The Christmas Killer Page 3

  Jake reached for his belt and unhooked a small penlight. He swept the beam over the room. The living room – less disturbed than he expected: a knocked-over table, and the television had fallen from its stand. The floor was cluttered, but no more so than in his own home. Kids did that. In the centre of the floor, its back against the toppled coffee table, stood the fourth kitchen chair. There were dark stains on the wood.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a murder scene,’ said Mills, and spoke into his radio, asking for the forensics to come.

  Using the penlight to pick his route, Jake made his way slowly to the opposite wall and flipped the switch, throwing the room into harsh electric light. Now the stains on the wooden chair were visible as dark gouts of blood. There were also bloodstains on the threadbare carpet under the chair and some on the coffee table. Some snaked all the way to a limp, pathetic Christmas tree in the far corner, touching the edges of a present laid beneath it.

  The red tag said, ‘To Kelly, from Mommy xoxo’.

  He stood in the centre of the room and saw how it must have happened. It’s late. The neighbours are in bed. You come to the door and leave the body down on the ground while you search her purse. You want to find her wallet so we can identify her quickly.

  Here Jake paused and scanned the room. He looked through the connecting door into the kitchen. Yes, in the corner, tossed casually away, was a woman’s purse.

  You shoved some junk aside, kicked the coffee table out of the way, overturning it. You laid her down in the centre of the room. Then you went into the kitchen for the chair. After putting the chair against the overturned table you tried to pull her up on to it. That must have been when she woke up. There was a brief struggle – the television was knocked over. But you got her under control again and tied her to the chair.

  He scanned the floor again. No ropes.

  ‘I’m not so sure I like the boyfriend for this,’ said Jake. ‘The killer brought rope with him and took it away again after. That’s a murder kit. We might be looking for someone who has either done this before … or has been building up to it.’

  Mills winced before he answered the question Jake was about to ask. ‘I don’t recall any recent reports of women attacked on the street, no attempted abductions. Nothing like that. You might be overthinking this one a little, city slicker,’ said Mills with a dark laugh.

  Was he? He had done so before – thrown himself into cases back in Chicago, ending up mired in the minds of the offenders. Sometimes the simple solution really was the right one. Sometimes the boyfriend really did do it. Grounding himself with that thought, Jake crouched. Near the leg of the chair was a white speck.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Mills, his eyes on Jake. ‘I could have done without seeing that.’

  It was a molar. Jake looked around quickly and found two more.

  ‘She was conscious throughout the whole thing,’ he said.

  Mills exhaled a long breath.

  Just then both detectives heard the clatter of the gate in the yard being roughly pushed aside.

  The scrape of a key being inserted into the lock.

  The whine of the front door as it opened.

  Footsteps came down the short hall. Mills’s breath caught in his throat just as the living room door swung open, revealing a large black man in his late twenties, wearing a puffy parka that had seen better days.

  He paused in the doorway. ‘The fuck are you assholes doing in my house?’ he shouted.

  Sonny. The boyfriend.

  Mills reached for his badge.

  ‘Ah, shit!’ Sonny yelled, his sneakers scraping the floor as he turned and bolted.

  Jake ran after him. Sometimes, he told himself again, the boyfriend really did do it.

  7

  Monday, 5.36 p.m.

  Jake was out on to the street and running hard after Sonny – a big man in bad shape, and the sidewalk was slick and icy. Not the best conditions for an escape. In a few long strides Jake had closed the gap. He judged his lunge to perfection. He drew level, then placed a hand on Sonny’s shoulder, gripping the jacket. At the same time he caught his right leg in between Sonny’s legs, who went down hard. Jake went down too but was able to twist so that Sonny broke his fall. Almost as soon as he hit the ground Jake was spinning, muscle memory kicking in. Within a second he had flipped Sonny on to his stomach and pinned his hands securely behind his back.

  By now Mills had jogged up. He came to a stop, both arms straight out and cradling a big Smith & Wesson.

  ‘Get up, shit head, and assume the position,’ he growled.

  Jake looked up at Mills. ‘I hope you’re talking to him.’

