The Mermaid Murders

Chapter Ten

Though both manacled and shackled, the bald and bearded man seated at the stainless-steel table in the prison interrogation room looked like a real and present danger. Pink had bulked up during his years of incarceration. He was not tall, but he was all muscle, and despite the chains and cuffs, he exuded a confidence that was frankly disturbing given how much time he had spent in solitary confinement.

What really disturbed Jason was how much he wanted to walk into that room and bash Pink’s head against the table until his brains poured out. He had not expected such a violent reaction to seeing him again. Not expected to feel this level of hatred. He despised violence. He believed he was smarter than that, better than that. A civilized man. After seeing Martin Pink in the flesh again—he knew just how thin the veneer of civilization was.

He let out a slow, calming breath and nodded. The prison guard opened the heavy steel door, and Jason walked into the eight-by-ten well-insulated room.

Pink was smirking. “Long time no se—” He broke off. His smirk vanished. “Who the hell are you?”

“Special Agent West.” Jason took the chair across the table from Pink.

“Where’s Kennedy?”

Fair question. Kennedy was talking to the prison shrink. For reasons known only to himself, he had decided Jason would be the one to interview Pink. At least, that was the story. Maybe he was on the other side of all that surveillance equipment positioned out of Pink’s line of vision, waiting to see some sign Jason actually was, as Boxner had suggested, Pink’s disciple.

As ludicrous as the thought was, it bothered Jason. He forced himself to concentrate on Pink, unemotionally taking in the shaved head and silver goatee. Pale, dead eyes and a cupid’s bow of a mouth. At least Pink had received proper dental care in prison.

Jason said, “I work with Senior Special Agent Kennedy.”

Pink glared. “I don’t care if you’re Special Agent Fox Mulder. I agreed to talk to Kennedy. Nobody else.”

“Kennedy’s busy.”

Pink’s lips parted as though he was stunned. After a second, he said, “He’s afraid to face me.”

“Yeah. You got him cold,” Jason said. “He’s terrified.” He opened his file.

Pink didn’t like that. “I’m not talking to a piss-ant junior G-man. I’ll talk to Kennedy and nobody else.”

“Then you’ll talk to nobody.” Jason slapped shut his file, rose, and signaled to the guard.

Pink eyed him in open disbelief.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Jason said.

Please change your mind. I can’t walk out of this room without something…anything…you asshole…

Pink’s expression grew derisive. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Bah-bye,” he drawled.

Jason walked to the reinforced steel door. The guard buzzed Open.

Shit. It had taken him all of two minutes to blow this opportunity. Kennedy was going to nail his hide to the wall. And Jason didn’t blame him.

Maybe Pink would back down?

There was only silence from the other side of the room.

Jason strode out. The door closed behind him with a heavy and final-sounding slam.

Kennedy, finally turning up after his meeting with Dr. Fuchs, took it well.

Surprisingly well, in Jason’s opinion. Had he anticipated this outcome?

“All right. Don’t sweat it. Let’s get something to eat,” Kennedy said. “We’ll figure it out over lunch.”

They found a diner a safe distance from the prison and ordered burgers and soft drinks.

“At least Fuchs isn’t a complete bleeding heart,” Kennedy said, as they waited for their meals. “He doesn’t like solitary confinement on principle, but he’s not kicking in Pink’s case.”

“I can’t think of a better place for Pink than isolation,” Jason said.

“He seems to have hit a nerve with you.”

A nerve? Yeah, Pink had hit a nerve. He had murdered someone Jason loved. But the last thing he wanted to do was confirm any ideas Kennedy might have as to his ability to remain objective and impartial.

The waitress brought their soft drinks. Ginger ale for Kennedy and Coke for Jason. Jason peeled the paper off his straw and said, “So according to Fuchs there isn’t any chance Pink might have formed a friendship with another inmate who was subsequently released?”

“No. Not a chance. Pink is in that cell twenty-three hours a day.” Kennedy was definite. “The only time he’s not is when he’s escorted to the shower or to exercise outside in that human kennel with the other lifers. What we can’t be equally sure of is how much contact he has with the world beyond the prison gates.”

In theory he had zero contact—aside from radio, television, and curated reading material. In practice, guards could be bribed and messages could be secretly transmitted through a variety of methods and mediums.

“Is he allowed visitors?” Jason asked.

“He’s permitted two visits a month from family members.”

