I took another Uber to the police station. When I arrived, there was a local news van parked right outside the station. A young reporter spoke to a woman in uniform. As I got out and approached the front door, I noticed that the woman had a name badge that said “Sheriff Luttrell.” I opened the door and was about to step inside when their conversation struck me like a lightning bolt.
“Is it true that you have the Highway Killer in custody?” asked the reporter.
“You know I can’t comment on that, Tom,” Sheriff Luttrell told him. She caught wind of my eavesdropping and scowled at me. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m looking for Agent Linden. He asked me to meet him here.”
“You must be Mr. Crawford,” she said. “Excuse me, Tom.” She moved away from the reporter. “I’m Sheriff Luttrell.”
I shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“How about we step inside?” she suggested.
“Of course.” I held the door open for her and then followed her into the station. “This is a very nice town you have here.”
“Why don’t we just cut the crap?” she said. “Linden says you can read minds.”
“I dabble every now and then.”
“Well, I don’t buy into psychic mumbo jumbo. As far as I’m concerned, astrology and all that supernatural nonsense is for suckers.”
“Duly noted.”
“Now what we have here is—”
“Crawford,” Linden said as he suddenly appeared. “Where have you been?”
“Me?” I said. “You just disappeared at the hospital.”
“I’ll let you take it from here,” Sheriff Luttrell said to Linden and then walked away.
“She’s lovely,” I told Linden after she left. “Now will you tell me what this is all about?”
“Walk with me,” he said and started toward the rear of the station. “Did you go anywhere after the hospital?”
“I went to see Bobby Fugate,” I said as we paced side by side.
He stopped mid-step. “By yourself? Are you crazy?”
“What was I supposed to do? Sit around and do nothing? I finally got Beth retracing her steps. Did you want me to waste time and risk losing the progress I’ve made?”
He held up his hand annoyingly like a referee calling a time out. “Alright. Fine. Did he talk to you?”
“Yes. He didn’t try to kill Beth. He cheated on her, but that’s all.”
“Did you read his mind to confirm?”
I nodded. “Now can we please get to back to why we’re here?”
“Absolutely.” He motioned to a hallway that led to another part of the station. “Right this way.”
We walked down the hallway and stopped at a room at the end. He knocked on the door and a detective with a badge on his hip opened it. He let us in, and we immediately came upon a one-way mirror with a view into an adjacent room. Through the mirror, I saw an older man with shaggy hair and an unkempt beard sitting at a small table. He wore torn overalls and a dirty white t-shirt underneath.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“That’s Leonard Feister,” said the detective. “Who are you?”
“This is Max Crawford,” answered Linden. “He’s with me.”
The detective nodded. “Same story,” he said, motioning to Leonard. “Hasn’t changed a word of it.”
“What story? What does this guy have to do with anything?”
“Will you give us a minute?” Linden asked the detective.
“Sure,” said the detective as he exited the room. “Gotta take a piss anyway.”
“Over the past twenty years, there have been a series of unsolved murders that took place between Ohio and Kentucky,” Linden explained after the detective left. “Each one involved a young woman about Beth’s age.”
“So, what’s the connection?” I asked.
“Every one of them was beaten to death and their bodies found near a highway.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I wanted us to rule out other possibilities first. I wasn’t sure it was even relevant.”
“Relevant?! How could it not be relevant?!”
“Because the last murder took place eleven years ago. It could’ve been someone pretending to be the original killer to get us off track. I didn’t want it to taint your investigation.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Despite the fact that, once again, you’ve withheld vital information from me, I’m going to go along with it for Beth’s sake.”
“Good. So, like I said, the last murder was over a decade ago. All of a sudden, this guy…” He pointed at Leonard through the one-way mirror. “Comes into the police station and confesses to every one of the murders, including the attack on Beth.”
“How many were there before Beth?”
“Five. Two of them were a few weeks apart. The other three were separated by years.”
“How old is this Feister guy?”
“Sixty-six. He’s lived outside of Louisville his whole life. He would’ve been forty-five at the time of the first murder and fully capable of committing the others.”
“And I suppose you want me to read his mind to see if he’s telling the truth.”
He patted me on the back. “That’s why I like you, Crawford. You’re always a step ahead where I need you.”
Ignoring his self-serving admiration, I went into the interrogation room. Leonard Feister barely even gave me a glance. I sat down in the chair across from him. Rather than speak to him immediately, I read his thoughts instead. He wondered who I was but refused to give me the satisfaction of asking. I pulled a picture of Beth from my pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. He recognized her right away, but it was the same photograph used in the newspaper.
“Why you showin’ me that?” he asked. “I already told you I done it.”
“What did you do exactly?”
He sighed. “I beat her up. I beat all of ’em up. She just got lucky.”
“Is she lucky to be in a coma?”
“Better than bein’ dead.”