  Sonny got to his feet and stood with his arms raised. The movement pulled his parka up, revealing two handguns whose barrels disappeared beneath the belt line of his jeans. Jake stepped forward and took them, placing them on the ground. There was a beat-up old Chevy nearby. Jake marched Sonny over to it. Sonny knew the drill, placing both hands on the hood and spreading his legs.

  ‘I’m not saying nothing,’ he said.

  As Mills stepped up to cuff him, Jake reached into his pocket and took out his mobile phone. Whatever niggling feeling he might have had about this case, there was no way to argue – Sonny was an armed man fleeing the scene of a murder. Time to call it in and hope it was one of those open-and-shut cases.

  ‘Put me through to the colonel,’ he said.

  ‘Out at a meeting with the DA,’ the desk sergeant replied, his voice robotic.

  ‘If he gets back before us, tell him we’re bringing in a suspect.’ Jake ended the call.

  When he turned back, Mills was standing there with a big grin on his face, the gun now held by his side. Sonny glowered, a sullen hulk radiating defiance.

  Mills did the honours: ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Marcia Lamb.’

  Sonny’s eyes widened in shock. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be … Shit, you know the Miranda rights as well as I do.’ Mills shook his head and pushed Sonny forward. ‘Walk.’

  They turned back towards their car. They weren’t within ten feet of it before Jake heard approaching steps.

  ‘Is this where she was killed?’ Chuck Ford asked as he appeared first at Jake’s side, then hanging back to walk on their heels. He carried a pen and pad. His pupils were dilated like he was on something, but Jake had seen the buzz journalists got from a story before.

  Jake glared at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d tell me,’ he said, tapping his pen against his pad. ‘We need official confirmation on the victim’s name.’

  Jake kept walking towards the car.

  ‘I’m only doing my job,’ said Ford.

  Mills handed Sonny off to Jake before rounding on the reporter. ‘You stepped over the line this morning. Almost caused a goddamned riot outside a church – at fucking Christmas time, no less. So don’t talk to me about “doing my job”. You are the pus inside the pimple on the ass of the department. Do you need me to spell that out for you? A-S-S.’

  But Chuck wasn’t listening any more. He was looking behind them. And he was smiling.

  Both cops turned and Jake saw two black and whites and a big white forensics van pulling up on the street.

  ‘I think I just got my confirmation,’ said Chuck. ‘But I can make you look good if you help me out.’ He nodded towards the handcuffed Sonny. ‘Can I tell my readers you have caught the killer – the deranged individual who slaughtered a young mom before she could celebrate Christmas with her kid?’

  ‘You’re a dick, Ford,’ said Mills as they reached the car. ‘One of these days you’ll get what’s coming to you.’

  ‘Yeah, I will,’ said Ford. ‘A Pulitzer.’

  Jake just stood there. Keep calm, he told himself. Remember Chicago.

  Suddenly Sonny lunged towards the reporter, trying to break free from Jake and Mills. ‘I didn’t do it!’ he shouted. ‘
They’re trying to frame me, man!’

  Jake pushed past Chuck and bundled Sonny into the car before he could give Chuck any more for his article. The big man cursed as his head bumped the roof, but Jake didn’t care. He got in beside him while Mills got into the driver’s seat. Within seconds, Mills was pulling away from the kerb.

  Jake glared at the small, indistinct shape of Chuck Ford in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Fucking journalists.’

  8

  Monday, 7.15 p.m.

  It was after six when they got back to the station, then it took an hour to get through the formalities of booking, taking prints and samples of Sonny’s DNA. There was a numbness in the air – the station had been looking forward to the Christmas party that had been scheduled for the following day, but an unclosed case was likely going to put paid to that. Jake had heard the station administrator – a sardonic woman in her fifties named either Gina or Tina – sounding out others about rescheduling it to the new year. Assuming the murderer was locked up before the 31st.

  Finally, with the district attorney called in, the detectives were ready to interview the boyfriend.

  Ninety-nine cases out of a hundred …

  ‘I’m telling you,’ said Sonny, addressing every word to his attorney, ‘Marcia was fine when I left her last night.’

