Pine-Sol, Rath thought as he entered the Spartan interrogation room of one table and two chairs, one chair empty across from the one in which Preacher sat, his hands folded on the table, posture proper, chin up with a slight, yet unmistakable air of superiority; or at least an attempt at it. The guy stinks like he bathed in Pine-Sol.
Preacher’s eyes followed Rath as Rath shut the door, the bolt finding its recess with a metallic clack.
“Senior Detective Rath entering the IR,” Rath said for sake of the recording.
Rath sat. His eyes met Preacher’s black eyes. Rath supposed one might see Preacher’s dark eyes as menacing or mysterious. To Rath they were as dumb and dead as that of a doll.
Preacher was not cuffed. Nor shackled. Since he was not under arrest, use of restraints was not permitted. One could not just drag in any old rapist and murderer in cuffs on a whim, after all; that would be a humanitarian outrage.
Rath’s blood swam inside him, hot and tidal. He thought of his sister, Laura.
Laura who, when Rath had been a boy, had protected him from bullies who claimed his father had left because Rath was a “stupid little fag.” Once, a bully had pinned Rath in the dirt of the playground and had pulled his shirt up and was giving Rath an Indian burn as Rath swatted futilely at him, swatted and cried. Until the torture had stopped instantly, and Rath looked up to see Laura towering over the bully, a rock in her hand as blood streamed out of the bully’s cheek. “Do it again, I’ll crack your retard head open,” Laura had said. Laura who’d had no one there to help when Preacher had attacked her. Laura who’d been expecting Rath for his own birthday dinner, but who’d shown up too late.
Rath thought of Rachel, too. Of Preacher’s phone call.
“Frank Rath,” Preacher said. “In the flesh.”
Rath stared at Preacher. Three feet away. An arm’s length.
Rath’s presence must have surprised Preacher, yet neither Preacher’s expression nor voice betrayed surprise.
Preacher’s Adam’s apple jutted just above the primly buttoned collar of his stark white shirt, his skin raw where a razor had tracked it. The shirt was a shade tight and gave the impression of his solid frame beneath. Dry skin flaked at the wings of his nostrils, as if he were shedding.
“You’re an officer of the law again,” Preacher said. “I regret you have to be here.”
Steady, Rath told himself. Careful. “You don’t regret anything, except being caught.”
“It must be hard. To see me. I can barely look in the mirror myself. In fact, I don’t. I don’t have mirrors in my home.”
“Why do you believe the girl was hanged?” Rath said. Sixteen years after Laura’s murder, Rath thought, and here I sit asking her murderer, days after his parole, about another dead girl.
Preacher touched the tip of his tongue to an incisor. “Believe she was hanged? I know she was. News travels fast.”
“It’s not in the news. There’s one way you could be certain. You were there.” Or the person who did it told you. Rath did not want to speak of this possibility. The odds were too slim that Preacher involved anyone else. And he hated to think of what it meant, two men like Preacher unafraid to realize each other’s dark fantasies.
Preacher leaned forward, in an odd bow, as if he wanted to touch foreheads with Rath. “You and I both know I wasn’t there,” he said and leaned back, head dangling over the back edge of the chair, arms spread wide to his sides, as he’d done out on his porch, just before looking toward Rath in the woods, as if he were in the beam of an alien ship awaiting abduction to another world. Did Preacher know Rath had been watching, had he seen him, after all, had he found the trail camera?
Rath clawed his fingernails into his palms. Careful. “Dana Clark,” he said.
Still leaning back, Preacher folded his arms across his chest, hands overlapped in the manner of a corpse about to be wrapped in a shroud.
“Dana Clark,” Rath said again.
“You’ve lost me.”
“The Wayside.”
“What is this Wayside?”
“You know what.”
“Rings a . . . foggy bell.”
“After you were in Johnson. After you harassed my daughter and called me, you went to the Wayside.”
“This fog has seeped into your brain. I am not the only man in the world capable of bad things. I’ve done nothing. And I can’t have police showing up at my door with no cause. You can’t just haul me in here for no reason. I have rights. I’m free. Just like you. Just like your—”
“Don’t you mention my daughter.”
“I was going to say your homely partner. She should invest in a little makeup. And your daughter? Your?”
“Don’t you mention her.”
“Your so-called daughter.”
“Sit up like a fucking human being.”
Preacher obliged. “I think you should have that homely detective drive me home now.”
“You’re not free. You’re paroled. And you have privileged information about a crime that you could not have unless you were there.”