“Does he have family members?”

“No.”

They paused while the waitress deposited the thick white plates topped with burgers and fries in front of them. She asked if they needed anything else. Kennedy requested mustard and ketchup. Jason requested ranch dressing for his french fries.

Drinks were refilled, the condiments were delivered, and Kennedy said as though there had been no interruption, “He’s also allowed two phone calls a month.”

“Does anyone call?”

“Yes. His fiancée, Coral Nunn, and—”

“His fiancée?”

Kennedy said through a mouthful of burger, “She was a student involved in one of these Innocence Project organizations.”

“Why the hell would they waste their time on someone like Martin Pink?”

Kennedy swallowed hastily, cleared his throat, and said, “Clarification. Her class did not take on Pink’s case, but that’s how they met. Although met is not exactly the right term. They do correspond, and she does phone him.”

“He raped and murdered seven teenage girls.”

Kennedy’s brows drew together. He said, “I know. But everyone in this restaurant doesn’t need to.”

Jason glanced at the astonished faces in the booth across from their table, and grimaced in apology. “Right. I just can’t believe—”

“Yes you can. You had all the psych classes. You know it happens. Hybristophilia. Also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome.”

Yes, Jason did know. Every serial killer seemed to have some woman who loved him—though usually not the one he was married to before his crimes were discovered.

Kennedy said, “He also gets the occasional call from a doctor in Boston. Doctor Jeremy Kyser.”

“Never heard of him. What’s his field of medicine?”

“He seems to be a psychologist. He’s working on a book about the brains of serial killers.”

“Why is he allowed contact with Pink?”

Kennedy said mildly, “Presumably because the more we know about the brains of serial killers, the safer we’ll all be.” He took another large bite of his burger.

Jason dunked his skinny fries in the ranch dressing and brooded. He admitted finally, “I didn’t play it right. I didn’t play him right. I should have buttered him up, appealed to his worser nature.”

Kennedy studied him. “Not necessarily. It’s what he’d expect, yes. What he would look for. He’s going to want to talk. He’s been waiting to talk for ten years. I think he’ll take what he can get. Unless he thinks you were bluffing.”

“I was bluffing.”

Kennedy’s eyes met his. Kennedy grinned. The effect of that broad white display of perfect teeth was startling. He looked younger and a lot friendlier.

“Everybody bluffs. You were willing to walk away from the table. That, he won’t have expected.”

“We’ll see.”

Kennedy remained unconcerned. “We couldn’t shut him up in the old days. He’s spent most of the last decade all by his lonesome. I think we’re going to hear from Martin Pink before the day is out.”

As it turned out, they heard from Pink—or at least the warden—before they finished eating lunch.

When Kennedy clicked off his cell phone, his smile was his usual sardonic one. “Congratulations. You’ve been granted another audience.”

Jason was relieved. Partly. He hated thinking he’d blown it. At the same time he wasn’t looking forward to another meeting with Pink. He wasn’t afraid for his personal safety. And he wasn’t afraid he was going to lose control and try to strangle Pink. It wasn’t anything like that. There was something disturbing, unsettling, about Pink. In simply knowing what the man was capable of. Man? Pink was a monster. A monster in men’s clothing. Of course it wasn’t the politically correct or psychologically informed view, but it was the truth as far as Jason was concerned. To do what Pink had done to Honey and the others was inhuman. Worse than animal.

A good portion of his unease was knowing Pink was still capable of monstrous acts. Age hadn’t softened him. Solitude and reflection hadn’t redeemed him. You had only to look into those dead eyes to know that if he got the chance, Pink would do it all again. Only he’d try a lot harder not to get caught.

That was not insanity. It was pure evil. There was a difference. A big difference.

You couldn’t stand in the presence of that indifferent malevolence and not be affected. Or at least Jason couldn’t. Kennedy was clearly made of tougher stuff given he had made the pursuit and capture of creatures like Pink his life’s work.

“When?” he asked reluctantly.

“Today. Now,” Kennedy said.

“Now?”

If Kennedy heard the note of dismay, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Right, and this time we’re going to try a different angle,” he said. “One more suited to your personality.”

“My personality? What does that mean? What’s my personality?”

Kennedy wasn’t exactly smiling, but his mouth had a wry curve. “You’re curious, imaginative, and have a flair for the dramatic. You like to talk, you’re a born smartass, and you get bored following a script.”

