Richard Montanari - The Killing Room

‘Charlotte,’ Roland said softly. ‘If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I won’t be talking about her.’

Jessica thought she detected a slight waver in the man’s voice. It was maddening that she could not read his eyes, but it seemed she was rattling him. ‘What would you like to discuss?’ Jessica asked.

Roland Hannah smiled. ‘You asked to see me , detective.’

Jessica shuffled a few papers, purely for Roland Hannah’s benefit. ‘Fair enough.’ She pushed back her chair. The screech of metal on concrete was like a shout in the confined space. ‘Let’s talk about what happened five years ago, then. Let’s talk about a string of very nasty murders in Philadelphia.’

Roland Hannah said nothing. His smile slowly disappeared.

‘Let’s start with a man named Edgar Luna, a man named Basil Spencer, and a man named Joseph Barber,’ Jessica said. Edgar Luna, Basil Spencer, and Joseph Barber were three of Hannah’s victims.

The blind man was silent for a long time. Outside a gust of wintry wind rattled a loose pane of glass. Finally, calmly, Roland Hannah spoke.

‘I did not commit those vigilante murders of pedophiles years ago. I was framed for them, as I am being framed now.’ He gestured to the room around them, a room he could not see. ‘I am a blind man in prison. How could I be doing any of this?’

Jessica and Byrne both knew how this would play in court. It was not good for them.

‘Then why did you confess?’ Jessica asked.

‘I was under a great deal of stress. I wanted it to be over. As you might imagine, I was traumatized over my affliction.’

Roland Hannah meant his blinding at the hands of another madman. Years after Charlotte’s death Hannah had haunted the dark alleys of Philadelphia, looking for the man who had killed his stepsister. In the end, investigators believed Hannah thought himself an avenging angel, murdering anyone and everyone who was even suspected of pedophilia.

‘I wonder if she still holds the rose,’ Roland said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Tell me about these killings.’

Jessica glanced at Byrne, and back at the prisoner. She knew Roland Hannah was trying to bait her, and she wasn’t going to bite. As calmly as she could, she said: ‘They are murders, not killings, Mr Hannah. Cold-blooded, pre-meditated murders.’

Roland Hannah nodded gravely, as if saddened by the news of violence. Jessica knew him to be a man without conscience, a killer who preyed on criminals, acting as judge, jury, and executioner.

When Hannah had confessed to three murders, investigators went to the burial sites. They found the bodies. As a matter of routine they collected hair and fiber evidence, as well as fingerprint and blood evidence, even though this material was never going to be used in court. With the possibility of a new trial on the horizon, the lab was now attempting to match forensic evidence found at those scenes with material collected at the current crime sites.

‘From what I understand, the people being killed in your city — under your watch, I might add — are not the most savory characters,’ Roland said. ‘The people killed five years ago were just the same. Children of disobedience. Have you not considered that whoever committed those murders, framing me then, is doing the same thing now? Ridding the world of further sinners?’

‘A baby was killed,’ Jessica said. ‘Are you saying she was a sinner?’

‘Perhaps she had not yet been baptized.’

Jessica wanted to jump across the table. She calmed herself. For a few long moments she stared at Roland Hannah. All she saw was her own reflection in the dark lenses that masked his eyes.

‘There is a lot of evil in the world, detective,’ Roland added.

Spoken by a true expert , Jessica thought. ‘Evil is pretty much my business, Roland.’

‘As a man of the cloth, it is mine, too,’ he countered. ‘You may not know it, but I am pastor to many in here.’

‘So, what are you saying? That this phantom killer is God’s swift sword?’

No response.

‘Do you want to tell me how you knew where those bodies were buried five years ago?’ Jessica asked.

At this the door slammed open and James Tolliver entered.

‘My client agreed to this interview as a courtesy to the district attorney of Philadelphia,’ Tolliver said. ‘Reverend Hannah felt it was his civic duty. Having done this duty, this interview is now over.’

A few moments later, without another word, a corrections officer entered the room, helped Roland Hannah to his feet, and the man was led from the room.

When he was gone Tolliver turned his attention back to Jessica and Byrne.

‘I expect my client to be released into the custody of the Philadelphia County Sheriff later today. He will be held under house arrest, and undergo a psychiatric evaluation. If deemed competent, he will stand trial for the crimes he allegedly committed five years ago.’

‘And the current crimes?’ Byrne asked.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tolliver said. ‘Have I missed something? Has my client been charged with new crimes?’

Byrne stepped forward. ‘I know you don’t come cheap, Mr Tolliver.’

Tolliver smiled as he buttoned his expensive coat. ‘It’s all relative, detective. I’ve never known a homicide cop to refuse overtime.’

‘Roland Hannah doesn’t have a penny.’

The lawyer said nothing.

‘So who’s paying you?’ Byrne asked.

The lawyer smiled. ‘There are two reasons I won’t be answering that question.’

‘And they are?’

‘The first reason is that it is none of your business who is paying for my services. If, indeed, I am not here pro bono .’

‘And the second reason?’

Tolliver opened the door, turned, and said, ‘Now that you know the first, does it really matter?’

The corrections officer brought out the box of personal effects. Until Roland Hannah was released, these materials were considered property of the Commonwealth, and therefore Jessica had jurisdiction, and the right, to examine them.

These were the things Roland Hannah had in his possession when he was arrested.

While Byrne made phone calls, alerting the bosses to what transpired, Jessica signed for the box, then took it to a small room next to the warden’s office. There wasn’t much to look through: dirty comb, a pair of used bus tickets, a battered wallet, a small wooden crucifix. Jessica opened the wallet. Inside was sixteen dollars, along with a page torn from the Bible. The 23rd Psalm.

Jessica opened the center of the wallet, lifted up the flap. Inside was a faded color photograph of a slender young girl, perhaps twelve or so. Behind the girl was a large truck. All Jessica could see was the beginning of the words painted on the side of the van, which looked to be HOLY and CARA. The girl held a flower in her hand.

Jessica flipped over the picture. On the back was a handwritten message.

DEAR MOMMA ,

I’VE SEED SO MANY THINGS. THE OHIO RIVER IS BIG. I KNOW DADDY DIED OF HIS LUNGS, BUT HE WERENT GOING TO HURT ME. NOT REALLY. I KNOW THAT. I AM HAPPY NOW WITH THE PREACHER. I HAVE THE SPIRIT IN ME, AND I HOPE EVERYONE IS DOING GAYLY. LOVE ALL WAYS ,

RUBY LONGSTREET

I wonder if she still holds the rose , Roland Hannah had said.

He was talking about the girl in the photograph. Ruby. This was the red-haired girl Ida-Rae Munson had spoken of, the one who had taken up with a preacher.

A preacher named Roland Hannah.

She had a devil-child.

Byrne parked his car in front of St Gedeon’s. The posters announcing the upcoming demolition were affixed to the building itself, on the light poles, on the chain link fence that cordoned off the site. The building would be torn down in two days.