of instances the murderer had been a wife and the victim was her spouse. Nothing unusual there. Most murderers are known to their victims.

Sam Galloway’s murder was a whole new ball game. Shepherd might have had his name stencilled in fancy gold letters on the door, but the reality of the situation was that Dayton’s Criminal Investigation Division was made up of Shepherd and two investigators, and things didn’t tend to get much more exciting than the occasional housebreak, and high-school kids selling dope.

‘Mr Winter is ready to give his profile,’ Fortier told him.

‘Already.’

‘I’m a fast worker,’ I said, and I could feel Taylor’s eyes burning into the back of my head. ‘And, please, just Winter is fine. “Mister” makes me feel old.’

‘Winter it is, then. It’s probably best if we do this next door. There’s more space.’

Fortier glanced at his watch. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve got to go to a meeting. Tony, you can fill me in later?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Fortier used both hands to shake mine this time, his left grasping my arm. It was a politician’s handshake, one that said
I’m here for you
.

‘Winter, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. And remember what I said. Anything you need, just holler.’

‘I’ll do that.’

We filed out of the office, and Fortier peeled off to the right and headed quickly down the corridor. Whoever he was meeting with was important enough for him to want to be on time. He was one of the big bosses around here. The only people who ranked above him were his wife and the mayor. My money was on his meeting being with the mayor, probably to bring him up to speed on the investigation. Not that there was much to tell.

Shepherd led the way to the next office and entered without knocking. There were two plain-clothed cops in the room. Both male, both in their thirties. Both of them had black hair and blue eyes. They could have been twins except for the fact that one of them had a thirty-inch waist and the other’s was forty inches.

There were sweat stains under their armpits, so they’d probably spent the morning out in the heat playing detective and been called back here to meet me. A murder happens in a place like this, the last thing you’re going to do is have your entire squad of investigators sat around the office twiddling their thumbs.

The desks were pushed flat against the walls, which was a mistake since it meant the two men spent most of their working days with their backs to one another. The desks should have been pushed together in the middle of the room so they were eye to eye. Brainstorming was much more efficient when you could see the person you were brainstorming with.

They turned from their desks when we entered the room and gave me the new-kid stare. It was a look that combined suspicion and curiosity, a look that said
Who the hell do you think you are?
It was another look I was used to.

After my father’s arrest, my mother went into flight mode. She started running the day they came for him, and kept running until she’d drunk herself into an early grave. Between the ages of eleven and seventeen I lived in fifteen different cities in ten different states, so I was used to being the new kid. Even now, whenever I step into a situation like this, it’s as though the clock has been wound back. I reckon I’ll always be the new kid, no matter how old I get.

Shepherd turned to Taylor and dismissed him with a curt ‘You can go now.’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘if it’s okay with you, I’d like him to stay. I’m working on the assumption that this unsub’s a serial killer. If that’s the case then we’re going to need all the help we can get.’

It sounded like a request, but wasn’t, and we both knew it. Everyone in the room knew it. Taylor was frozen to the spot, halfway to the door, unsure what to do. All eyes had turned towards him.

‘Okay, you can stay,’ said Shepherd.

‘A serial killer?’ This came from the skinny guy.

Shepherd nodded towards the skinny guy. ‘This is Barker.’ A nod in the direction of the fat guy. ‘And this is Romero.’

The way he introduced them told me everything I needed to know about the pecking order. Shepherd at the top, then Barker, then Romero. Taylor didn’t even figure on the radar, which was crazy, but understandable. Understandable because of his gentle giant act. Crazy because he was probably smarter than Barker and Romero combined.

Handshakes all around, then I perched on the windowsill. There weren’t any spare seats. Barker and Romero didn’t look as if they were about to give theirs up any time soon, and Shepherd didn’t look like he was about to make them. Even with the blinds down I could feel the burn of the sun. It was twenty-two minutes after three. I pictured the website page, pictured those white numbers glowing on a pitch-black background, pictured another stick figure about to hang.

08:37:23.

‘So far you’ve got one victim, but there are going to be more. By my reckoning the next one is going to turn up in a little over eight and a half hours’ time.’

‘The countdown on that website,’ Shepherd said. ‘You think this guy’s telling us when he’s going to kill again?’

‘What else could it be for?’

‘But that’s crazy. Why the hell do something like that?’

‘Okay, the first thing you need to understand here is that serial criminals don’t think like normal people. Everything they do is informed by their fantasies. The logic that governs their lives is driven by that. What seems crazy to us seems completely rational to them because the fantasy is everything. Have any of you heard of Richard Trenton Chase?’

Three heads went from side to side. Taylor’s stayed very still for a fraction of a second, then followed the rest. You don’t need to open your mouth to tell a lie.

‘Richard Chase was a serial killer who was active during the seventies. After he was sentenced he was interviewed by the FBI. Chase believed that his blood was turning to powder and he needed the blood of his victims to replenish his. During the interview he talked about “soap dish poisoning”. When asked what he meant, he said that you could tell who’s been poisoned by checking beneath the soap. If the underneath of the soap is gooey, you’re okay, but if it’s dry then you’ve been poisoned and your blood is turning to powder.’

‘Now
that
is crazy,’ Barker said.

‘By normal standards, yes, but the point is that this fantasy made perfect sense to Chase. Our unsub has already done a number of things that seem crazy when taken at face value. The countdown, the fact he filmed the murder and sent it to the police, the fact he chose fire as his murder weapon. To catch this guy we need to forget about what’s crazy and concentrate on what his actions tell us.’

‘And what do his actions tell us?’ Romero asked.

‘That he’s anything but crazy. Serial killers fall into two broad categories. Organised and disorganised. Chase was a classic example of a disorganised killer. He was a paranoid schizophrenic. There was no real planning behind his murders. His first murder was a drive-by shooting. The victim just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The same could be said for his other five victims. Wrong time, wrong place.’

‘Surely you could say the same thing about Sam Galloway,’ said Barker.

‘And you’d be wrong. The unsub who killed Sam is highly organised. Everything he does is done for a reason.’

‘What can you tell us about the unsub?’ asked Shepherd.

‘You’re looking for a white male, five foot nine, who’s in his thirties. He’s slim-built and he’s college-educated.’