James Carol: The Quiet Man

‘Ninety-nine per cent certain. And that’s why I couldn’t say anything.’ He paused. ‘Okay, let me ask you something. If I’d told you what I was planning to do, would you have sanctioned the move?’

‘Yes.’

Winter shook his head. ‘No you wouldn’t. You were a cop for thirty years. You took an oath to protect the public. Even one per cent of doubt is too much when there’s a life at stake. Let’s say for a second that I’ve called this wrong. What’s going to happen? The next victim rolls the chair and ends up reduced to their constituent parts, and you’ve got a death on your conscience.’

Anderton said nothing.

‘And that’s what I’m talking about.’

‘What about you? If you’re wrong, that death is on your conscience.’

‘Not going to happen. The psychology’s on our side. Think about it. He could trigger the bomb a dozen different ways. He could have it wired up to a timer. Or he could be sat in a car, waiting for the husband to come home and trigger it using a cell phone. Or he could have it wired to a tilt switch just in case the victim tries to break free. Any one of those methods would produce the same result in that his victim would be just as dead.’

‘Except this guy needs the bomb to be triggered by the husband.’

‘That’s what makes his heart sing. He needs that door to open, and the bomb to go off. In that order. Door then bomb. He wants the husband’s hands soaked with the blood of his wife.’

Anderton stopped walking and waited for him to meet her eye. ‘In future, if you get an idea in your head I want to hear about it. Even the crazy ones that probably won’t come to anything. In fact, especially those. Are we clear on this?’

‘Crystal.’

‘In that case, I’ll say no more on the subject.’

She was still staring. Her expression had changed from borderline pissed to puzzled.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘During the first part of the interview you did a really good job building up that whole them-and-us dynamic, but then you undermined it all by warning the next victim.’

‘Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of an option. Where, why, who, remember? What I glimpsed back at Sobek’s house was the why of the situation. That gave us the opportunity to save a life, which trumps everything else. When you get down to it, we do this to save lives, right?’

‘Right. You know, I might resent every single breath that Delaney takes, but you couldn’t have asked for a better person to go up against. She made it easy for you.’

That was worth a laugh. ‘She did. The woman defines the concept of us and them. She lives to divide and conquer.’

They carried on walking to the car. Before getting in, Winter changed into a clean T-shirt, a Beatles one this time. It was a relief to get the shirt off, like learning to breathe again. The engine started smoothly with the first turn of the key.

‘Okay let’s go and see Kirchner,’ he said. ‘Where does he live?’

‘Mount Pleasant.’

‘ETA?’

‘This time of day, I reckon we’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.’

Eric Kirchner no longer lived in the house where his wife was killed. After the murder he hadn’t spent so much as a single minute there. These days he rented a small apartment on East Seventh Avenue. The neighbourhood had once been seedy but was now on an upward trajectory, location and rising property prices driving the district’s gentrification process. His apartment was in a rundown block that had so far resisted this. The developers would get here eventually, but not any time soon. There were much nicer properties to work with.

In the end it took thirty minutes to drive here, five more than Anderton’s estimate. There had been a minor traffic collision and they’d had to make a detour. Not that it mattered. Kirchner wasn’t home. Anderton knocked again just to be sure. Still no answer. She took out her cell, found Kirchner’s number, then pressed the screen to connect the call.

‘It’s been a while since I spoke to him. Let’s hope he hasn’t changed numbers.’

Winter tilted his ear toward the phone so he could listen. Three rings, then it was answered. The person on the other end was male, but the voice was too muffled to make out what was being said. The conversation was short. Anderton hung up and put her phone away.

‘Kirchner’s on his way back from work. He should be here in about fifteen minutes.’

‘He wasn’t happy to hear from you, was he?’

‘You could say that. He’s doing everything he can to forget that any of this ever happened. And then he gets a call out of the blue and he’s slammed right back into the past again.’

‘Even if you hadn’t called, it wouldn’t have made any difference. It’s the fifth tomorrow. His wife’s murder is all he’s going to be thinking about.’

‘I guess so.’

‘I vote we wait in the car. It’s more comfortable.’

Winter headed for the stairs. Anderton gave it a second, then followed. The Mercedes was parked fifty yards from the entrance. They climbed in and got settled. The apartment was directly ahead. There was no way for Kirchner to sneak past without them noticing.

‘All we need is some coffee and a bag of doughnuts and we could be on a stakeout,’ Winter said. ‘Talking of which, I’m starving. Once we’re done here, I need to find food.’

‘You know, I can’t remember the last time I went on a stakeout. It’s got to be years. Decades, even.’ She stopped talking and shook her head. ‘Jeez, where does the time go?’

‘I know what you mean.’

Anderton laughed. ‘No you don’t. You’re just a kid. The best years of your life are still ahead of you.’

‘Come on, you’re not that old, and I’m not that young.’

‘I’m fifty-three. And believe me there are some days where I feel every one of those years.’

‘Fifty is the new forty,’ Winter said.

‘And that’s easy to say when you’re in your still in your thirties.’

They fell into an easy silence, the seconds ticking by. Winter was staring out the windshield at the apartment building. Waiting for Kirchner. Killing time. Just like a stakeout.

‘You miss being a cop, don’t you?’

‘Every day. It’s what I was born to do. I know how pathetic that sounds, but it’s true. It was my whole life, and then it got taken away from me. That’s why I’m here now, I guess. I just can’t let it go.’

‘And why should you?’

She turned to face Winter. ‘I tried marriage once, but I didn’t take to it. The man I married was one of the good ones, but in the end he just had enough. Too many long hours, too much dark stuff and crap to deal with. Being married to a cop is no bed of roses. If you’re looking for a healthy relationship, it’s not the way to go. As for having kids. Again, I liked the idea, but the reality was another matter. It just wouldn’t have worked.’ She sighed. ‘And then you wake up one day and realise that what was once possible is now impossible and you’ve got to ask yourself, was it worth it? I sacrificed everything to be a cop, Winter.’

‘And was it worth it?’

‘Once upon a time I believed it was. Now, I’m not so sure.’

Anderton went back to staring out of the windshield and Winter checked his watch. If Kirchner was running to schedule then they still had another ten minutes to wait.

‘Charles Lindbergh,’ he said.

‘Has this got something to do with August 5, by any chance?’

‘Not this time.’

‘Okay, I’ll bite. What’s Lindbergh got to do with anything?’

‘Lindbergh’s baby son was kidnapped on March 1, 1932. The body of the boy was found a couple of months later close to the Lindberghs’ house in New Jersey. The kidnappers screwed up and accidentally killed the kid, then dumped the body. Then they pretended that he was still alive so they could collect the ransom.’