The Assailant (12 page)

Hastings wanted to know who would be in charge of it, but he decided to keep quiet for the moment. He sensed—and feared—that he would be losing control of the investigation.

Ted answered the doorbell. He was wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He had put on weight since marrying Hastings's ex-wife. He gave Hastings a nervous hello and invited him into the house.

Ted Samster was the man Eileen had left Hastings for. A lawyer whom she was working for before becoming his lover. Hastings had suspected the affair for a while and eventually caught Eileen in a lie that he didn't have the strength to overlook. She had told him that she was in love with Ted and was planning to end the marriage because of it.

That had been a couple of years ago. Eileen was now Ted's wife, and Hastings had never confronted Ted about it. Never threatened him or punched him for making him a cuckold. Indeed, Hastings had never even really wanted to harm the man. Hastings believed that Eileen had wanted out of the marriage with him, regardless of whether or not there was a Ted Samster willing to marry her. If it hadn't been Ted, it would have been someone else.

Hastings believed that he was past being angry at Eileen. She had told him that he would be better off without her, and in time he'd come to believe that she was right. And after that, he did believe it too. So, he was past being angry at her for leaving him. But
he could still get mighty irritated with her over things that related to their daughter.

Amy Hastings was not George's daughter by birth. Eileen had had her out of wedlock about five years before she met him. Hastings fell in love with Eileen and soon found that he wanted to be not only her husband but the father of her child. The formal adoption was made approximately one month after they married. In spite of all the difficulty in their marriage and the pain of the divorce, he considered himself fortunate to have gotten a daughter.

Hastings's father had been a fairly nasty piece of work. Not so much physically abusive or violent but a coward and a bully and an altogether small man. Perhaps because of this, Hastings had believed that he should avoid being a father himself. But Eileen and her daughter had made him change his mind. And, like most of life's most important decisions, it was made rather quickly.

Eileen had agreed to joint custody of Amy in the divorce. Whether she had done this out of kindness to him or consideration for Amy or for her own selfish motives was never really clear. Hastings decided that he didn't really want to know. What he did know was that Eileen had had the power to take Amy away from him altogether and had not exercised it. Whatever else could be said about her, she hadn't done that. It had made the adjustment easier.

Ted Samster was a big man, bigger than Hastings. But Ted was afraid of him and Hastings knew it. Hastings knew that he could say something to Ted to put him at ease. Something like,
Hey
,
forget it, man
.
Water under the bridge
. But some small part of him liked to see Ted uncomfortable. Even now.

Ted said over his shoulder, “Amy? Your dad's here to pick you up.”

They heard her say that she was coming.

Ted said to Hastings, “You want some coffee or something?”

“No, thanks. How are you, Ted?”

“Oh, busy. Busy as usual. Eileen's at the store. She should be back in a half hour, if you want to see her.”

“No, that's okay. Sorry about being late.”

“No problem, man. No problem.”

Amy came out to the foyer with her bag. She was thirteen now, a serious and mature girl at her age. She said goodbye to her stepfather and walked out to the Jaguar with Hastings.

In the car, Hastings said, “Sorry I was late.”

“That's okay. Do we have time to stop for dinner at Regazzi's?”

“If you want,” Hastings said. “I mean, if you're caught up on your homework.”

“I'm caught up,” she said. “I'd like some pasta.”

“All right.”

•

At the restaurant, Hastings ordered a small dish of fettuccine and a beer for himself, and Amy had ravioli and a Coke. He ate about half of his dish and waited for Amy to finish hers. His stomach had become sensitive over the years and he was no
longer able to enjoy the things he had when he was younger. Acidic foods and drinks had been eliminated from his diet as he went from thirty to forty. No wine, apples, lemonade, bananas, tomatoes, pizza, cheeseburgers . . . it got to where he could enjoy such things only vicariously. His doctor had told him that he did not have an ulcer, just a weak digestive system. Another gift of middle age.

