The Christmas Killer (13 page)

When he got back to the station it was chaos. The whole place was buzzing, with three news trucks parked outside. He went in and saw Sara behind her desk, scowling at him. It seemed like she was still bothered by the Johnny Cooper incident.

‘In the conference room,’ she hissed.

This is it: Colonel Asher’s moment of glory.

He walked down the corridor and slipped into the back of the room. Already the press were there en masse, microphones bearing all the major radio and television logos clustered around the simple podium near the door. There were a few chairs to the side, with one or two of the detectives in place. Mills was there. Asher was beside him in full-dress uniform, the gold eagle shining. He was whispering urgently, then he spotted Jake and beckoned him over.

‘How did your lead pan out?’ Asher asked him.

Jake looked at Mills, who shrugged as if to say,
I had to tell him something
.

‘Anything new I can tell these guys?’

‘Sorry, sir,’ Jake replied.

Asher nodded, then stepped into the office beside the conference room.

‘He’s been like this the past hour,’ said Mills.

‘These cases take time. He has to know that,’ Jake answered. ‘The press have to know it too.’

‘We did have a development while you were out. I’ll fill you in as soon as we’re done here. You handle your …
situation
?’

Mills was fishing. Jake gave him nothing. He just nodded.

Asher walked back into the room, leading Councilman Mitch Harper. The official looked paler than everyone was used to. His eyes were red.

‘The onion effect,’ Mills whispered.

There was something a little too staged about the councilman’s appearance. Jake remembered when Leigh’s father had died. She didn’t shed a tear until ten days after the funeral. That was the way deep grief hit: it left you numbed and in shock. It wasn’t a thing you turned on for the cameras.

The reporters were beginning to stir.

‘Colonel, any lead on the two killings?’

‘Is it true they are linked?’

‘Councilman, will this double homicide help your law and order bid for the mayoral election?’

Jake winced. That reporter was going to regret that last question once the facts were revealed.

Harper sat on a chair set behind the podium. His head was bowed and he was looking at his shoes, which
lacked their usual polish. Something about his attitude and bearing was beginning to sink in with the assembled press men. The room gradually quietened.

Colonel Asher stepped up to the podium, a few typed sheets in front of him. He frowned, looked up, scanned the crowd, looked down at his notes and then began to speak.

‘I’ll keep this brief. As you know, a second body has been found, out by the interstate construction site. We are satisfied this second killing contains several significant similarities to the murder of Marcia Lamb yesterday …’

A wave of sound grew in the room as reporters began to fire questions, but Asher held his hand up to stop them speaking.

The colonel went on: ‘We believe that we are looking for one man for the two murders.’

‘Are you certain the perpetrator is male?’ one reporter shouted.

‘Are you treating it as a potential serial killer case?’ said another.

‘No questions yet, please,’ Asher said. ‘I will read my statement, then we’ll see about questions.’ He looked down at his papers again. ‘The murders are being treated as one case. At this point we are exploring several lines of inquiry. For operational reasons I will not be discussing those with you.’

Jake scanned the crowd. Chuck Ford was near the front, a Dictaphone lying on his knee and a spiral-bound
notebook open in front of him. He was scribbling furiously. One of the old-fashioned guys. Other reporters were holding their recorders in the air to catch every one of the colonel’s words.

Jake wasn’t scanning the crowd out of idle curiosity; FBI profilers had determined that serial killers – if that’s what they were dealing with – like to stay close to murder investigations. They often hung out in cop bars, even befriending the investigating officers. It was not a universal trait, but something to look out for. The killer could be here right now.

Asher droned on for a few minutes, doling out a carefully selected package of details. It was important to hold things back, things that could then be used to check the validity of statements the police took later. It was these kinds of details that would weed out the fake confessions, like the ones offered by Johnny Cooper.

The colonel paused, shuffled a new sheet of paper to the top, glanced down, then looked out at the packed room.

Here we go
, Jake thought.

‘Every killing strikes at the heart of a neighbourhood, but this one has struck home especially hard,’ he said. ‘Our detectives have identified the second victim … and she was a pillar of the community, someone who worked tirelessly for others.’ He took a deep breath before saying, ‘Belinda Harper.’

