James Carol - The Quiet Man

‘Get hold of Geneva Tarantini. Tell her it’s urgent.’

Twenty minutes later Winter and Anderton were sitting in a booth at the Lollipop Diner. Even though it was the tail end of the lunchtime rush the place was still busy. Ninety per cent of the clientele were cops. Anderton had used the five-minute walk from headquarters to call Sobek and give him another update.

The diner was decorated like it was the 1950s. White was the dominant colour, pastel pinks and blues providing some contrast. A Betty Boop mural had been painted on one wall, and a giant plastic ice cream and hot dog had been fixed to another. The juke box was just for show, but the music was authentically fifties. Jerry Lee Lewis had been playing when they arrived. Little Richard was playing now. Great tunes from the early days of rock ’n’ roll.

A waitress came over and took their order. There was a pad in the pocket of her apron and a pencil wedged into her ponytail. She gave the impression that she was counting the minutes until her shift ended. They both ordered burgers. Winter had coffee, Anderton a Coke. The waitress took their menus and hustled back over to the counter. Anderton was staring across the table.

‘What?’ Winter asked.

‘Hypothetically speaking, what would have happened if Freeman hadn’t agreed to your idea?’

‘Then I would have stolen the photographs, used my laptop to create a composite and leaked it to the media. Hypothetically speaking, of course.’

Anderton laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s what I figured.’

The waitress returned with their drinks, then hustled away again. Winter tipped some sugar into his coffee and took a sip. It was nowhere near as good as Barnfield’s, but it contained caffeine and right now that’s all he cared about. Those 6 a.m. starts were a killer. He glanced toward the grill, wondering if their burgers were cooking yet.

‘So, where are we at?’ he asked.

‘Where we’re at is that we now have three murders that make some kind of sense, and one that doesn’t. Which means we’re considerably further forward than we were yesterday. Keep going at this rate and we’ll have this whole thing wrapped up by the end of the afternoon and we can all go home.’

‘I admire your optimism.’

‘There are no problems,’ she said in a mock-serious Buddha voice. ‘Only challenges and solutions.’

That was worth a smile. ‘So the challenge here is understanding the reasons behind the latest murder. That’s the anomaly.’ Winter thought this over for a second. ‘We’ve ruled out the idea that this is a copycat, right?’

Anderton nodded. ‘The lab has confirmed that the detonator was once again made from a Christmas-tree bulb. We’ve always held that detail back from the press so we could sift out the crazies.’

There was that we again. Once a cop. ‘And we’ve established workable theories for the killer moving the action to the bedroom, and for him striking in the morning instead of the evening.’

‘Yes to the first part,’ Anderton said. ‘Maybe to the second. You theorised that Myra had to arrive home before Cody because the killer needed time to set things up. But what if that wasn’t the only reason? This year the murders have had more publicity than ever. If the killer is doing this for attention, then it’s working. However, the downside of all that attention is that it increases the level of expectation, which in turn increases the risk. In other words he’s become a victim of his own success. If I was married, I’d be on full alert. I’d be giving strangers a wide berth, and there’s no way I’d answer the door without having the security chain in place. And I can guarantee that I wouldn’t be alone there.’

‘It might also go some way to explaining why he’s moved from targeting married couples to targeting a mother and son.’

‘It might. Myra Hooper probably thought she was safe. Why shouldn’t she have? Up until now the killer has gone after married couples.’

Winter thought this over for a second. It was a good theory, one that led to even more theories. ‘Okay, here’s another idea. What if this is a bluff? What if Myra and Cody are a diversion? What if it’s actually business as usual?’

‘You think he’s going to strike again this evening?’

‘It’s possible. He left that footprint near the Hooper house. You said yourself that nothing like that had happened at the other crime scenes. If his plan is to strike twice then he’s going to be spreading himself thin, which would explain that mistake. Carrying out surveillance on two victims means twice the work. There’s nothing so far to suggest that he’s got a partner, so that means he’s having to do it all by himself.’

‘So he starts cutting corners.’ Anderton nodded to herself and found her cell. ‘I’m calling Freeman. He needs to get that photo composite out to the media sooner rather than later. If you’re right then the killer is feeling the pressure. Which means that we need to pile on more.’

While Anderton made the call, Winter glanced over at the grill again. The cook was constructing two burgers. He probably built a thousand every shift, so there was no guarantee that these were destined for their table. Chuck Berry’s ‘Johnny B. Goode’ was currently playing. When Winter closed his eyes, he could see himself behind the wheel of a big old Cadillac, cruising across town to Lover’s Lane, his best girl in the passenger seat beside him.

‘Freeman’s going to get things moving along.’

Anderton’s voice broke into the fantasy, pulling Winter back into a world where he was chasing down a killer who got his kicks from taping bombs to his victims’ chests. Life in the fifties had never seemed so appealing, or so far away.

‘Has he got the composite yet?’ Winter asked.

‘Not yet. It shouldn’t be much longer, though. He said he’d send it through as soon as he gets it.’

‘And you believe that.’

Anderton snorted a laugh. ‘No. Which is why I’ll keep hassling him until he does send it.’

The waitress appeared with their food. Up close, it smelled even better than it had when it was cooking on the grill. Winter picked up his burger and took a bite. It seemed like forever since he had last eaten. Anderton went to say something and he showed her the hand. He took another bite, then put the burger down on his plate.

‘You’re hungry then?’ Anderton said.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

Before she could say anything else the diner door opened and a man entered. He stood in the doorway for a second, head moving from side to side, looking for someone. He noticed Anderton a split second after she noticed him. They shared a smile and he came over. There was an empty space next to Winter, and an equally empty one next to Anderton. His head did a quick side-to-side, then he sat down next to Winter.

‘Let me introduce you to Dr Death,’ Anderton said.

‘The name’s Datt,’ he said. ‘Jack Datt. Laura really needs to work on her stand-up routine.’

‘Jefferson Winter. It’s good to meet you.’

Datt twisted around and they shook hands. His skin was soft and newly scrubbed. His fingernails were clipped and clean. At a distance he could have been in his mid-forties. Up close, you could add ten years onto that estimate. He was a handsome guy who was wearing well. The years had clearly been low-mileage ones. Unlike Winter, Datt dyed his hair.

‘Datt’s the city’s chief medical examiner,’ Anderton said. ‘He carried out the autopsies on the first three victims.’

‘Working on anything in particular at the moment?’ Winter asked.

Datt smiled. ‘It’s been a busy morning.’

‘And I suppose you just happened to be passing by?’