“So you keep saying. But. I was home. I just. Hear things.”
“You have no alibi.”
“Don’t I? And what about you? Where were you while this girl was killed? Do you have an alibi?”
“I’m not under suspicion.”
“Yet, I am. Why? Personal revenge? I’ve paid in full.”
You could be imprisoned for a thousand years and not pay back what you took, Rath thought. He leaned in close and whispered so the video would not pick up what he was saying: “It stops here. I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”
“Ah, threats.”
“It won’t go easy for you.”
“Yet, here I am, unharmed. How much more would a man have to do for you to harm him? Hmmm? And. Yet. Here I am. Free. How does the saying go: ‘I wouldn’t harm a fly.’ I value my freedom. Hurting the flesh, that’s unlawful. And, so . . . ordinary. Boring. I see you looking at me, the fear in your eyes, searching my face, trying to see, is there a similarity, a trait your adopted daughter and I share? Is it true? I can tell you I am only interested in the truth. I am the truth. What are you going to do if she is who I say she is? If she is mine?” Preacher plucked a hair from his head and set the hair down on the table between them. “One simple test. And you’ll know. You’ll have your answer. Proof. But you don’t want to know. You want to live in a fantasy, need to believe I’m a liar. I bet you lie sleepless wondering if you should tell her. It must feel like a lie to hide it from her. If you tell her what I said, and it turns out I’m lying, you’ll have fallen for a sucker’s con and helped me torment her. If it turns out I’m telling the truth, you’ll have helped me ruin her. Of course, I could tell her myself. It is probably best if it came from me, since you’re too afraid. Are you going to tell her? Or am I?”
Preacher was right: Rath was afraid. Afraid that if he did not force himself to leave the room, now, he would attack Preacher.
“I don’t need to cut flesh anymore,” Preacher said. “I know how to crawl inside the weak now. I’m inside you. You think about me more than you think about your sister. You dream of me, when I’m not keeping you awake. Obsess. I see it. There are other ways to turn the screw. I don’t need to torture you when you torture yourself because you are weak, and the truth is too much for you to bear. You won’t do anything to stop me. Only react to me, as cops do.”
Rath leaned in close again, whispering. “I’ll give you a truth,” he said. “You’re safer in here than out free in the world. If you’re released today, you’ll be back soon. Because we’ll have eyes on you. There will be a cruiser parked at the end of your road, round the clock. You won’t be able to walk or drive anywhere, do anything without one of us following you.” It was a lie. Rath could put Larkin on a detail and do some himself, but they could not watch Preacher at all times. They did not have the resources or the bodies. But he wanted Preacher to know, needed him to believe, he was being watched at all times.
Preacher shrugged. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
As Rath rose, he sneaked the hair Preacher had placed on the table into his palm, then left, locking the door behind him from the outside.
He looked at Preacher’s hair pinched between his thumb and finger, tucked it in his shirt pocket and leaned back against the door to breathe.
After a moment to collect himself, he ducked inside Test’s office quickly, rooted around, found some envelopes in a wire rack on a bookshelf, and slipped the hair into one, put the envelope in his jacket pocket.
He hurried back out in the hall as Test came out from the room on the other side of the room next door, where she’d been watching the video feed.
“Arrest him,” Rath said.
“We can’t.”
“He can’t be released on the public,” Rath said, though he was not concerned about the public. He was concerned about Rachel. Preacher was playing a game, trying to slowly torture Rath, to see if Rath would tell Rachel what Preacher wanted him to tell her. Do Preacher’s bidding. Rath refused to believe Preacher’s claim, but only because he was afraid to imagine his sister would sleep with Preacher willingly, even if she had not known the monster he was. Laura had struggled with promiscuity in high school and college, cheated on many of her boyfriends. That had ended when she’d met and married Daniel. So Rath had believed. Whether it was true or not did not matter if Preacher told Rachel he was her father. It would wreck her. Rath could not sit back and let Preacher tell her. That would be worse. Preacher would not stop with merely telling her. He’d tell her, then—Finish her. So she died with that being the last thing she ever heard.
“Arrest him,” Rath said. “I don’t care if it’s for looking at you the wrong way.”
“The D.A. will laugh at us. We need physical evidence.”
“He says he knows the time and the means. He has no alibi.”
“It’s not enough. He’ll retract it as soon as we arrest him. Make a mockery of the case against him. What was he talking to you about, you and an alibi? And when you leaned in and whispered. What were you two saying?”