The room went silent. Then pandemonium broke
out. The voices and the questions seemed to come all at once.

The colonel shouted over the top of them, ‘The councilman has agreed to make a brief statement, appealing for any information that might help apprehend this killer. He will not be accepting questions.’

Harper’s shoulders were hunched as he walked towards the podium. Jake had to admire the way he was holding it together. His voice shook as he spoke briefly about the shock of the discovery, then he blinked away tears as he turned from the reporters. There was a moment’s silence, then he turned back to them.

‘We were together so long,’ he said. ‘She was my life. I don’t know how I will carry on without her,’ he said in a small voice. Then he stepped from the podium.

Immediately the questions began, but Asher was on his feet, hustling Harper from the room. Ten minutes, start to finish. Show over.

Except it’s not
, Jake thought, feeling the acidic tingle of the ulcer in his gut.
Not yet …

Jake stirred sugar into another coffee as he watched the last of the reporters pull out from the parking lot. ‘You said there were developments?’ he said to Mills, who had appeared beside him.

‘Nothing dramatic,’ said Mills. ‘But we have a new suspect in the frame. Someone you know.’

‘Who?’ asked Jake.

‘Guy Makowski.’

Jake looked at him blankly, so Mills went on: ‘The guy you ju-jitsued at the church protest on Monday morning.’

‘How is he in the frame?’ asked Jake. He was surprised.

‘You asked me to do a background on Belinda Harper. She had no enemies. I mean, nobody liked her, but nobody hated her enough to kill her either. However, she did have a very public fight with Makowski a few weeks back. It was at that meeting about the interstate.’

Jake remembered it vaguely. He had not been working that night. The city council and the contractors had
made a presentation at City Hall about the interstate and how it would affect Littleton. It was supposed to be a routine town hall debate, but the event had been hijacked by protesters and the cops had been called out to calm the situation down. Which is why they’d been better prepared for the church event.

Mills pulled out a notebook. ‘I was talking to a friend of Belinda.’

Jake found it jarring hearing the deceased being called by her first name, but he hadn’t known her like Mills had.

‘It seems that Makowski is one of the ringleaders of the anti-interstate faction, and he was at the meeting with his cronies, kicking up a rumpus. They weren’t allowed in, but they were on the steps of City Hall as people arrived, trying to intimidate everyone. Makowski blocked Belinda as she arrived.’

‘Did he target her specifically?’ asked Jake.

‘I don’t think so. She was just another rich bitch getting out of a nice car, and he picked on her.’

‘Where was Harper while this was going on?’

‘Inside, with the other councilmen.’

‘Interesting.’

‘According to Belinda’s friend, Makowski accosted her as she walked up the steps of the building, and blocked her way in. He had a bunch of guys with him, all following his lead, but he was the loudmouth.’

‘Did he touch her?’

‘You’ll love this. When he started giving her the spiel
about our heritage being bulldozed, she just looked at him for a moment, and asked him if he’d finished high school. She said, “Even a moron can understand that two hundred jobs in construction is a fair trade for some heritage.” ’

Mills laughed, but Jake was focusing on the humiliation Makowski must have felt at that moment. No one liked being put down, especially not in front of friends following
your
lead. But when you are put down by a beautiful woman who is smarter than you, and more successful, it can be a painful thing. Guys like Makowski thrive on their machismo. He didn’t have the words or the wit for the cute girls, and he wouldn’t have coped when she had cut him down to size in front of everyone.

‘He must have been mad,’ said Jake.

‘Yeah. Boiling.’ Mills consulted his notebook. ‘And then – get this – after he calls her a fucking bitch she bent forward and whispered something in his ear. No one caught what she said, but it must have been good, because he made a lunge at her, but he was held off. So he ran over to her car and kicked in a panel.’

‘Did she bring any charges?’

‘Yes,’ said Mills, glancing down at his notebook. ‘Misdemeanour assault and criminal damage.’

‘So he has motive. That makes him a person of interest, to say the least.’

