"Fine, if the cuts were on the side of the bone, but they're not," said Becker. "They're on the interior of the joint. Make those cuts on the interior of the joint."
Grone picked up a pencil and tried to do as he was bid. "Can't do it," he said. "You can't get the right angle at it. "
Becker then separated the bones and held them a foot apart. Grone simulated the cuts with ease.
"He made the cuts after the bones were separated?" Grone asked.
Becker shrugged. "I don't know enough about it to say, but it looks like I'd better find out."
"Why would he do it afterwards?"
"Who knows? A ritual of some kind. It all becomes ritual to them after a while. These guys have fetishes about the way their victims look, the way they die-why not about the way they're sliced apart? Maybe these parallel cuts are a totem of some kind. Or maybe he's trying to leave a signature."
"Leave a signature so we can find him?"
Becker shook his head. "Myth," said Becker. "The tormented killer leaves a note saying, 'Catch me before I kill again'? Not very damned often. These boys are happy in their work, believe me. They're doing exactly what they want to do when they murder somebody, it gives them a greater thrill than anything else in the world. They don't want to get caught. They want to do it again and again and more often, and faster and quicker and sooner. Johnny has had these skeletons very effectively hidden for six years. That doesn't sound much like he's trying to be caught, does it? If we catch him, or any of them, it's only because of a lot of work and more dumb luck than we care to admit."
8
Tee contemplated the young prisoner who sat on the other side of his desk and wondered why the man was lying to him. In other respects he was the model suspect. Respectful, polite, deferential, and cooperative, Tyrone Abdul Kiwasee had confessed to eight burglaries in Clamden in the past three years. He had provided dates, details of entry, even suggestions about improved security measures. His recall of the stolen merchandise had been good, he had quickly and willingly betrayed his confederates, had even implicated himself in other, lesser crimes. Tee had little doubt in his mind that the information was correct, and Kiwasee had coughed it all up so freely, so happily, he resembled the ideal sinner in the confession booth, delighted to purge his soul and find redemption. All of which made it even more baffling that he was lying about the final job.
"You're sure you know which house I'm talking about?" Tee asked. "Yes sir, Officer McNeil drove me around and showed me all the houses on your list."
"And you insist you've never been there?"
"I've never been there, sir."
"Two weeks ago, a Thursday night."
"No sir, I ain't been in Clamden in six months until Officer McNeil drove me around today."
"There are no other charges attached to this one, you know," said Tee.
"No one was hurt, you didn't break any more laws than in all the rest of them."
"I'm glad no one was hurt," said Kiwasee. "Ain't nobody ever hurt in my work, I don't go nowhere near a house there's anybody in it-but I didn't do that house."
"The judge isn't going to put you away any longer for nine burglaries instead of eight. I just want to get the case off my books. You understand?"
"I appreciate that, I do. But you wouldn't want me to lie to you, would you, sir?"
"They found stolen property from the Levin house in your apartment, Tyrone."
"I don't know nothing about that. I ain't never seen that house before today."
"They tell me the property was under your bed, Tyrone. "
"Ain't just my bed, you understand. Other peoples sleep there.
"So you're trying to tell me you've never been in that neighborhood, Tyrone?"
"No sir. Never have been."
"You pretty much have to drive past it, that's a main road. How else did you get around?"
Kiwasee stared blankly in front of him, withdrawing within himself for the first time in the interview. Tee saw it as clearly as if a hood had been dropped over the man's head.
"You're on Clamden Road as soon as you turn off the Merritt Parkway,"
Tee said. Kiwasee continued to stare. "Did you travel exclusively on back roads?"
"Yes sir, that's what I done. I just got around on back roads.
Tee extracted a map from his desk drawer and spread it on his desk.
"Show me how you did that, Tyrone."
"I ain't good at maps."
"You drove around the back roads of Clamden without a map? — You must know the town pretty well. Most newcomers get lost… You ever get lost, Tyrone?"
"I got lost sometimes."
"What did you do? I don't suppose you stopped and asked for directions.
Being a burglar."
"I just kept driving."
"Three in the morning, a car full of stolen goods, and you just kept driving around the back roads of Clamden until you got out?"
"Yes sir."
"Listen, son, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but a young black man driving aimlessly around in Clamden at three in the morning is not something that would go unnoticed by anyone who saw it. You understand that, don't you?"
"Ain't stupid," Kiwasee said with resentment. "I know how you people think when you see a black man in your town. Think he's a crook."
"Well, in your case, that'd be right, wouldn't it?"
"Depends when you see me. I ain't always a crookjust when I'm working."
"Are you ever in Clamden when you're not working, Tyrone? Do you ever come by just for pleasure? I don't want to get into the sociology of it, but a lot of people in this town, they see a black man driving around, they call the police. Right or wrong."
"I knows that."
"We have black families here, you know. The town is not segregated, it's just expensive, and predominantly middle-class, and predominantly white. I'm sure I don't need to explain to you how that works."
"No sir. I understands it, that's why I come here."
"Because…?"
"Because it's expensive."
"Makes sense, son. I'd do it the same way. But there is one thing I'd do differently. I'd know how to get out of town fast. If I ran into a cop car at that time in the morning, I know he'd be inclined to check me out, being a cop and all. I'd want to know where I was going and how to get back to Bridgeport as fast as possible."
"I always managed to get out."
"I know you did, what I don't quite understand is how you managed to get out. If you're driving around, lost, how do you know when you're out?"
Kiwasee looked at him blankly.
"Usually, you're lost in a situation like that, when you hit a main road, that's when you know you're out."
"That's right, sir. That's how I know I'm out."
"What main road did you hit? The one that takes you back to exit forty-two on the Merritt Parkway? That would get you home quickest."
"Yes sir."
"That's Clamden Road. But you said you've never been on that road.
You've never driven past the Levins' house, you've never been in that neighborhood."
Kiwasee nodded, assessing the logic of the situation. "Must be I got on another one."
"Must be, Tyrone… It's interesting, isn't it, how one little lie, if you stick with it, can get so complicated. Pretty soon nothing you say makes any sense at all. Why are you lying to me, Tyrone?"
Kiwasee sank sullenly into his protective silence. Tee saw it rise up over him like an impenetrable shield. Trapped, they turned inward. It was never smart to trap them, and now, for the time being at least, this one was gone.
Tee spoke on his intercom to Maureen, who was two doors away in the dispatch office.
"Where's McNeil?"
"I sent- him to check out a missing person complaint," said Maureen.