Still, he was grateful that he could still enjoy the occasional cigarette, a couple of fingers of whiskey. And he still liked to cook.

Hastings didn't finish his beer. He asked the waitress to bring him back a cup of coffee with cream.

Amy told him about her weekend, made a couple of mildly derisive comments about Ted. She talked about school and eventually asked him what he thought about her taking an SAT-preparation course.

Hastings said, “For college?”

“Yes,” Amy said. “You took the test, didn't you?”

“Yeah, when I was about seventeen. You're thirteen.”

“So. It'll help me get ready.”

Hastings sighed. Not for the first time, he was struck by the competitiveness of the contemporary teenager. Worrying at age thirteen about getting into an Ivy League school. His childhood had not been a happy one, but he believed that people of his generation had had it a lot easier than Amy's. Parents of that time had been blessedly unenlightened and far less competitive and materialistic.

He said, “I'm not comfortable with that. I've told you before, you spend way too much time worrying about your future. You're a very smart girl, and you'll do fine.”

“But my friends are doing it.”

“Your friends are too uptight.”

“They say their parents want them to.”

“Their parents are too uptight, too. Look, you don't have your daddy's dumb genes. So you're going to be fine.”

“I don't think you're dumb. I just don't want to get behind.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Amy. You kids all worry so much. You get straight As and then you get upset because someone else got an A-plus. When I was your age, I didn't think I'd even go to college. I just wanted to get out of Nebraska. And I felt lucky to do that. Maybe one day you'll go to Harvard or Yale. Maybe not. But if you don't, who cares?”

“I care. And I'm not thinking about Harvard. But maybe Northwestern . . . Don't laugh at me.”

“I'm sorry, sweetie; I'm not laughing at you. I'm not. But talking about exclusive colleges at thirteen . . .”

“Would you rather I talk about sex or drugs?”

“Oh shi—No. I just wish you wouldn't do this to yourself. You remember the Phillips kid? She had to go to the hospital after she got so thin?”

“I know.”

“Now, I'm no psychologist, but I'm telling you that all this pressure to succeed can lead to that.”

“Daddy, I'm not anorexic. I'm not mental either. I just don't want to end up like Mom.”

“You're not going to end up like that,” he said and immediately regretted it. He added, “And don't be so hard on your mother. She did the best she could.”

“You don't believe that.”

She was right about that. But he was not above maintaining a few hypocrisies to get through life. “I do.” He paused, took a sip of his coffee. Then he said, “Did you discuss this with her?”

“No.”

Good, he thought. If she had, Eileen probably would have signed her up for
two
courses. He said, “Amy, I'll think about it. Okay? If I'm persuaded that it's something that's actually helpful as opposed to something that's fashionable, I'll pay for the course. We'll talk about it next week. Deal?”

“Okay, deal.”

“Good,” he said. “You want to split a dessert?”

“Sure.”

There were about twenty police officers in the station briefing room. Some of them stood at the back of the room because there weren't enough chairs. At the front, behind the podium stood Chief Mark Grassino. Behind him were the St. Louis County sheriff, his deputy, Deputy Chief Fenton Murray, and Chief of Detectives Ronnie Wulf.

Hastings sat in the third row with Klosterman, Rhodes, and Murphy. Karen Brady sat behind them. Escobar sat with the county detectives on the other side of the room.

Chief Grassino confirmed that there was now a county/metro joint task force assigned to the Woods and Sayers murders. He said that the task force would be led by Ronnie Wulf coordinating with Detective Captain Paul Combrink of the county police. He gestured to each of them and they stood and nodded to the officers. The chief then gave the podium to Wulf.

Wulf summarized the status of the case. He pointed out Hastings and let the police officers know that he had been in charge of the case up till this point. The purpose was to signify that Hastings was his second. Hastings felt some gratitude for it, though time would tell if Wulf was merely tossing him a bone.