‘Moving towards a strong suspect,’ Mills agreed. He leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face.

Jake nodded, agreeing that – procedurally – it was something to keep in mind. Except that it didn’t fit. He had tackled Makowski on Monday and that gave him a feel for the man’s character.

You’re a boaster. You like to boost yourself up. You could kill someone in a bar fight, but it would be an accident.

But … There was always a but. As well as the voice in his head, Jake could hear the voice of reason. Makowski
did
want the interstate stopped. And two dead bodies had certainly slowed things down. Of course, two bodies wouldn’t stop the work permanently, but Makowski was not a deep thinker. And then there was the choice of victim. Kill Belinda Harper, and he killed the charges against him. That was added motive.

‘Howard, I need you to check for priors. You have a three-strikes rule in Indiana, don’t you?’ Three strikes – three felony convictions – and you could be facing twenty-five years without parole.

‘Yup,’ said Mills, and he nodded at Jake because they both knew what that meant. If Makowski was on his third strike, he had all the motive in the world to off Belinda Harper.

‘Let’s go then.’

Figuring the odds were good, they drove to Makowski’s house. They had an address for him, and a few calls established that he worked night shifts at a steel mill. The shift was from midnight to 8 a.m., and he had been late the last two nights. He was becoming a person of more significant interest to Jake, especially where Belinda Harper’s murder was concerned.

Jake just wondered where Marcia Lamb would fit in.

Assuming Makowski slept after his shift, he should have been just about waking up.

‘How are we going to do this?’ asked Mills.

Jake paused. He knew this would have to be handled delicately. They had no probable cause at this stage and didn’t want to let Makowski know he was in the frame for the double homicide.

‘Let’s ask him about the scuffle on Monday,’ said Jake. ‘Shake the tree and see what falls out.’

Makowski lived on the outskirts of town, where the city merged into the agricultural hinterland. They arrived a little after three thirty. It was little more than a clearing in the trees, with a forty-foot caravan pulled
back from the road. The yard was littered with broken bits of furniture and truck parts, and a flatbed pickup was parked outside. The caravan needed work, and the pickup wasn’t new.

‘Give me the projects,’ muttered Jake.

‘Don’t knock it – it’s good hunting country,’ Mills replied.

They pulled off the road and into the yard, stopping beside the pickup. They stepped from their car and crossed to the door of the caravan. In addition to the regular lock – which was about as secure as a shoelace – there was a big padlock on the door. But the padlock was open. There were two signs on the door. The first read,
WHATEVER YOU’RE SELLING, I’M NOT BUYING
, the second,
TRESPASSERS ARE IN SEASON
.

‘Nice guy,’ muttered Mills.

Jake rapped on the door. There was no response and no sound from inside. He rapped again. Still nothing.

‘If he’s not at home, can we snoop?’ asked Mills.

Jake turned at the sound of heavy footsteps behind them.

‘That would be breaking and entering,’ a gruff voice rumbled. ‘I would expect cops to know that.’

Makowski was standing about twelve feet away from them. He was dressed in a different Metallica shirt from the last time Jake saw him, but it was as tortured as the first had been. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since that day. His face was blank, neither threatening nor alarmed.

‘I’m Detective Austin, this is my partner Detective Mills.’ He reached towards his pocket for his badge, but the movement brought a smirk from Makowski.

‘I don’t need to see your badge. I can smell cop. Besides, I know you. You’re the guy who sucker-punched me at the church.’

Jake took his hand away, letting it fall by his side. ‘From where I was standing, you went for me.’

‘Hey, it was a peaceful protest until you clowns came along. Now get off my property.’

Mills stepped in. ‘We only want to ask you a few questions.’

‘Without a warrant?’ asked Makowski, as if he were explaining the nuances of police procedure to
them
.

‘What law school did you go to?’ asked Jake. ‘We’re standing in an unfenced yard. Now let’s all stop dicking around and have a talk inside.’

‘Not gonna happen.’

‘Fine. We can talk out here.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then we’ll be back,’ said Jake. ‘And I can tell you’re the kind of man who doesn’t want the attention of cops.’