“I’m Max Crawford,” I finally introduced myself. “I’m working with the local and federal authorities. So, you say you beat her up. How many times did you hit her?”
“I can’t remember that! Look, I said what I’m gonna say to those other fellows.” He crossed his arms. “You’re wastin’ your time.”
I delved further into his mind to discover that he wanted to be famous. He fantasized about being talked about on television and having books written about him. He even imagined a movie about his life and being portrayed by Al Pacino. With all the daydreaming going on, I couldn’t see if he had actually done anything wrong. I needed him to be in the moment. I pointed to the picture of Beth.
“Tell me about the night you beat her,” I said.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re not gonna let up. Are you? I was driving around looking for women. I found one, and I beat her up.”
I took another glimpse into his thoughts. He still wasn’t focused on Beth or the others.
He was no longer fantasizing though. This time, his daily routine went through his head. He basically worked all day at a factory and then went home to be alone at night. Nothing stood out except the fact a pervasive sadness permeated his entire life. All he wanted was to be noticed. It didn’t matter for what.
“Do you have a family, Leonard?” I asked.
“I got nobody,” he answered.
“How does that make you feel?”
“What the hell kind of dumbass question is that?”
“Here’s what I think, Leonard. I think you made the whole thing up.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you want to be remembered for something. Even if it’s bad.”
“That’s not true!”
“If it’s not, then tell me about the night you beat her,” I said, motioning to the photo of Beth a second time.
“I don’t remember all the details! It was late at night!”
I saw that, as much as he tried, he couldn’t recall any specifics about his alleged encounter with Beth. “You’re lying, Leonard.”
“I am not!”
“Then tell me one thing. What was she wearing that night?”
After imagining several different outfits, he settled on generic. “A green dress!”
“Nope.” I got up from my chair. “She wore denim jeans with a blue and white University of Kentucky t-shirt.” I started to leave the interrogation room. “Goodbye, Leonard.”
“Wait!” he called after me pleadingly. “I can tell you about the others! I know their names! I know their birthdays! I even know the days I killed ’em and where we were!”
I read his mind again to see that he had researched the other victims online long after their murders took place. “That’s all public knowledge, Leonard. We’re finished here.”
I rejoined Linden on the other side of the mirror. I’d never experienced someone lying about committing a crime before. However, it didn’t surprise me. I’d encountered several inmates that exuded pride for what they’d done. Somehow notoriety overshadowed remorse, and they thrived on the attention it brought them. Leonard Feister was neither responsible for what happened to Beth nor the murders of the other women. He just wanted credit for it. I watched through the one-way mirror as he put his head down on the table.
“Nothing?” said Linden.
“Nope,” I replied. “If he did it, there would be at least some memory of it floating around. All I found evidence of is a desperate man whose greatest fear is to be forgotten.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping we had him.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“It’s not your fault. Have you made any headway with Beth?”
“Some, but she’s still not remembering enough to say who did it.”
“How’d you know what she was wearing the night of her attack?”
“I didn’t.” I motioned to Feister through the one-way mirror. “I just wanted to prove that he didn’t either.”
“I see. Well, let’s get you back to the hospital. Anything you need from me?”
“All of the information you can get on the murder victims. If they’re somehow connected to Beth, I need to know.”
Before we left the police station, Linden told Sheriff Luttrell that Leonard Feister was no longer a suspect. She didn’t buy it. Truthfully, it didn’t make any difference to me if she thought the Easter Bunny did it. What was most important was that I got back to Beth. When we arrived at the hospital, I quietly entered her room. Allie sat by her bed reading a book to her. It reminded me of how I used to read to Katie when she was little. She noticed me and stopped.
“I’m sorry,” she said, getting up from her chair. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“No need to apologize,” I assured her. “I think it’s nice. I’m sure it makes Beth feel good hearing your voice. Where is Mr. Martin?”
She frowned. “He’s at home. To be honest with you, his mind isn’t what it used to be. He gets…confused.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Even though I’d already noticed, there was no reason to make her feel worse by mentioning it. I motioned to Beth. “If you’d like to stay, I can come back.”
“Oh, no. I’ll go. I’d rather you continue your work.” She went to the door. “Thank you again, Mr. Crawford.”
“I haven’t done enough to deserve it, but you’re welcome.”
She smiled. “You deserve it. The simple fact you care enough to try speaks volumes.”
After she left, I sat down by Beth. I focused on her and, without hesitation, projected into her subconscious. I materialized on the beach where I had left her during our last encounter. I saw the two chairs she had willed to appear, but she was nowhere to be found. I scanned up and down the shoreline but still saw no trace of her. And then I looked out at the water. About a hundred feet from the bank, she floated on her back as the sun’s radiance shone down on her.
She appeared as peaceful as she did lying in her sterile hospital bed, only much freer.