“The hell,” objected Jason. Flair for the dramatic? Born smartass? “You’ve known me all of two days!”

Kennedy shrugged. “It’s what I do. Remember?”

“How could I forget, O Oracle of Quantico?”

Kennedy grinned, and Jason, hearing his words, curled his lip.

“You sure you don’t want to go yourself?” Jason said after they parked in the visitors’ lot. He stared at the long, white, forbidding-looking building. “You’d probably get more out of him.”

“It’s tempting.” Jason realized Kennedy wasn’t joking. “I don’t want to give him that.” His mouth quirked a little. “I have every confidence in you, Agent West.”

“Sure you do,” Jason said dryly. “But thanks.”

He was startled when Kennedy reached over and gave his shoulder a quick, hard squeeze. As gestures of affection went that fell somewhere between buck up, little buckaroo and see you on the other side.

Which was actually kind of embarrassing because the last thing he wanted Kennedy to think was that he was having trouble with this—or worse, that he was afraid. When he glanced at Kennedy, Kennedy was staring out the windshield, frowning at his own thoughts, and Jason had already been dismissed.

Jason got out of the car and headed for the visitors’ entrance.

* * * * *

Pink was smiling as the interview room door closed behind Jason. He looked almost genial although the cold look in his eyes never changed. “What can I do you for, Special Agent Mulder?”

Kennedy had two instructions for round two with Pink: go with your gut, and keep him guessing.

“Let’s quit playing games. You know why I’m here,” Jason said.

Just for an instant Pink looked confused. That was a good thing, of course. That was what they wanted. Jason had spent the entire walk from the car to this room trying to think of ways to keep Pink off-balance. He just wished he didn’t feel equally off-balance.

He said briskly, “What can you tell us about the Huntsman?”

Pink stared at him without blinking.

Again Jason was struck by how unnaturally calm and focused Pink seemed for someone who had spent years with almost no human contact. He displayed none of the behaviors prisoners who spent extended periods in the special segregated units typically exhibited. No trouble meeting Jason’s eyes, no trouble sitting still, and certainly no fear. No fear at being out of his cell and no fear of Jason.

“You look familiar,” Pink said suddenly. “Do I know you?”

Jason asked coldly, “Do you?”

He remembered Pink. Not well. Remembered watching him fish along the banks of Holyoke Pond. Remembered joking with Honey that he only seemed to turn up on the days she was the scheduled lifeguard, never on Jason’s days. An odd guy. A guy you kept your distance from. Not someone you were afraid of. Not someone you thought about enough to be afraid of.

He could not afford to remember these things now.

Pink narrowed his eyes, considering. “What are you, twenty-nine? Thirty? You’re too young to have been on the Huntsman taskforce. Huh. Yeah. I know you.” He smiled. “I never forget a face. It’ll come to me.”

The skin prickled between Jason’s shoulder blades. But then that was no doubt intended as intimidation. Image was everything in the serial killer business.

He kept his voice flat and unemotional. “I understand you’re allowed television and radio in your cell. You must be aware of the situation in Kingsfield. You’re not going to pretend you didn’t know the Huntsman—the real Huntsman—has returned?”

“The real…” Pink stopped. He laughed. A high breathy sound that raised the hair on the back of Jason’s neck. Pink stopped laughing. “Some little girl’s boyfriend breaks her neck, and you think that’s the work of the Huntsman?”

“This offender has the exact same MO.”

“This offender,” mimicked Pink. “Says who?”

“This offender has knowledge of things no one but the genuine Huntsman and law enforcement could know about those crimes.”

“The genuine—” Pink got control. He smiled again. “Maybe I have a-a disciple.”

Jason laughed. Maybe Kennedy was right. Maybe he did have a flair for the dramatic. “Yeah, right. Maybe you were the disciple.”

“No.”

Jason shrugged.

Pink’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t know everything. This brand new Huntsman of yours. I’ll bet money on that.”

Jason looked amused. “What do you think he doesn’t know?”

Pink watched him, as though trying to read Jason. He was probably very good at reading people. Jason stared right back. And again, he couldn’t help thinking Pink simply did not show the mental wear and tear prolonged solitary confinement typically inflicted. It was kind of depressing. Jason would have liked to know that Pink was suffering.

“It’s personal, isn’t it?” Pink said suddenly.

Jason felt a flicker of unease. “Yeah, personally I loathe psychopaths.”

