An air of expectancy greeted Westermann the next morning as he arrived at Headquarters, maybe ten minutes after Maddox and Koss and their lawyers. Cops hung around the squad room, ignoring the reports they had to type or the beats they had to walk. They chatted in groups of four or five, drinking coffee, sucking on cigarettes. Westermann felt their eyes on him and understood the complicated expectations. For the most part, these people didn’t like him, and his failure with a high-profile figure such as Maddox would quietly be cheered. But cops reflexively rooted for the big bust—bagging big game. In some ways, this was a no-lose situation, and they stuck around, knowing that any outcome would be worth the wait.
Souza and Kraatjes met Westermann at the interview rooms. Souza looked harried, a cigar smoldering in the corner of his mouth. Kraatjes stood calmly, eyes in a slight squint, head cocked back a little. He was ready to go, but something was bothering him, too.
Kraatjes said, “Chief’s office.”
Westermann didn’t believe it.
“Part of the negotiation. Maddox doesn’t want to be treated like a suspect.”
“We’re—”
“Piet.”
“What?”
“Maddox’s lawyer, in the Chief’s office—it’s your father.”
Westermann stared at Kraatjes, bit his lip, felt the adrenaline. How could this have happened? Did his father not know that he was handling the case? He must have, it had been in the papers. What the hell was he thinking? Another test. Another goddamn test.
“You okay?” Kraatjes asked.
“Sure.”
“You want someone to take your place?”
Krattjes kept Westermann’s eyes until he seemed to make a judgment. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Just a question—how can this be allowed?”
“We’re just questioning, Piet. This isn’t a trial. Maddox hasn’t been arrested. They’re just trying to mess with you—with us.”
Westermann shook his head, confused by this betrayal, wishing he were surprised.
“Where’s the Chief?”
“He’s at City Hall, keeping Truffant and His Honor away. Let’s not ball this up, okay?”
Westermann shook his head. Pissed.
Maddox and Big Rolf were sitting in leather chairs that had been brought in specially for the questioning. Big Rolf stood, shook hands with Kraatjes.
Big Rolf looked at Westermann. “Our first professional encounter. I suppose I should feel a father’s pride.”
“Hello, Rolf.”
They shook hands. It was strange.
Maddox watched this from his chair, hands placidly laced in his lap. He looked unhealthy, his skin oily and pale.
Kraatjes said, “Thank you for coming today.” As if he were going to launch into some kind of stand-up routine.
Maddox unlaced his fingers and turned his hands palms up in a practiced motion, a gesture of clerical grace.
Everyone sat.
“Have you been told why you’re here?” Kraatjes asked.
Big Rolf said, “Our understanding is that Dr. Maddox might be able to assist you in a murder investigation.”
Kraatjes nodded. “The murder of three young women.” His voice was quiet, deferential; almost apologetic. “One’s name was Lenore. We still don’t have her last name. The other two remain unidentified.”
“A tragedy,” Big Rolf said.
Westermann clenched his teeth, not rising to the bait. He watched Maddox, whose mind seemed elsewhere. Maddox looked vaguely in his direction, but didn’t seem to be particularly focused on anything.
Kraatjes turned to engage Maddox directly. “Do you know a Dr. Raymond Vesterhue?”
Maddox turned his head toward Kraatjes, but kept the unfocused stare. “Of course.”
“Can you elaborate on that, Dr. Maddox?”
“We retain him, as an excellent doctor and a Christian, to tend to the medical needs of our congregation.”
“Do you engage him in other ways?”
“We pay him to perform charitable acts on behalf of the church—to minister to the poor.”
“By poor, Dr. Maddox, are you referring to prostitutes?”
Maddox made the palms-up gesture again, and this time Westermann took it as an acknowledgment.
Kraatjes continued the questioning. “Were you aware that Dr. Vesterhue provided medical services to the murdered woman named Lenore?”
Big Rolf seemed about to say something, but Maddox put up a hand. Westermann wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone do that to his father before and was surprised that his father seemed to accept it.
“I’m afraid that I must confess a failing in this regard,” Maddox said. “While we provide money to Dr. Vesterhue to cover his time and expenses during his work with these unfortunate women, I do not, in fact, have any contact with them, nor do I follow their medical travails. Dr. Vesterhue, as a condition of our agreement with him, gives the women materials from our church. Sadly, to date, none has taken advantage of our offer of salvation.”
“Did these materials include anticommunist pamphlets in addition to religious ones?”
Maddox smiled. “I don’t believe I need to tell you or the lieutenant that communists prey on those who are already morally degraded. To not alert them to this danger would be derelict on my part.”
“Do you know a Mavis Talley?” This question—Westermann breaking Maddox’s rhythm with Kraatjes—seemed to startle Maddox a little.
“I assume that she is one of Dr. Vesterhue’s patients as well, and as I said before, I was less than vigilant regarding Raymond and his patients.”
“We’ve learned that several of Dr. Vesterhue’s patients have contracted an illness that the hospital can’t seem to identify.”
Kraatjes cut in; picking up the pace. “Has anyone in your congregation been ill? Seriously ill? We believe that this disease is potentially fatal.”
“I’m afraid not.” Maddox smiled apologetically.
Westermann said, “Tell me about the Uhuru Community.”
Big Rolf stood up. “Dr. Maddox did not come here, of his own volition, to be harassed by you. We will cease to cooperate if this continues.”
Kraatjes gave him a startled stare, and Big Rolf looked to Maddox, back to Kraatjes, then sat down. He’d done his job, giving Maddox a chance to breathe.
“The Uhuru Community?” Maddox asked.
Kraatjes nodded. “Why do you want the Uhuru Community shut down?”
“Do I want the Uhuru Community shut down?”
“You were meeting with Councilor Truffant before the press conference yesterday; before he more or less called for the Community to be razed.”
Maddox considered this behind half-closed lids. “As I said before—”
Westermann pressed, “Communism. We got that. You say you think that the Uhuru Community is a serious communist threat? I don’t believe you really do.”
Big Rolf started to speak but Maddox held up his hand again.
“Lieutenant, I’m not a fool. Nor do I go looking for threats under beds and such. But Scripture is very clear about the attributes of the Antichrist and his dominion. We have the privilege of living during the End of Times, Lieutenant. This fact may have escaped you, but it is as plain as the leaves on the trees. The Jews have returned to Israel. Russia is risen. The conditions are just as foretold, and we—or I—am in a unique position to thwart the Antichrist’s ascent.”
“Father Womé?” Westermann said, incredulous.
Maddox stared at Westermann. Westermann looked to Kraatjes, who kept a neutral expression.
Big Rolf broke the silence. “I’m sorry. What does this have to do with the murdered girls?”
“Nothing,” Kraatjes said, his voice distant.