“He was talking shit, trying to get under my skin. He’s a sadist. He’ll hurt people any way he can. I want him locked up.”
“At most, he’s a material witness for having information about a crime. If we want to detain him for that, we need to file an affidavit. I’m already on it. Until it’s turned around, unless he confesses, we have to release him. Otherwise we could blow our case.”
“I’m running this case,” Rath shouted.
“And you’re going to sabotage it.”
“Don’t you dare release him.”
Barrons appeared at the end of the hall and walked slowly toward them. “What’s this?”
“She refuses to arrest Preacher,” Rath said. “He knows Drake was hanged. The time. Neither made public.”
“Is that right?” Barrons looked at Test.
“It makes him material at best,” Test said.
“What else do you have?” Barrons said.
“What else? What the fuck else do we need?” Rath said.
“Was it a confession?” Barrons said.
“No, sir,” Test said.
“File the affidavit. Let him go until he’s an official MW, then haul him in,” Barrons said.
“I want him arrested,” Rath said, “charged with obstruction or—”
“No.” Barrons walked back to his office.
Rath’s phone chimed in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at it. A text from Rachel: What this in news? Dead girl in woods?!! Is it him? Is it?
Test turned to Rath. “Look,” she said. “We hit a snag while you were in with Preacher, makes me think maybe he didn’t do it, not alone anyway.”
“He’d never share his fun with someone else,” Rath said, though he was uncertain. If Preacher had been at home, yet knew about the hanging, did he have a minion? “And what do you mean, snag?”
“On the truck parked in Preacher’s yard, we can’t get warrants. It belongs to an Andrea Diamond. Not certain who she is. And, the neighbor woman, Larkin reached her at her work and asked about the window of time Jamie was hanged, to see if she saw Preacher leave or not. She was out. She can’t help.”
“If Preacher did it, he’s got a vehicle stashed somewhere. Or an ATV. Has to,” Rath said. “He was in Johnson, stalking my daughter. There’s no bus service. No one picks up hitchhikers anymore. He’s got a car stashed. We need to find it. We need to get him on something. Anything.”
“We will,” Test said. “If he didn’t do it himself, he’s got an accomplice, or he knows who did it. Maybe a convict in prison bragged about how he was going to torture girls when he got out. Or maybe Preacher hanged her and got a fellow ex-con to drive him.”
“Have Larkin go through the Northeast prison files and make a list of prisoners released the past six months from population with Preacher. We’ll look for a car within a two-mile radius of Preacher’s place. You can put out an APB on a lone car. Or ATV. Parked in an odd spot.”
“You’re going to look for a hidden car in this fog?”
“Every angle, no stone,” Rath said.
Rath looked at the door to the IR where Preacher was held. If Rath could have Preacher kept here even for a day, Rath would not have to set up camp outside Preacher’s house. He could at least get to Johnson to see Rachel, get to the shop, see two other people he needed to see, and know Preacher was at heel. “Do this. We can’t arrest him. So we keep interviewing him. Grill him. Delay his release and keep him here as long as legally possible while I track a few things down and tell my daughter she can at least feel safe for a day.”
“What things?”
“I want to meet with Dana Clark’s daughter. Let her know in person Preacher is a suspect in her mother’s disappearance. She deserves that much. And visit Abby Land. You’re right. She and Drake were close. Maybe it’s nothing. But if anyone knows what dark past Drake may have kept secret, it’s likely Abby Land.”
“I’ll pay a visit to Luke Montgomery before this day is out then. But I’ll interrogate Preacher now, then have Larkin put the screws to him. Have him ask the same questions. It will do Larkin good. Between us we’ll keep Preacher a good spell longer; maybe fatigue will trip him up.”
“Keep him as long as you can.”
Rath ran through the rain and fog, hopped into his Scout. Rachel was in class now. She couldn’t answer a call, but she might see a text if she had her phone on vibrate.
Rath texted: I’ll come out to see you as soon as I can. Sometime late afternoon today or tomorrow. I’ll explain. Be careful. Stick with Felix. Love you
Before Rath could start the Scout, Rachel texted: Is it him? The girl in woods. He do it? Do u know?
Rath didn’t know. Yet, even if it weren’t Preacher, Rath wanted to make certain Rachel took as much precaution as possible, even if it meant she was frightened for the time being. He’d rather she be frightened and safe than the alternative.
Rath texted: Just be safe.
Rachel: K
Her coat, Rath thought, the clothes. Damn it.