Brian Freeman - In the Dark aka The Watcher

“It happens,” Maggie said. “To men like this, an innocent exposure of nudity by a girl-even accidentally-can trigger an explosive string of erotic fantasies. They literally build it up in their heads until they believe they have an actual relationship with her. It can become an obsession.”

“Son of a bitch,” Clark said. “I was always telling Mary not to do it, but she didn’t understand. She thought it was funny.”

“It’s not your fault. Or Mary’s.”

“Didn’t this guy realize she was retarded? I mean, how can anyone think that about a little girl?”

Maggie didn’t answer.

“Don’t let him get away,” Clark told her.

“We’ll do our best.”

Maggie walked away toward the parking lot, but Clark stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. His grip was surprisingly tender.

“There’s something else,” he said.

She turned back. “What is it?”

“He saw her tattoo.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The driver saw Mary’s tattoo. She was bent over, and her shirt rode up, and he saw the tattoo she had in the small of her back. Remember? You saw it. It was a butterfly. He was staring at it, and when I noticed, he looked away. He said something to her about it. Like how pretty her tattoo was. Mary loved that. That was when she flipped up her shirt.”

“A butterfly tattoo,” Maggie said. She did remember.

“Exactly. I don’t know if it means anything.”

“It just might.”

The interrogation room was small. From the door to the wall was barely six feet. When the door was closed, it felt as if the ceiling were coming down and the walls were squeezing against your shoulders. The fluorescent light was cold and sterile. You blinked when you looked up. You could smell each other’s sweat, farts, and belches. There was one metal desk-it barely fit inside-and one wobbly chair where the suspect sat, close to the ground. Stride sat next to Maggie on top of the desk, their hips touching. Finn squirmed in the chair, his long legs uncomfortably bent, like a spider’s.

“So what is it now?” Finn said. “I came down here like you asked. God, don’t you guys have anything else to investigate? Have all the criminals gone on vacation? Shit, it was thirty years ago.”

Stride nodded at Maggie, who read Finn his rights.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Finn exclaimed. “What the hell is this? Are you arresting me for something?”

“Not yet,” Stride said.

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Look, I was just trying to help Tish. I didn’t have to say a word. Goddamn it, Rikke was right. I never should have gotten involved in this.”

“You’re not under arrest,” Stride told him. “We just want to make sure you understand your rights. You can call a lawyer if you want. You can walk out that door. Got it? We want to clear a few things up, but that’s up to you. Of course, it’s going to be hard to clear things up if you’re not talking to us.”

Stride saw blue veins in Finn’s skull, twisting over his head like rivers.

“Yeah, sure, talk,” Finn said. “I don’t care. Can we open the door?”

“Maybe in a few minutes. This is the only room available.”

“How about some water?” Finn asked.

“This won’t take long, and then we’ll go and get some water and a little more air to breathe. Okay?”

“I just want to get this over with.”

Maggie grabbed a manila envelope from the desk. She opened it and slid out a photograph, which she handed to Finn.

“Does this look familiar?” she asked.

The photograph was a close-up of a monarch butterfly tattoo on a girl’s back, life-sized and detailed, with orange-and-black wings that looked as if they would flutter in the wind. The photo had been taken at the morgue. The girl was Mary Biggs.

“It’s a tattoo,” Finn said.

“I didn’t ask you what it was,” Maggie snapped. “I asked if it looked familiar. Have you ever seen a tattoo like this before?”

Finn turned the photograph over and refused to look at it. “No, I don’t think so.”

“No? On Saturday, May 24, you delivered a package to a man named Clark Biggs in Gary. His daughter, Mary, was in the front yard. She showed you her tattoo.” Maggie slapped the photograph. “This tattoo.”

“I don’t remember. I deliver hundreds of packages every month.”

“This girl exposed herself to you. She showed you her breasts. Does that happen every month, too?”

Finn smiled. “You’d be surprised. Women answer the door, and a lot of times, they’re not wearing much.”

“This is funny to you?” Maggie asked. “The night you delivered that package, someone was outside Mary’s bedroom window, watching her undress. He was there again the next week. And on Friday night, he was on a trail with her in Fond du Lac. Terrifying her. Terrorizing her. Mary was just a little girl inside her brain. She didn’t understand. She ran, and she fell into the river, and she drowned. A sweet, innocent girl. Dead.”

Finn’s skin was the color of dirty dishwater. He stared at his feet. “That’s too bad.”

“Is that all you can say? Let’s cut to the chase, Finn. Mary’s mother saw you. She saw the silver RAV you drive, too.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“You delivered packages to three other girls who have been peeped in their bedrooms in the last month.”

“I told you, I deliver a lot of packages.”

Maggie reached into the envelope for another sheaf of papers stapled together. She folded the first page back. “This isn’t the first time, is it, Finn? You’ve been watching girls for a long time. According to DMV records, you lived in the Uptown area of Minneapolis for three years in the late 1990s. During that time, there was a string of eleven reported incidents of a peeper targeting blond teenagers. The peepings started a month after you moved to the city. They stopped right after you left.”

“Minneapolis is a big city. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fifteen years ago, you were fired from your job as a custodian at a school in Superior,” Maggie continued. “I talked to the woman who was the principal back then. She said there were accusations that you had been going into the locker room at inappropriate times to watch the girls.”

“Oh, come on, like I’d be the first janitor who liked to sneak a peek now and then,” Finn said. “I’m not saying I did, but what’s the big deal? The teachers all do it, too. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“We’re searching your house right now,” Maggie told him. “There are officers tearing your place apart. What are they going to find, Finn? Photos? Maps? We’re going over your car with a toothbrush, too. We’ll find something that ties you to the girls you’ve been stalking.”

Finn’s bald head glistened with sweat under the hot light. “I think I should go. I thought you wanted to talk about Laura. I’m not saying anything else about stalking or peeping or whatever the hell you think I did.”

“You can go if you want,” Stride said. “But you brought it up, so let’s talk about Laura. She had a tattoo almost identical to the one that Mary Biggs had. Did Mary’s tattoo remind you of Laura? Is that why you focused on her?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You told me you saw Laura and Cindy in the woods that night by accident. Then we find out about Mary Biggs and all these blond girls with someone panting outside their bedroom window. You know what I think, Finn? I think you were watching Laura. I think you were stalking her. Sending her threats. I think you followed her to the park that night.”

“I didn’t stalk her,” Finn replied. “I never sent her any letters.”