The Botanist (17 page)

Chapter 28

The drive to the prison was grim. And long. Cody wished he could get out of seeing Resputa. He had too much on his mind to be side-tracked by a twisted sex offender.

When he’d first captured Resputa in Coleman Douglas’s barn, he hadn’t slept for weeks. Cody had only seen him again at the trial, and then the one time he’d visited the prison a few months later. Each time, he’d had trouble sleeping afterwards, as though some of Resputa’s darkness had followed him home. Resputa was not a man; he was a creature, slimy and creeping.

As he pulled up to the guard station and flashed his badge to the security officer, he told himself to be calm. If he was at all emotional—positive or negative—Resputa would know it immediately and pounce. The man was a master manipulator and could read body language like a picture book.

Cody’s straight-laced and simple nature kept him from excelling in any kind of performance art, but when he went to see Resputa, he had no choice but to become an actor—a different man, with different thoughts in his head, and with sensibilities to entirely different things.

He’d been to the prison enough to know the protocol. After being ushered through the guard station, and assured the warden would be waiting for him, he parked in the appropriate place and headed into the building.

The warden’s name was Brett Lincoln. Cody didn’t know the man well, but he saw him each time he came to the prison, so they’d developed a professional relationship.

“Detective Oliver.” Lincoln clasped his hand firmly. Variegated gray and white wandered through his dark, silky hair, and his bulky, Native American build would have been intimidating had he been an inmate rather than a warden.

“Nice to see you again, Brett.”

“Sorry to drag you out here in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not your fault. Resputa has to play his twisted games, doesn’t he?”

Lincoln’s eyebrow arched. “Is that all you think it is?”

“I sincerely hope that’s all it is.”

“And yet you’re here.”

Cody sighed. “Brett, this case has us in knots and running in circles. If there’s any chance he could give us a viable lead, we can’t risk ignoring it.”

Lincoln nodded. “He’s already on his way to the room we’ve set up for you. He’ll be waiting for us there.”

Cody followed the warden through the narrow, eternal stone corridors of the prison.

“By the way,” Lincoln said over his shoulder as they walked single file through the narrow passages, “you should know that I believe Resputa may be plotting an escape attempt.”

“Escape? Is that possible?”

Lincoln guffawed. “Of course not. I just want you to know that he’s contemplating it.”

“Does he give you any trouble?”

“No. Like all pedophiles he’s a people-pleaser. He’s a model prisoner, but a few odds and ends that have gone missing have been found in his cell. He’s also been reading books about constructing simple machines, and asking to get his hands on books about more complicated ones.”

“Why don’t you just give him a copy of the Great Escape?”

Lincoln smirked, which Cody guessed was as close to laughing as he’d come. “I’d love to throw that in his face, but then he’d know I was watching him.”

“He may already know that. Resputa’s intelligent enough that maybe he’s not trying to escape at all. Maybe he’s trying to make you think that as a way of covering up something else he’s doing.”

“I thought of that, too. If that’s the case, I don’t know what his end game is yet. Just thought you should know what he’s been up to lately.”

Lincoln brought him to something akin to an interrogation room. It wasn’t large, but an oblong, metal table sat in the center, and a mirror with one-way glass covered most of one wall.

Resputa sat at the far end of the table, head down, with two guards standing at attention behind him. A chain threaded from his shackles, through a metal ring in the table, down to the manacles around his feet, and into a ring in the floor.

When Lincoln opened the door and he and Cody entered, Resputa raised his head. He got uglier every time Cody saw him, and Cody knew the ugliness was of Resputa’s own making.

Resputa had golden hair and olive skin. The combination was seductive, and had he been a happy, smiling person, he might have been pretty; perhaps he’d even have had a life of celebrity. Instead, he used his beauty to lure unsuspecting children into his car, into his perverse fantasies. He snarled so often that his face had become that of a hyena, the skin around his eyes pulled back, his lips thinned and peeling back over straight, white teeth. He had a cross tattooed between his eyes, but Cody knew that with time, Resputa would flag each of the points, as Charles Manson had done, forging the peaceful sign of the cross into the backward, egotistical sign of the swastika.

