The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (61 page)

“So it’s cost you some scruples already, big deal. What’s it
going
to cost you?”

“What do you honestly recommend I do? Let him go? He’ll move on, and begin killing again. But that’s all right, because when I see the corpses of his next three young men, I’ll think, ‘Yes, I had him in my sights, but I was too decent to pull the trigger.’ What a comfort that decency of mine will be. The families of those young men are sure to understand.”

“You are running so damned close to the line, Special Agent. Personally, I  think you’re already over it. And now you’re talking violence.”

Fletcher said, “It’s worth stepping over the line.”

“Maybe I’d agree, if you were sure it’s the right guy.”

“But he is the right man.” Fletcher sighed. “You said he employed your cousin, didn’t you?”

“Yes, over the Christmas break. And now he’s employed Andy again, promised him a couple of months’ work.”

“Andy?” Fear crawled through Fletch. He hadn’t expected Garrett to be that provoking. Hiring a boy named Andrew right now was surely equivalent to waving a red flag in Fletch’s face. “How old is your cousin, Halligan? What does he look like?”

“The kid’s only nineteen. A good-looking sort, and smart, too. Real popular with the college girls.”

Fletcher rubbed at his face, leaned forward, said, “Andy sounds just his type, Halligan. You watch he doesn’t rape and torture and murder your Andy, too.”

The lieutenant’s expression was at first sickened but then righteous anger took over. “Yeah, you keep throwing your shit around, Special Agent. You threw it at him during that mockery of an interview, and it didn’t stick. So now you’re throwing it at me again.”

“It’s the damned
truth
, Lieutenant.” That was the closest Fletcher had got to shouting.

“Yeah, well, he might file a complaint about your conduct. He might sue you for libel. He might tell the world you’re prejudiced against him because he’s queer. And good luck to him, I  reckon. About the only thing you haven’t done is call the press in.”

“They’d love all this dirt, wouldn’t they? What a great idea, Halligan. They’d blow the whole thing wide open.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ash. They’d get the waters so muddy you’d never get an indictment.”

“You admit there’s a possibility I’m right?”

“There’s always a possibility, isn’t there? I’m warning you, that’s all. The press won’t help your case. They love scandal and they’ll ruin John, but they won’t help your case against him.”

After a long moment, during which Halligan sweated, Fletcher nodded. “That was my conclusion, as well.”

Halligan was still looking disgruntled. “One more thing,” he said. “Next time you have something to say to me about how I run this outfit, or how my men behave, you tell me to my face. Don’t go setting Sterne onto me. He has the rudest mouth I’ve ever heard, which is good for a man who never damn well swears.”

Fletcher didn’t know whether to laugh or frown. “When was this? What did he say?”

“After your interview with John Garrett. Said young Bill had undermined your authority and I shouldn’t have let that happen, or words to that effect. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have, but I won’t be spoken to like that in front of my own men.”

“All Albert told me was that he’d asked you to conduct surveillance for a while and that you refused. But I can imagine how he phrased the request.” Fletcher decided to laugh. Albert was certainly looking out for Fletcher’s interests at present. “I’m not going to apologize, Lieutenant. I  wasn’t going to make an issue of it, but I should have had more support from you and your people. On the other hand, Albert no doubt said some things he shouldn’t have. Let’s call it even, all right?”

Eventually Halligan nodded, but he also said, “I  still think you’re after the wrong man.”

“Support me and we’ll get to the truth of it. That’s my best offer.” And it seemed reasonably acceptable. A temporary truce was declared.

CHAPTER THIRTY

NEW ORLEANS

SEPTEMBER 1985

Albert ate the room service meal without any appreciation. Rather than detail and categorize all the meal’s failings, however, he considered the man sitting across the table from him. While it had been Fletcher’s idea to have a late dinner in Albert’s room, for the sake of quiet and the illusion of privacy, he seemed as dissatisfied as Albert was. He made little attempt to eat. In Albert’s dispassionate opinion, Fletcher looked terrible.

The pale face and bruised eyes and fatigued expression were presumably the result of a combination of factors: coping for an extended period with little sleep; working hard, with little obvious result, on a case Fletcher had always found emotionally draining; waiting through a situation he was not fully in control of; hating the fact he was working outside both the law enforcement system and his own system of ethics, even though Fletcher realized that it was the only course of action he could take; spending hours crammed with activity, followed by hours of monotonous surveillance. Once this case was finally resolved, whether successfully or not, Fletcher would be a ravaged wreck. A melodramatic description but given that this was Fletcher Ash, a true enough one. How Albert was then going to deal with the man was another question entirely.

The silence continued unbroken while Albert ate. Once Albert had set aside his plate and cutlery, however, and before he could reach for some reading material, Fletcher said, “I  know you’ll disapprove but I think I’ll take the night off. And you can, too, of course.” He continued in hurried explanation, “Mac and Celia said they’d take a longer shift, if we give them some time off tomorrow night.”

“All right,” Albert said.

“You’re supposed to be talking me out of this.”

“Am I? I agree that you would benefit from time off duty but I’d be surprised if you were able to sleep well or even relax.”

“Well, it’s no use asking you for tips on how to relax,” Fletcher commented with a faint smile. Then he said, “Sorry. No doubt you’re right but I intend to try. Meanwhile, you’ll have plenty to catch up with, I  assume.”

“Yes, I have work to progress. If you require me and I’m not here, I’ll probably be at the Bureau offices.”

