There were about twenty police officers in the station briefing room. Some of them stood at the back of the room because there weren’t enough chairs. At the front, behind the podium stood Chief Mark Grassino. Behind him were the St. Louis County sheriff, his deputy, Deputy Chief Fenton Murray, and Chief of Detectives Ronnie Wulf.
Hastings sat in the third row with Klosterman, Rhodes, and Murphy. Karen Brady sat behind them. Escobar sat with the county detectives on the other side of the room.
Chief Grassino confirmed that there was now a county/metro joint task force assigned to the Woods and Sayers murders. He said that the task force would be led by Ronnie Wulf coordinating with Detective Captain Paul Combrink of the county police. He gestured to each of them and they stood and nodded to the officers. The chief then gave the podium to Wulf.
Wulf summarized the status of the case. He pointed out Hastings and let the police officers know that he had been in charge of the case up till this point. The purpose was to signify that Hastings was his second. Hastings felt some gratitude for it, though time would tell if Wulf was merely tossing him a bone.
Wulf said, “George informed me this morning that Roland Gent’s attorney has agreed to an interview at county headquarters. The interview will be conducted by Detective Efrain Escobar of the St. Louis County Police as well as Lieutenant Hastings. This is a lead and it will be followed, but I don’t want the people in this room to put a lot of stock in it. There are other leads that need to be followed. You are ordered to share any and all information and leads with each other. Any officer found to be hoarding leads or relevant information will be disciplined very harshly. Captain Combrink and I are in complete agreement on this. Our goal is to catch a monster who seems to have a taste for killing women. And I will tell you that I personally have very little patience for glory boys.
“One more thing: as most of you are already aware, we have let it be known that, at this point, we do not want media assistance. We do not yet have a profile of this killer, but we believe that he—presuming it’s a he—is something of a glory seeker himself. It could be that he’s seeking headlines. Fame. We do not want to encourage or reward that.”
Klosterman raised his hand.
“Yes, Joe.”
“Chief, I just want a clarification on the media thing. Are you suggesting that you may change your mind later on?”
Wulf said, “If it becomes apparent that there’s more to be gained than lost by using the media, perhaps we’ll change tactics. I’ll let you know if I think we’ve reached that point. Again, profiling may be premature at this stage. I’m more interested in pursuing plain old leads. We’re looking for evidence, not a certain personality type. Now, having said that, there are a few basic psychological things you should at least be aware of. These are of course traits that often appear in this sort of killer. One: a display of some sort of mental disorder. Two: evidence that they researched or targeted the victim. Three: evidence that they’ve communicated inappropriately with a person, a woman in particular. Four: they’ve identified with a stalker or an assassin. Often, an assassin will study the work of another assassin. One he wants to imitate and maybe improve upon. Lastly, these guys often have what’s called an ‘exaggerated idea of self.’ They’re grandiose, narcissistic.”
A county detective said, “That could be said of half the people here.” It got a few laughs, though not one from Ronnie Wulf.
“Again, let me emphasize, I do not want any of you putting the ‘profiling’ cart before the evidence horse. These are theories that can be helpful, but they do not capture killers by themselves. Any additional questions?”
Klosterman said, “Chief, police reports are public record. Now, when we file those reports on homicide investigations, there’s no way to prevent reporters from reviewing them. Are we being ordered not to prepare reports?”
“No. Realistically, we’ve got about seven, maybe ten days before the press reviews the reports and puts it together. In other words, I am not ordering anyone here to violate policy on preparation of reports. What I am ordering all of you to do is to not personally discuss this with reporters. Casually or professionally. Our hope is that we apprehend the killer before the press puts the story together.” Wulf said, “Any other questions?”
There weren’t.
•
They told Roland Gent that he was not under arrest but read him his Miranda rights anyway. Told him he had the right to an attorney, the right to remain silent, that anything he said could be used against him.
After that formality, Escobar told him that he was being videotaped and audiotaped.
That was when Jeff Coyle first spoke. He said, “I pressumed that it would be. May we have a copy of the tape afterward?”
Coyle was well dressed, even for a lawyer. He had a mane of white hair and wore black-rimmed glasses. A tan Armani suit and a powder-blue shirt. He had presence, this Mr. Coyle. Hastings could see that Escobar was intimidated by him. This did not surprise Hastings. He had been in law enforcement long enough to know that police officers were often intimidated by authority figures. Even if they were mere extensions of the court. Also, police officers were better than most people at distinguishing good lawyers from hacks and acting accordingly. Coyle was no hack.
Escobar said, “Mr. Coyle, that’s not up to me. The policy says we don’t release it until criminal charges have been filed. If that happens, you are entitled to copies by law.”
“Of course,” Coyle said. “But there’s no reason we can’t operate in good faith in the meantime.”
“I think we have been.”
Coyle could say one or two words to Roland Gent right now and both of them could get up and leave, and there would be nothing the detectives could do about it. Coyle knew it and he knew that they knew it. But if they let the lawyer push them around at the start, it would never get any better. Escobar kept as silent as a poker player, and Hastings admired him for it.
Finally, Coyle made a conciliatory gesture. As if to say, Proceed. Escobar stated for the record the date and the time and who was present. He stated for the record that Roland Gent and his attorney, Jeffrey Coyle, had voluntarily agreed to appear for questioning in the matter of the investigation of Adele Sayers. Escobar did not use the words murder or death or strangulation.
