The Night Stalker

Eighty-Two

James Smith’s eyes darted towards Hunter as soon as he entered the interrogation room.

‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter of the Homicide Special Section. We talked on the phone a couple of days ago.’ Hunter placed a tray with a coffee pot and two mugs on the metal table. ‘Coffee?’

‘She was kidnapped and murdered?’ Smith’s voice was edgy and concerned. His eyes looked haunted.

‘It’s fresh.’ Hunter poured two cups and slid one over towards Smith. ‘And you really look like you could use some.’

Smith’s eyes didn’t leave Hunter’s face. ‘Laura was kidnapped and murdered?’ He pleaded rather than asked this time.

Hunter pulled the chair across the table from Smith and sat down before sipping his coffee.

‘They told me I was being arrested on suspicion of the kidnap and murder of Laura Mitchell.’

‘Yes, she was kidnapped. . and murdered,’ Hunter said and paused for a second. ‘Everyone in the station has their money on you. They think you did it.’

Smith closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and breathed out a heartfelt breath. ‘When?’

Hunter regarded him.

‘When was she murdered?’ There was pain in his voice.

‘A few days before we knocked on your door.’ In contrast, Hunter’s voice was calm and collected.

Smith kept his eyes on Hunter but his stare was distant. The kind of stare you get when your mind is somewhere far away.

‘We know that you talked to Laura on the last night of her exhibition at the Daniel Rossdale Art Gallery. And we’ve seen the room inside your apartment.’

His focus returned to Smith’s stare.

‘I have the right to have an attorney present, don’t I?’

‘Of course you do, but I’m not here to interrogate you.’

Smith chuckled. ‘Really? So what’s this, a friendly chat? You’re here to be my buddy, is that it?’

‘Right now, you need all the friends you can get.’

‘Friends won’t help. You already said that everyone’s money is on me. Your mind is already made up. You’ll believe what you wanna believe no matter what.’

‘Try me.’ Hunter leaned forward.

Smith’s focus moved to the two-way mirror and the tension intensified. ‘Do you really think I’d be able to hurt Laura. . in any way?’ His gaze returned to Hunter. ‘I love her in a way you’ll never understand.’

Hunter allowed the moment to settle.

‘The kind of love that strangles your heart and keeps you awake at night?’ he countered. ‘The kind of love that makes it hard for you to breathe when she’s near, even if she never notices you? The kind of love that if you have to wait forever for just a simple touch, or a kiss, you will?’

Smith went silent.

‘Yes, I know the kind of love you’re talking about.’

Smith interlaced his fingers together so tight his knuckles started to lose their color.

‘Is that how you loved her?’ Something in Hunter’s voice made Smith believe that maybe he understood.

‘I knew Laura from the bank. Way before she became a famous painter.’ Smith’s tone was full of melancholy. He gave Hunter a sad headshake. ‘But she didn’t know me. She never noticed me. I don’t think she even knew I existed. I spoke to her a couple of times back then, in the coffee room. She was always nice, don’t get me wrong, but every time I talked to her, I had to reintroduce myself. I was never important or attractive enough for her to remember who I was.’ His eyes filled with sadness. ‘I wasn’t even invited to her leaving party.’

Inside the observation room, Captain Blake turned to Garcia. ‘We need a list of names and photographs of all bank employees from Laura Mitchell’s section during her last six months there.’

Garcia was already on the phone. ‘I’m on it.’

On the other side of the glass Smith relaxed the tight grip on his hands and blood returned to his knuckles. ‘I stayed with the bank for another two years after she left. But I followed her career from the beginning. I read every article, attended every exhibition. I even started liking and appreciating art.’ A sliver of confidence crept into his eyes. ‘Then one day I looked in the mirror and decided that I wouldn’t be weak any more. I decided that I was important and attractive enough for her to notice me, I just needed to polish off some rough edges.’

‘So you created your new identity,’ Hunter pressed.

‘More than an identity. I created a whole new person. New diet, strict exercise program, new haircut, new hair color, colored contact lenses, new wardrobe, new attitude, new way of talking, new everything. I became someone she would notice. Someone she would talk to and flirt with. Someone she’d like to spend time with. I became James Smith.’

Hunter had to admire his determination.

‘I went to every one of her exhibitions. But I still couldn’t sum up the nerve to say hello to her again. I was scared she’d recognize me. That she’d see straight through me. . that she’d laugh at me.’

Hunter knew exactly why. Changing a person’s appearance is easy — it can be done in one afternoon or, in the case of changing a person’s body shape, with the right diet and exercise program — a few months. Changing a person’s personality is much harder, though — it requires work, determination, willpower and it can take years. Smith used to be a shy, low self-esteem, low-confidence, scared-of-rejection person, and though he looked completely different on the outside, he was yet to overcome all his personality glitches.

‘She approached you that night, didn’t she?’ Hunter concluded.

Smith nodded. ‘I was so surprised, I stuttered.’ A glimpse of a smile graced his lips as he remembered.

‘Did she give you her number?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you call her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember when?’ Hunter leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.

‘I remember the day, the time, and everything that was said.’

Hunter waited.

‘It was the 4th March, at 4:30 p.m. I used a payphone and called her on her cell. She was on her way to her studio. We talked for a while and she asked me to call her back just before the weekend. She said that maybe we could go out for a drink or even dinner. She practically asked me out.’ Smith’s eyes moved from Hunter’s face to the far wall for a long moment. When they moved back to Hunter, a liquid sheen had formed over them. ‘You’re a detective. Do you really think that after all I’ve done, after so many years trying to get her attention, trying to get her to notice me, to talk to me. . when she finally does, I’d hurt her in any way?’

‘Why did you run when we knocked on your door?’

‘I panicked,’ Smith replied with no hesitation. ‘I knew that I had broken the law by living under a false identity. I know that I could be locked away for several years for it. Suddenly the police were at my door. I did what most people in my shoes would do, I didn’t think, I just ran. Before I had time to consider, my picture was in every paper in town. I knew then that something was definitely not right. That’s when I called you.’

Hunter remained silent. His stare locked on Smith’s face. He’d said all that without flinching, without vacillating and without breaking eye contact with Hunter. If he was lying, Hunter decided, he was a master at it.

‘She approached me that night,’ Smith said again. ‘She smiled at me. She flirted with me. She gave me her number and asked me to call her. She wanted to have dinner with me. . to go out on a date with me.’ Smith faced the two-way mirror. ‘I’d been dreaming about the day she’d finally noticed me for years. My dream had just come true. Why in the name of God would I hurt her?’