Fletcher nodded. “I think I’ll turn in. Would you do me a favor? Don’t disturb me unless it’s really urgent. I’ll ask reception to put any calls through here, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course.”

The man stood and walked around the table to where Albert sat. A long moment, as Fletcher gazed down at him. Then he gripped Albert’s shoulder, and said, “Goodnight, Albert,” in meaningful tones.

“Goodnight,” Albert curtly replied, frowning up at him. This sort of behavior usually signified that Fletcher wanted to say something personal but was managing to restrain himself. Given that the behavior was so easy to interpret, it didn’t serve to hide anything. Annoyed at the man, Albert was surprised to find himself reacting to the subtext. He lifted a hand to Fletcher’s, grasped it briefly, and said, “Get some rest.”

Fletcher nodded. “Necessary,” he said. “Absolutely necessary.” An observer might have assumed he was commenting on his need for sleep. And then Fletcher was gone, and Albert was alone.

This was almost too convenient. Albert decided to work in the hotel room for an hour, so that he was available in case Fletcher changed his mind. If he remained undisturbed until ten o’clock, then Albert would leave. He had plans, and he would put off both sleep and the bulk of his work for a few hours until he could see those plans through.

Albert cast a glance around the diner and chose a booth as far away as possible from the few other patrons. Not bothering to take off his jacket, he sat down and watched the two waiters sharing a joke with the cook. The atmosphere here was definitely slow and casual.

Within a few minutes, however, one of the waiters approached this new customer. Albert had the chance to observe him: a man in his early thirties; dressed in torn blue jeans, a faded green T-shirt, and an open shirt patterned in darker greens and blues, with a small apron around his hips that might once have been white; long dark brown hair caught back in a tail; deep brown eyes that were warm if not friendly. When he spoke, it was all on a breath: “Hello, what can I get you?”

“Bottled water,” Albert said. “And then, if possible, Ricardo, a few minutes of your time.”

The waiter grimaced and fell back a step. “Hey, man, I’m clean. Have been for years.”

Albert just looked at him, resisting the urge to draw out his dark glasses.

“All right, months,” Rick amended. “Don’t you cops ever give up and leave a guy alone? I’m a law-abiding citizen these days, mostly.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Albert informed him. “You are outside my jurisdiction and I am, in any case, off-duty.”

“Before? Do I know you?”

“Sit down, Ricardo.” When the younger man reluctantly slid onto the seat opposite, Albert said, “I  don’t expect you to remember me. My name is Albert. We met one evening some years ago. October 1971, to be exact. We spent a few hours together.”

“You were one of my clients?”

“Yes.”

“Albert. That was a long time ago, you know.” Rick frowned at him, and reached into his apron pocket for his cigarettes and a lighter. Then recognition dawned. Grinning he said, “I  remember, all right, G-man. You were so damned rude! I  mean, no one treats a hooker well, but you had a hard line in insults. But then you said  - Well, you remember what you said.”

I love you.
“Yes.”

“That was weird enough.” The grin returned, turned into genuine amusement. “And I’ll tell you what else I remember. You were a virgin.”

“Yes,” Albert said again, the syllable clipped short.

“Despite which, you were good.” Rick considered him, lit a cigarette. “We had some fun together, right? Before you started insulting me again.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I remember. You were so rude, you really pissed me off, but I liked you, too. It’s usually one or the other, but you managed both.” A long moment. “So what are you doing here, Albert? And how did you find me?”

“I have access to various forms of information.”

Rick shrugged. “Well, that don’t surprise me. Big brother, and all that. The cops here have everyone in their books.”

“On their databases,” Albert corrected him.

“So why are you here, if you’re not going to bust me?”

“What time do you finish work?”

“I could probably get away by twelve, if it stays this quiet. Why? Do you want to wait for me?”

Albert nodded once.

Rick smiled. “Sure, all right.” He stood. “Bottled water, you want? Anything else? Anything to eat? It’ll be a while.”

“Water will be fine.” Refusing to return the young man’s smile, Albert settled in to wait. He hadn’t brought any work with him, so he took the newspaper that had been left on the next table and read that, tawdry though it was, rather than think about the question of Rick’s that Albert hadn’t answered.
What are you doing here?

Apparently checking about leaving early, Ricardo was also glancing back at Albert rather more than necessary. The cook and the other waiter were developing speculative expressions. Albert attempted to ignore the lot of them.

Ricardo had been born only a year after Fletcher, Albert reflected, but Rick seemed much younger. Albert was walking down the midnight-quiet streets, with Rick beside him chattering away about New Orleans as if Albert were a tourist. Not long ago, Fletcher had been this irrepressible, this full of good-humored energy. The serial killer case had worn Ash down - while Rick’s circumstances, surely difficult, had left their mark but hadn’t seemed to harm him irretrievably.

Having spent some time framing a question about Ricardo’s life now, Albert found he needn’t ask. Rick soon began telling him, unfazed by Albert’s silence. “I  got in off the streets about nine years ago. I  had a couple of regulars, which was fine, but other than that I was losing business to the young kids. Tough little things, these days. Bitter, you know.”

Albert asked, “How did you escape bitterness, Ricardo?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t have to be like that. Maybe that’s all it is - realizing you don’t have to be unhappy about the things life does to you. Does that seem simple to you?” Not earning a response, Rick continued, “Anyway, I’ve survived this long. I’m thirty-two now, for God’s sake. Old age.”

‘Don’t be ridiculous,” Albert said. “This should be the prime of your life.”