Careful to keep his face a mask of serenity, Cody strode into the room and sat down across the table from Resputa. The prisoner’s stark blue eyes were red-rimmed, and they glittered, boring into Cody’s from across the table. But Cody wasn’t afraid. Resputa may have scarred his face, but that was only because Cody had been inexperienced and unready. In a fair fight, Resputa would run for the dark corners and cower rather than stand toe to toe with any cop. That was why he preyed on children. They were the only ones he had courage against: those too weak and innocent to have any chance of defending themselves against him.

After several minutes of tense silence, when Resputa was certain Cody wouldn’t flinch under his stare, his eyes shifted pointedly to Lincoln. He wouldn’t speak to Cody with the other officers in the room.

Cody didn’t know why it mattered to Resputa if they stayed or went. He must have known that the mirror was one-way glass, and that they would be watching and listening, whether they were inside the room or out, for any sign that Resputa might try something.

Resputa was taller than Cody, true, but Cody was certain he was stronger. Not that Cody expected trouble from him; Resputa was too intelligent and self-controlled for that.

“Warden, perhaps you can give myself and prisoner Resputa some privacy?”

Lincoln didn’t sigh, but his exhale was slightly heavier than it had been a moment before. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Cody alone with Resputa, but he wouldn’t question Cody’s resolve in front of the prisoner, so after only a moment’s hesitation, he motioned the two guards out and followed them, shutting the door behind him.

“
Prisoner
Resputa?” His voice was both deep and nasal. “Reminding me of my place, Detective? Or perhaps trying to reassure yourself?”

“Not at all. Just giving you a true name.”

Resputa sat back in his chair. He looked impressed, but Cody was sure it was all for show. “You’ve grown more philosophical since we last spoke.”

“I’ve had more experience dealing with . . . people like you.”

“We’re something to be dealt with, are we?”

“Yes. Nothing more.” Cody made his voice nonchalant.

“Oh, come now. I am simply a man who refuses to deny myself my natural urges. Don’t you give into your urges, Detective? The urge to eat, to sleep? To relieve yourself? To . . . copulate?”

“My urges don’t exploit and victimize little children, Resputa.”

Resputa’s lips curved into a sinuous smirk, as though Cody had said something amusing.

“I know well what your urges entail,” Cody continued, “and I’ve not come all this way in the middle of the night to hear a lecture on human biology. You told Warden Lincoln that you have something to tell me about the case I’m working on. Was that true?”

Resputa spread his hands, ducking his neck obsequiously. “I never lie, Detective.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

Resputa leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be savoring the feeling of having Cody’s attention. Cody didn’t press him. He couldn’t let Resputa know that he was having any effect on Cody’s nerves, or temper.

“A few days before you and I met in that kinky little barn, I was roving the desert in a four wheeler.”

Cody leaned forward in spite of himself. To get to Coleman Douglas’ barn, Resputa would have had to leave the main roads. They’d always suspected he’d had an off-road vehicle, but they hadn’t found one, and he’d never told them how he got past all the road blocks unseen.
“You must have hidden it well. We never found it.”

“Of course you didn’t! I didn’t want you to.” He went from smugness to thick annoyance, then back again in seconds. “Anyway, I was snooping around out there, looking for a place to take my . . . little children for a few hours . . .”

Cody looked down at his hands, willing his face to remain steady. When he looked up, there was glee in the wrinkles around Resputa’s eyes, and he knew Resputa could tell how Cody was really feeling.

“. . . and I found something interesting, a work of art, if you will.”

“What was it?”

“A graveyard, hidden in an out-of-the-way spot.”

Cody kept his face entirely placid. That much Resputa might have heard on the news. If he started guessing, Cody couldn’t let him know whether or not he was right.

“What made you think it was a graveyard?”

“Twelve mounds, each planted with a single, pale-blue tulip.”

Cody’s heart sank. The color of the flowers hadn’t been released to the press. Cody sighed, but finally nodded. “You could only know that if you’d been there.”