Then Escobar looked at the subject and said, “Tell us where you where Saturday night.”
Roland Gent said, “I was at this club north of the Fox on Grand. It’s called Torchy’s City Plaza. You know it.”
“When did you get there?”
“Got there around ten, ten thirty.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Home. I remember ’cause I was watching the Sixers on the television.”
“Who’d they play?”
“Dallas.”
“At home?”
“Yeah.”
“Linsy was with me. And Doreatha.”
“They work for you?”
Coyle frowned and made some sort of grunt.
Roland said, “They’re friends of mine.”
Now Escobar frowned. “Counselor, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t give signals to the witness.”
“We’re here voluntarily, Detective. Cooperating on a murder investigation. If you intend to go outside the parameters of that investigation to attempt to obtain evidence of trafficking in prostitution, our cooperation ends.”
Hastings said, “That’s not our game. There’s no tricks here.”
“Then why ask if the witnesses work for him?”
“It’s just background, I’m sure,” Hastings said, giving Escobar a look himself.
“Right,” Escobar said. “Background.”
After a moment, Coyle waved his hand and Escobar continued.
Escobar said, “Would Linsy and Doreatha be willing to give sworn statements to that effect?”
“Sure.”
“And you would be willing to bring them here to be questioned?”
“Yeah. Why not? I’m not worried, Detective. You can bring ’em here, put ’em in separate rooms, they may remember different things about what color shirt I was wearing, but they both know I was with ’em that night.”
“All that night?”
“Well, till about midnight.”
“And then what? Till you auctioned them off at Torchy’s?”
“Shit—look, we may have parted ways at Torchy’s, but I was there until it closed.”
“And when was that?”
“About two. You can check with the crew there, if you want to take the time to do it. Ask for Chris Richards. He was there.”
“Does he own the club?”
“Yeah.”
“We will, you know. We will check all these things.”
“I know you will.”
“What about Friday?”
“Where was I Friday?”
“Yeah.”
“I was at a party.”
“Where?”
Roland looked at his attorney. Coyle nodded to him to go ahead. Roland Gent said, “Soulard. It was a party for a well-known auto dealer in the county.”
“A name, Roland.”
“Man . . .”
Hastings said, “Was this auto dealer a client?”
“Business contact.”
“You need to tell us the name, then.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you the name. It was Ken Denton. Of Ken Denton Ford. And yes, I was there to provide a service.”
Hastings said, “No disrespect, Roland. But I would think they’d want you to bring some girls by and leave. Not have you hang around.”
“You right about that.”
“So when did you leave?”
“I left about nine. I went to a club, had a few drinks, and went home.”
“Torchy’s?”
“No. Ralph Cutler’s in West County. I like the music.”
“You got people to back that up?”
“Yeah.”
Hastings said, “You say that Adele Sayers and you parted company?”
“Yeah. A few months ago.”
“How come?”
“I told you before.”
“Tell me again.”
“She wanted to move on. Thought she could do better on her own.”
“You ever bring her to these parties at Ken Denton Ford?”
“I might have.”
“Don’t get squirrelly with me, Roland. You did or you didn’t.”
“Okay. I did.”
“Anyone there ever get rough with her?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“She ever complain to you about people following her? A client becoming overly attached?”
“No, she did not.”
“What if she had?”
“They don’t want to work with a man, I don’t make ’em do it.”
“You sure about that?”
“Look, I ain’t no street pimp. I’m a businessman. A lady want to walk out on me, she can do it. I’ll replace her within a week.”
“Okay,” Hastings said. “But isn’t that a sign of disrespect? Lady quitting on you? Leaving you?”
“No.”
“What if a lady leaves you, goes back to your client base, and sets up a deal herself. Cuts you out of your forty percent. How would you feel about that?”
“I wouldn’t like it,” Roland said. “But Adele didn’t do that. She had, I’d’ve known about it.”
“Roland,” Coyle said. He wasn’t liking this.
But Roland Gent was going to continue, whether or not his lawyer liked it. He said, “Detective, the pleasure business is pretty simple. You provide a service to people who want to pay for it. Keep the girls clean, off the hard drugs, and you don’t beat on ’em. Street pimp, he don’t care. He thinks as far as next week, if that. But not every black man’s a nigger, see? I know it’s hard for you tell the difference.”
“Well, I appreciate the cultural enlightenment, Mr. Gent,” Hastings said. “But if you’re seeking some sort of approval from me for selling women, you’re wasting your time. Black, white, street, or high-rise, to me you are all the fucking same. Now I’m offering you the same deal I’m offering the white bread high-class madams downtown: cooperate with us, help us find this strangler, and you get to continue your sleazy trade. Don’t cooperate, and we will shut you down.”
“Hey, I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, you’re here. And if your alibis check out, you’ll be cleared as a murder suspect. But that doesn’t mean we’re through with you. Not by a damn sight.”
“Hey,” the lawyer said.
Hastings said quickly, “We need a list.”
“A list?” Roland Gent said.
“Yes. A list of customers you know Adele was associated with. We want that list today.” Hastings got to his feet. “Today, Roland. Or tomorrow morning we shut you down.”
Hastings walked out, leaving Escobar alone with the pimp and his lawyer.
Escobar came out a few minutes later. He said, “Hey, was that a performance?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Well, it was a pretty good one. Coyle says he’ll have a list of names for us this afternoon.”