Wulf said, “George informed me this morning that Roland Gent's attorney has agreed to an interview at county headquarters.
The interview will be conducted by Detective Efrain Escobar of the St. Louis County Police as well as Lieutenant Hastings. This is a lead and it will be followed, but I don't want the people in this room to put a lot of stock in it. There are other leads that need to be followed. You are ordered to share any and all information and leads with each other. Any officer found to be hoarding leads or relevant information will be disciplined very harshly. Captain Combrink and I are in complete agreement on this. Our goal is to catch a monster who seems to have a taste for killing women. And I will tell you that I personally have very little patience for glory boys.

“One more thing: as most of you are already aware, we have let it be known that, at this point, we do not want media assistance. We do not yet have a profile of this killer, but we believe that he—presuming it's a he—is something of a glory seeker himself. It could be that he's seeking headlines. Fame. We do not want to encourage or reward that.”

Klosterman raised his hand.

“Yes, Joe.”

“Chief, I just want a clarification on the media thing. Are you suggesting that you may change your mind later on?”

Wulf said, “If it becomes apparent that there's more to be gained than lost by using the media, perhaps we'll change tactics. I'll let you know if I think we've reached that point. Again, profiling may be premature at this stage. I'm more interested in pursuing plain old leads. We're looking for evidence, not a certain personality
type. Now, having said that, there are a few basic psychological things you should at least be aware of. These are of course traits that often appear in this sort of killer. One: a display of some sort of mental disorder. Two: evidence that they researched or targeted the victim. Three: evidence that they've communicated inappropriately with a person, a woman in particular. Four: they've identified with a stalker or an assassin. Often, an assassin will study the work of another assassin. One he wants to imitate and maybe improve upon. Lastly, these guys often have what's called an ‘exaggerated idea of self.' They're grandiose, narcissistic.”

A county detective said, “That could be said of half the people here.” It got a few laughs, though not one from Ronnie Wulf.

“Again, let me emphasize, I do not want any of you putting the ‘profiling' cart before the evidence horse. These are theories that can be helpful, but they do not capture killers by themselves. Any additional questions?”

Klosterman said, “Chief, police reports are public record. Now, when we file those reports on homicide investigations, there's no way to prevent reporters from reviewing them. Are we being ordered not to prepare reports?”

“No. Realistically, we've got about seven, maybe ten days before the press reviews the reports and puts it together. In other words, I am not ordering anyone here to violate policy on preparation of reports. What I am ordering all of you to do is to not personally discuss this with reporters. Casually or professionally.
Our hope is that we apprehend the killer before the press puts the story together.” Wulf said, “Any other questions?”

There weren't.

•

They told Roland Gent that he was not under arrest but read him his Miranda rights anyway. Told him he had the right to an attorney, the right to remain silent, that anything he said could be used against him.

After that formality, Escobar told him that he was being videotaped and audiotaped.

That was when Jeff Coyle first spoke. He said, “I pressumed that it would be. May we have a copy of the tape afterward?”

Coyle was well dressed, even for a lawyer. He had a mane of white hair and wore black-rimmed glasses. A tan Armani suit and a powder-blue shirt. He had presence, this Mr. Coyle. Hastings could see that Escobar was intimidated by him. This did not surprise Hastings. He had been in law enforcement long enough to know that police officers were often intimidated by authority figures. Even if they were mere extensions of the court. Also, police officers were better than most people at distinguishing good lawyers from hacks and acting accordingly. Coyle was no hack.

Escobar said, “Mr. Coyle, that's not up to me. The policy says we don't release it until criminal charges have been filed. If that happens, you are entitled to copies by law.”

“Of course,” Coyle said. “But there's no reason we can't operate in good faith in the meantime.”

“I think we have been.”

Coyle could say one or two words to Roland Gent right now and both of them could get up and leave, and there would be nothing the detectives could do about it. Coyle knew it and he knew that they knew it. But if they let the lawyer push them around at the start, it would never get any better. Escobar kept as silent as a poker player, and Hastings admired him for it.