Resputa smirked self-assuredly, and Cody wished he could wipe that petulant grin off the inmate’s face.

“But then,” Cody went on, “we already know that, so I hope you have more to offer.”

“Don’t you want to know about the man that killed them?”

Cody froze. “Did you see him?”

“Came almost face to face with him.”

Cody put on his best earnest face. “Why are you doing this, Resputa? You haven’t even asked me for anything.”

“Would you give it if I had?”

“Probably not. But I don’t believe you’d help the precinct that put you in here out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Oh, come now, Detective. My parole date may not come for more than a decade, but when it does, behavior goes a long way. If I cooperate with the cops and help catch an active serial killer, well, that’s impressive.”

He was right. Cooperation with the authorities was a big plus when trying to convince a parole board to release a violent predator. Still, Cody didn’t think any parole board on the planet would let Resputa out, especially if someone showed up at the hearing to re-hash Resputa’s crimes in detail, which Cody and each of Mt. Dessicate’s other detectives intended to do.

“You really think if you give me a few details, a parole board will just throw the doors open for you?”

“I think it couldn’t hurt.”

Cody leaned back in the cold metal chair, studying Resputa. There had to be more to it than that, but Cody couldn’t imagine what it was. Maybe Resputa was telling the truth. Or maybe these were just more mind games. It had gotten Cody down here to see him, which nothing had done previously. Perhaps when Resputa heard on the news that the mass grave had been discovered, he just couldn’t help himself. Still, Cody had a bad feeling, the kind that crept up his spine and made him want to look over his shoulder.

He resisted the urge.

Whatever the reason Resputa was willing to divulge what he knew, at least he was willing to do it.

Cody nodded. “All right. So tell me about this killer.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with what he looks like.”

“Tall. Six-four at least. Shaggy brown hair that curls around his neck. Slender in the shoulders but with a gut that comes out over his belt. Imposing.”

“Any facial hair?”

“No. But I couldn’t see his face.”

Cody almost laughed. “Of course you couldn’t.”

“No, Detective, I don’t think you understand. I was looking right at him, but I couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a mask.”

Cody rested his forearms on the table, studying Resputa’s expression. The other man had obviously known that this would be an important piece of information. The question was whether it was real or not. The rest of the description was in line with what Alex had said, but this was new.

“What kind of mask?”

“A mask of mud.”

“Mud?”

“Yes. He cakes mud all over his face, leaving only his eyes, mouth, and nostrils uncovered.” Resputa leaned forward. “What does that tell you about him, Detective?”

“He hates the way he looks.”

“Ah, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? Everyone hates
some
thing about the way they look. Perhaps you can sympathize with that?” He looked pointedly at Cody’s scar.

Cody looked away, annoyed.

“This man, on the other hand, hates himself so much that he covers his face with mud.”

Cody let that sink in. When his eyes shifted to Resputa again, he found the other man watching him, as though fascinated.

“You say he saw you, Resputa? Then why didn’t he kill you?”

“Even thieves have an honor code, Detective. He knew I was no threat to him. He must have seen me walking among his pretties. By the time he came out, I was two hundred yards away. I waved at him, though, as if to say that I’d keep his secrets.”

“Yet here you are.”

Resputa shrugged. “Only because his work has already been discovered, and because I’m in here, now, where before I was roaming the open desert.”

Cody barked a laugh. “A code of honor that extends to the ends of the earth, I see.”

“We’re delinquents, Detective, not saints.”

“What else?”

“The soil.”

“Yes. It was much more fertile than anything else out there. We think he has some kind of irrigation system set up. It’s being excavated as we speak.”

“An irrigation system? Perhaps, but that soil was darker, woodier than anything this far south. It looked like it could capture more moisture in a day than your desert sees in an entire season.”

“You’re saying he’s importing soil?”

Resputa stared levelly back at Cody, but didn’t reply.

“Anything else?” Cody asked.

“You can be certain he has an underground lair somewhere out there. What he does takes time. He grows the flowers specially, so he must have somewhere that he can replicate certain conditions.”