Pink sat back in his chair, smiling knowledgeably. “Yep. It’s personal.” He clasped his hands, gently shaking the manacle chains as though he liked the sound of the links clinking. “I’ll tell you what this other Huntsman doesn’t know: the things you don’t know. The things that fucker Kennedy and the cops didn’t notice.”

“Like?”

“You’re fishing.” Pink’s rosebud mouth pursed scornfully.

“You’re faking.”

Something bright and inimical lit the empty depths of Pink’s eyes. “No, you little squirt. I’m not. You tell Kennedy to go over all his reports. All his files. All his notes. All his crime scene photos. His autopsy reports. He missed something ten years ago. Something he should have seen from the start. Something they all should have caught. You tell him to look again and look good. And then come and see me himself. I’m not wasting my time with the B Team.”

Jason nodded, picked up his file and rose. Pink watched him with cold satisfaction.

“Oh, wait.” Jason turned back. As though the idea had just struck him, he said, “Could you be talking about the mermaids?”

There was no clock, but he could hear the moments ticking by in the resounding silence.

Pink seemed genuinely stricken. Still as a statue, he stared at Jason. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

Jason smiled. “You don’t know what I mean, do you?”

Pink stammered, “Y-you—they—how do you know? No one ever—”

It was sort of fascinating to watch Pink’s confidence crumble. He’d been clutching that secret to his black and twisted heart all these years. So sure that in the final analysis he had outsmarted everyone even if only on this one point.

To him it would have been a major point.

Jason said, “There was already so much evidence against you. The trophies you took from the victims. The DNA splattered all over that van. All that hard forensic evidence. And the last thing anybody wanted to do was romanticize those homicides. So that piece of information was withheld until such time it was needed. Except it never was needed. It didn’t take that jury even eight hours to convict you.”

“No one knew,” Pink whispered. “No one else could have known.”

“Somebody knew. I’m thinking the Huntsman.”

“I am the Huntsman!” Pink leaped to his feet and nearly overbalanced. His leg irons were fastened to the floor. He steadied himself on the steel edge of the table, breathing hard. “I am the Huntsman. Me. There is no one else.”

The guard had buzzed open the door, but Jason held up a hand. He threw over his shoulder, “We’re okay here.”

Pink sat down in the chair. He began to rock in a tiny, tight, agitated motion.

“Why mermaids?” Jason inquired.

Pink flicked him a peculiar look but did not answer.

“Well, you probably don’t know that either.”

This time the look Pink cast suggested Jason would be dead if things were different. They were not different, so there was more rocking back and forth.

“Because you’re not the Huntsman,” Jason pressed harder.

“I saw a mermaid once.” Pink stared down at the table.

“Where?” Jason was thinking of Rexford. Pink, who had extensively hunted and fished the area around Kingsfield, would almost certainly be familiar with Rexford. Maybe he’d seen the Fiji Mermaid. Maybe the sight of that grotesquery had sent him off his rocker.

Or maybe he was born with it.

“She had long blue hair,” Pink said. He smiled at the memory. “Down to her waist. And blue and gold scales on her tail. Cute little fins. And her boobs were covered by these two gold shells.”

“Where was this?”

“She stuck her tongue out at me.” Pink was still smiling. “And I thought…some day I’m going to cut that cute little tongue right out of your big mouth, you fucking fish cunt.”

Pink leaned forward to spit out the last three words with unsettling viciousness. Jason didn’t move a muscle, didn’t let anything show on his face.

What he was thinking was, they should have put you down when they had the chance.

“I bet you got that a lot,” he said.

Pink tilted his head. “What’d you say your name was again? Agent North? South? East? West.”

“That’s right,” Jason said. “Special Agent West. I’m in the phone book under F.U. So how do you think this copycat found out about your mermaid? You must have told someone.”

Pink rolled his eyes. Was he being devious, or was he just trying to look like he was being devious? Mostly he just looked unhinged. Granted, that went with the territory.

“He promised,” Pink mumbled. “No one would know. It was our secret. Only the two of us. No one else would ever know.”

Jason asked skeptically, “Who would never know?”

“Him. My disciple.” Pink rose. “Guard!” He thumped the table with his manacled hands. “Guard! We’re done here. Guard!”

Jason stepped away from the table as the guard entered the room.

As Pink was led away his eyes met Jason’s. There was an unholy gleam of laughter in his gaze.