Makowski scowled. ‘Fine. But make it fast, then get the hell outta my yard.’

‘Mr Makowski,’ said Mills, doing his best to sound cheery and breezy, ‘we just want to know why you seem so interested in this whole highway business.’

‘Why?’ said Makowski. ‘You think a guy like me
shouldn’t be interested in the issues that affect the people of this town? You think I’m too dumb to understand?’

‘Of course not,’ said Mills; at the same time Jake was thinking,
Now that you mention it …

Jake finished Mills’s response: ‘We’ve just noticed you’re clearly passionate about the issue. We were curious as to why.’

Makowski shrugged. ‘I’m just a citizen who cares about the earth and shit. Littleton doesn’t need an interstate ripping through our town and digging up the churches.’

‘No argument from me,’ said Mills. ‘But I don’t see you as the community leader type.’

‘The call came and I answered. You don’t have to wear a suit and tie to care about things.’

‘And what’s in it for you?’ asked Jake, ignoring the urge to tell Makowski he doubted he could even knot a tie.

‘My town staying just the way I like it.’

‘So you bring along a mob and try to start a riot?’

Makowski shrugged. ‘Just exercising my right to protest. First Amendment and all.’

This was going nowhere, but Jake didn’t want to let him know the real reason they were there because Makowski would clam up. He was stupid, but not stupid enough not to call a lawyer when he was threatened with a murder charge.

‘You struck a police officer during your protest,’ Jake told him.

‘And you’re going to bring me in for that? I don’t think so. If you were, you’d have done it already. And it wouldn’t be just the two of you come to pick me up. And you’d have that warrant we talked about …’

Makowski was right. Jake felt the tension returning to his head, doing a duet with the burn in his gut. The case was full of dead leads. Jake needed to shake something loose before the killer struck again.

‘It’s an offence,’ he said.

‘I don’t recall striking anyone. Near as I can recall, I was waving my banner, shouting my slogans, and the next thing I know some cop puts me flying through the air like we’re in the Octagon. And, you know, I don’t feel so good. Maybe I should sue.’

Mills smiled. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr Makowski. Do you have a phone number in case we have any other questions?’

‘Tell you what – if I have any other information, I’ll give
you
a call. We done here?’

Mills looked at Jake and shrugged. He turned towards the car. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Makowski,’ said Mills, making no attempt to seem genuine.

As he made to follow his partner, Jake’s mind was racing. He needed to think of something fast, something to give them the leverage they needed. He stopped and turned, heading over to Makowski and standing a few feet in front of him. Not right in the guy’s personal space, but close enough for the subtle challenge to be received, loud and clear.

‘Nice place you got here,’ said Jake. A guy like Makowski would respond to patronizing. He probably couldn’t spell the word, but he would understand the concept. ‘Good mortgage rate?’

He sensed Makowski stiffening. He had found the button. Now it was time to press on it – and the other buttons that Jake knew were clustered around it.

‘But I suppose, between you and your sister, you’re making ends meet pretty well, huh?’

Makowski moved fast for a big man pushing fifty. But he moved without thought, without technique. He lunged at Jake’s shoulder and shoved him back violently. On any other occasion it would have been a dumb move to make. Makowski should have known that the man he was attacking was trained, adept. The worst thing he could have done was to shove him back, creating distance between them – distance that would allow Jake to set himself, get his balance and counter-attack.

On a normal day this altercation would have been over inside three seconds. But this was not a normal day. Instead, Jake let his body fall into the reverse momentum created by Makowski’s shove; he let his right foot land in the big empty paint-bucket he had clocked when they arrived; he let his balance tip back, as if the bucket was upending him. He hit the ground and let himself roll.

By the time he had sat up, Mills had done an about turn and pulled his service weapon, which he now had aimed directly at Makowski’s head.

‘Oh dear, Makowski,’ he said. ‘That’s the second time you’ve assaulted an officer in three days.’

Jake smiled. Now they had a real reason to bring in Makowski.

By the end of the day they would know just how seriously to take him as a suspect.