  The suspect’s voice wavered, but that wasn’t necessarily a sign of guilt. Maybe he was just cold. Jake had had the heat turned off in the interview room, and with his parka taken as evidence, Sonny’s thin black T-shirt wasn’t doing much for his core temperature in the small windowless interview room. Hard chairs, a black table and a tape recorder fixed to the wall made the place look about as luxurious as the average holding cell.

  ‘Lots of things can happen in a night,’ said Mills. ‘She’s dead now.’

  Sonny fell silent. His big hands came up to his face and he clenched them. For a moment his hands struggled against the restraining cuffs. Then he dropped them again and scowled.

  ‘Look, she was my woman,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t hurt her.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I don’t know. She left for work at seven. Dropped Kelly over to that nosey bitch who watches her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you watch her?’ snapped Jake.

  ‘Busy, man. I was out of there by eight.’ He looked again at his attorney, who nodded. ‘Spent the night with my girl over on Cherry Orchard,’ he admitted.

  Jake looked at Mills. Cherry Orchard was a poor area very close to Glendale. That put Sonny near the dump site. He was looking better and better. On the other hand, his shock had seemed genuine. And he didn’t strike Jake as the sadistic type. Was there a way to get Sonny to confess? Jake’s plan was to bide his time with this one. Once the forensics were done and they could see if they’d found any DNA, they would have a better idea of whether he was their man. But for now he’d ask some questions and see what happened.

  ‘And there’s me thinking you had a girl here on Washington,’ said Jake.

  ‘No law says a man can’t have two girls,’ said Sonny, his voice so quiet Jake thought it might not register on the tape.

  ‘OK,’ said Jake. ‘But it doesn’t make you look like a decent guy.’

  ‘My client has already told you where he was,’ said the attorney, George Vincennes, with an exaggerated sigh, his puff of breath visible. ‘He was dancing at the Boom Box, a nightclub in Indianapolis, with a Miss Penny Stokes.’

  ‘We was clubbing all night,’ added Sonny.

  ‘You weren’t clubbing all night,’ said Jake.

  ‘No, man. After we finished clubbing, we went back to her place.’

  ‘And were you doing a bit of dealing at the club?’ asked Jake. Sonny had a heavy rap sheet, lots of priors including possession and possession with intent. Speed, weed, blow – it didn’t matter to him. He had served time for an aggravated burglary rap. He had been out a little over a year.

  Jake nodded to himself. Sonny was certainly violent – but sadistic? He didn’t see it.

  And I’ve been wrong before.

  ‘Are you arresting my client for murder or for possession?’ asked Vincennes, his tone telling them not to mess around.

  ‘We need this Penny Stokes’s address,’ said Mills.

  Sonny shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  It took them until after nine to locate Penny Stokes, but the story checked out. Stokes confirmed that Sonny had been with her all night, only leaving at six thirty in the morning, when he got up to go to his job at the city sanitation department.

  By nine thirty Jake and Mills were back at their desks in a small cubicle at the end of the detective bureau, drinking coffee and eating drugstore sandwiches.

  ‘You still like him for this?’ Jake asked.

  Mills paused over his sandwich and when he answered, he spoke slowly.

  ‘I don’t know. The alibi is holding, but we have nothing from the club. I’ll go over myself in an hour with his picture.’ He took a bite and carried on with his mouth full. ‘Let’s say he killed Marcia at midnight, dumped her, and got to this Penny girl by two. She loves him, or she’s scared of him, so she alibis him for the night.’ He swallowed his mouthful and shrugged. ‘I think we got the right man.’

  Jake couldn’t dispute the logic. Forensics would throw light on it, he hoped – and with the low temperatures this time of year, Marcia’s time of death might not be so easy to determine.

  Ninety-nine cases out of a hundred …

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. ‘But we don’t have enough to hold him tonight.’

  Mills threw back a sigh at Jake like an echo. ‘And the sonofabitch knows it,’ he said. ‘It’s on us to build the case, I guess.’

