WILSON WAS ALREADY IN THE CAFÉ WHEN FIELDING AND BATEY arrived. He was sitting in a booth at the back of the place. He had papers laid out around him. He had his head in the palm of his hand like he was studying for an exam. There was a cup of coffee on a white saucer to his right. Across the table was a plate of eggs that had gone untouched.
Batey and Fielding stopped in the doorway and looked at Wilson and then looked at each other. Batey raised his eyebrows.
Suppose we shouldn’t be rude, Fielding said.
Maybe he likes his breakfast alone?
Guess we’ll find out.
The two men walked to the table and stood a moment before Wilson noticed them. It was Batey who cleared his throat. Wilson turned up his face and squinted at them as if he’d never seen them before. Then he sat back and put his palms on the table and smiled thinly.
A little homework? Batey asked.
To what do I owe the pleasure? Wilson asked.
Nothing, Batey said. Just come in for some breakfast and saw you sitting here. Amos thought you might want some company.
Wilson looked at him like he was speaking a different language.
Well, Batey said, want some company?
Wilson looked at the table. His eyes poring over all the papers and photographs spread out. He looked up at Fielding and Batey again. He took a deep breath. Then he reached over the table and began to stack the papers and photos in assorted piles. Fielding reached to help in the matter but Wilson put out his hand and Fielding got the point. When it was all tidied up Wilson motioned a paltry welcome to the seats across the booth. Fielding and Batey slid in. Fielding looked down at the plate of cold eggs in front of him.
Yeh didn’t eat yer eggs, Fielding said.
Not a big fan of eggs, Wilson said.
Then why’d yeh order em?
The waitress said I must be hungry.
Which one said that? Batey asked.
Wilson pointed to a young woman behind the long counter. The counter was busy. Men shoulder to shoulder. Most of them were Hispanic farm workers. The young woman was walking up and back with a carafe of coffee. She smiled a lot. Had a booming laugh.
That’s Cheryl, Batey said.
Okay, Wilson said.
That’s something she would do. Bring you eggs even if you didn’t ask for them. Won’t charge you either.
Super, Wilson said.
He lifted his cup from its saucer and took a delicate sip and then set the cup back in the saucer and then laced his hands together before him on top of the table.
Well, Wilson said, what should we talk about?
Suppose you heard about the girl, Batey said.
Yes, Wilson said.
Molly Summers, Batey said. Confirmed it. Only eighteen years old.
Yes, Wilson said.
He looked over at the stack of photographs. The top one was of her blackened naked feet. Arranged perfectly together.
Yeh get the autopsy report? Fielding asked.
Wilson tapped one of the stacks with his middle finger.
Is it as bad as we thought? Batey asked.
That’s a subjective idea, Mr Batey, Wilson said. The notion of bad.
Okay, Batey said. Well, would I think it’s bad?
Yes, Wilson said. I think you would consider this bad. I think you might even consider this worse.
We saw an eighteen-year-old girl who had her throat cut and then was set on fire, Fielding said. How can yeh top that?
Not cut, Wilson said.
Excuse me?
Her throat. Not cut. She was garroted.
What the hell is garroted? Fielding asked.
Strangled, Wilson said. The skin of her throat was damaged but not cut. The report states that her larynx was collapsed. The weapon was probably some type of collar. About an inch and a half wide.
Like a dog collar? Batey asked.
Wilson shrugged.
Could be a thing of his, Wilson said. Or perhaps hers.
A thing? Fielding said.
Yes, Wilson said. A kink, if you like. An act of submission. But more than likely it was imposed.
What do we know about this girl? Batey asked.
Runaway, Wilson said. Picked up twice for prostitution down in Seattle.
Probably how he found her, Fielding said.
So what’s the worse part? Batey asked. You said worse. What’s worse?
There were several samples of semen found in the vagina staggered over a few days.
A few days? Batey asked. Two? Three?
Four, Wilson said. All postmortem. They also found ketamine and heroin in her system.
What is ketamine? Fielding asked. What does that do?
It is a dissociative drug, Wilson said. Typically used as an anesthetic. It acts on different chemicals in the brain to produce visual and auditory distortion.
A detachment from reality, Batey said.
Yes, Wilson said.
So the victim doesn’t even know what’s happenin, Fielding said.
Correct, Mr Fielding. Completely unaware.
A woman cleared her throat at the end of the booth. The men looked up at her.
Oh hi, Cheryl, Batey said.
Didn’t want to interrupt, she said. Looked like you boys were onto something good.
There ain’t any good in this, Batey said.
Cheryl was holding the carafe of coffee. She started to say Can I top you off, but she only got to Can I top before she saw the photograph of the burned foot at the opposite end of the table. And then she didn’t say anything. She only stared. Didn’t even attempt to pour the coffee.
Yes mam, Fielding finally said, I’ll take a bit more. If yer pourin. Dee, yeh want some more?
Batey slid his mug across the table. But Cheryl didn’t move. She was paralyzed. Then she said: That the girl from the beach?
Yes mam, Wilson said. Molly Summers.
She stood there with her hand covering her mouth. Finally Wilson reached for the photograph and turned it over. That shook Cheryl out of it. She smiled with her mouth closed and left without filling their cups.
When she was gone, Wilson said, Do you remember Amy Barnhardt?
The girl found up in the hills by that father and son? Batey said.
Yes, Wilson said. I pulled the report on her.
Let me guess, Fielding said. Detachment from reality?
Yes, Wilson said. The same mixture in fact.
So they aren’t taking this on their own, Batey said.
No, Wilson said. I don’t believe they are. I think the word is administered. And let’s go back a bit further.
How far are we talking? Batey said.
Eight years.
Eight years? Batey frowned. I think I know where you’re headed.
That girl you found all those years ago, Wilson said. Can you guess?
Same cocktail?
Wilson nodded.
We’ve got a pattern, Batey said. Don’t we?
Yes, Mr Batey, we do.