  Knowing they wouldn’t get any more by tomorrow, they cut Sonny loose. His home was still a crime scene, sealed by forensics, so he had to nominate a friend to stay with and give the police the address. They were not surprised when he chose Penny Stokes and Cherry Orchard.

  9

  Tuesday, 13 December, 12.10 a.m.

  When Jake got home, he was too frazzled from his shift to feel his usual irritation at the garish red reindeer on the roof of the house next to his. His own home was in darkness, which was no surprise. He crept into the kitchen like a burglar, flicking the light switch. He opened the fridge, feeling a pleasant sense of relief when he heard the clatter of beer bottles.

  Just the one, he told himself.

  He took out a Miller Lite and brought it over to the table. He popped the top as he sat down, taking a long swig. And as the cooling liquid flooded through his chest, he began to go over the day.

  The case should have been an easy one. Sonny – a violent criminal on probation – had obviously killed his girlfriend, probably in anger but maybe with a more complex motive. Prison can change a man. Maybe a distressing episode or two in the showers. Rape, humiliation – a lunkhead like Sonny surely didn’t have the psychological capacity to withstand such an experience. It might explain why he was cheating on his girlfriend, filling his time with an extra woman, looking to reassert his manhood now that he was back on the outside. Had he confided in Marcia, perhaps? Had she thrown it back at him, prompting a new kind of rage and violence in Sonny?

  Would such a sequence of events be enough to push a man like him to the madness of the man who had murdered Marcia?

  Jake rubbed his temples as if he could erase the tumbling thoughts from his brain.

  He took another long swig from the bottle, almost emptying it. Motive and explanation were irrelevant. All they had to do was build the case and secure the conviction. The lab work should help there. A messy killing like that always left plenty of forensics. As long as the killer wasn’t a pro. And Sonny, despite his record, was no pro. He would have made mistakes.

  But Jake wasn’t happy.

  There was the purse. It had been flung casually across the kitchen, suggesting that the killer had let himself in with Marcia’s key. Did the killer hold on
to it? Sonny had his own key.

  Jake cursed himself.

  Why can’t I just accept the obvious? Sonny is the killer. Mills is right: I overcomplicate.

  A noise – someone coming down the stairs. The light came on in the hall. Leigh.

  He looked up with a grin as the door opened, but it wasn’t his wife who came into the kitchen. It was his mother. She was wearing a nightdress and fluffy pink slippers. But she had her woollen overcoat on over the top.

  ‘Hi, Mom,’ he said in a resigned but gentle voice.

  ‘Hi, Bruce,’ she replied with a bright smile. ‘You’re home early.’

  Bruce? That’s a new one. His mother’s lucid moments were fewer and further between these days. She was beginning not to recognize family members. Her connection with the world was eroding.

  ‘What are you doing up?’ Jake asked.

  ‘It’s such a sunny day I thought I would take a walk.’

  Jake’s eyes flicked to the kitchen window – seeing his vivid reflection in the sheet of black cast by the night. ‘I see.’

  ‘The air will do me good. I might take the dog.’

  They didn’t have a dog.

  ‘That’s a great idea, Mom.’ He stood up and went towards her. ‘But have you taken your nap? I think you should take your nap first, and then go for the walk.’

  Jeanette frowned deeply like he’d just asked her to solve a particularly complex puzzle. ‘Yes, I think I will have a nap.’

  Jake took her by the hand and led her back to the hall, where he took off her coat. He hung it on the rack beside his own and Faith’s bright red coat. Then he led his mother up the stairs and into her bedroom. He stayed in the room until she had climbed back into bed, then he bent down and kissed her softly on the forehead.

  ‘Good night, Mom,’ he said.

  ‘Good night, Bruce,’ she replied.

  Jake tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind him and wondering how he could keep her safe.

  Time to call it a night. Outside his bedroom he shuffled off his shoes without undoing the laces. He crept into the bedroom and quickly stripped down to his boxers, dropping trousers, shirt, vest and coat on the floor at the end of the bed. Leigh would give him hell for it in the morning, but he was too tired to care.