"Jeb Kraft is under arrest for the murders of six women, but the charges will be dropped. We know your oldest son, Sherman, is the killer."
She looked thoughtful rather than alarmed, and took a few steps back then sat down hard in the wooden chair that matched a small desk.
"That can't be."
"But it is, and you knew it before we walked in here."
She aimed her wide-set eyes at Quinn, full wattage. "If we all know that, then why hasn't my Jeb been released?"
"He will be, Mrs. Kraft. His attorney's working out the technicalities."
"Attorney?"
"The court appointed one. She's looking after your son very competently."
"I'll take your word for that, Detective Quinn." She smiled. "You have an honest face."
"Faces can be deceptive," Pearl said.
Myrna turned her head slightly and stared at Pearl. Faces might be deceptive, but Pearl thought the message in Myrna's eyes was clear. It was a kind of detached hatred remote from any kind of empathy, much less mercy; the exterminator observing the insect. It made Pearl's flesh break out in goose bumps.
I slept with this woman's son.
"We know about Sherman's time in the swamp, and your disappearance after he was found," Quinn said. "We know quite a bit about Sherman."
"Not enough to find him, to stop him. You don't know him like his own mother does, Detective Quinn."
"Maybe I know him better."
He thought he might get a rise out of her, but she remained calm. "I do doubt that. Blood ties are the strongest, you know, especially between mother and child."
"Jeb told us about how you and he came to New York, and how he dogged the investigation into Sherman's murders."
Another glance at Pearl with those deep, dark eyes. Maybe a shadow smile. Myrna looked again at Quinn. "You know a lot, but not enough to apprehend my darling boy."
"Why did you desert your darling boy?" Pearl asked, before she might gag. She knew Quinn was supposed to be controlling this interview, but she couldn't stay silent.
Quinn's cell phone beeped. Everyone stared at him as he fished it from his pocket, as if the noise had interrupted a Broadway hit. He saw that it was Renz who was calling.
"Excuse me." He walked toward the far side of the room as he answered the call, keeping his voice low. "What is it, Harley?"
"You made contact yet with the mother?"
"Yes." Quinn moved closer to the window that looked out at an air shaft. Old brick, lots of recent tuck-pointing.
"Okay, can she hear you?"
"Somewhat."
"Jeb Jones has been sprung. Pareta went on a tear and made us drop charges so he could walk."
"Figures."
"Best we could do without evidence, not to mention that he's most likely innocent. Why I called is, I had him tailed and he's making a beeline for Mom. My man called just before I contacted you and said Jeb was getting out of a cab and about to enter the Meredith Hotel."
"Okay, I'll take care of it tomorrow. I'm busy on another matter now."
"I hired you because you're such a nifty liar," Renz said, and hung up.
Quinn folded his phone and slipped it back in his pocket.
And there was a knock on the door.
"Busy, busy," Pearl said.
They watched Myrna go to the door and open it about six inches. "I don't think-"
But an agitated Jeb pushed his way inside.
When Jeb saw the three detectives his jaw dropped, but he recovered his composure nicely. "You don't have to talk to them, Mother."
Myrna ran her fingertips gently down his upper arm and smiled. "I'm afraid I do, Jeb. We both do." Her brow knit in sudden concern. "Did they hurt you anywhere?"
Pearl waited for her to wink, but she didn't.
"No, Mother. They followed the rules."
"We interrupted you," Quinn said to Myrna.
Jeb spread his feet, crossed his arms, and stared at the floor. Fedderman was the only one sitting down, on the edge of the bed. His arms were at his sides, his palms helping to support him on the soft mattress. His loosened right cuff was pinned beneath his hand.
"I was explaining about Sherman," Myrna said. To Jeb: "You might as well hear."
Jeb didn't look at her. She faced Quinn, her main inquisitor, and began:
"When Sherman was a boy he liked to spend time in the swamp, right near where we lived. From time to time he'd come home with dead things."
"He hunted?" Quinn asked.
"Sometimes, but other times he'd just find things already dead. For some reason he liked to dismember them. Tell you true, it gave me the creeps, but I told myself it might be natural boy curiosity, like maybe he'd grow up to be a doctor. The thing he'd do was cut up these creatures in the bathtub, then clean their parts real well and kind of stack them up, doing the same things to them that Butcher killer does. I'd already told Jeb about Sherman, about him doing this, and when we saw on the news about the Butcher, we both knew it had to be Sherman, all grown up."
"Detective Kasner asked why you deserted Sherman," Quinn reminded her in a neutral tone.
"I didn't desert him. I was talking to him about what he was doing to those animals, why he even wanted to do such a thing, and he attacked me with his skinning knife. I managed to fight him off and he ran away into the swamp. I didn't know what to do. Didn't want to contact the sheriff's department, knowing he might do harm to Sherman."
"What about Sherman doing harm to somebody else?" Pearl asked.
"I didn't think he would. Far as I knew, I was the only person he ever attacked. I decided to wait, a few days if necessary. I kept a shotgun nearby and didn't sleep for two nights. Then it became three days, and I knew it was too late to contact the law because they'd have too many questions. Sherman knew the swamp and I figured he'd be okay for quite a while there, but when a week had gone by, I gotta say I figured him for dead."
"Didn't you go looking for him yourself?" Pearl asked.
Myrna shook her head no. "Nothing didn't wanna be found in that swamp ever got found. Besides, Sherman took the knife with him when he ran." Myrna drew a deep breath and touched her fingers to her eyes as if they were tearing up, but no tears were evident. "About a month passed, and I saw on the TV news that Sherman had been found. They were calling him the Swamp Boy, didn't know who he was, and he was traumatized, they said, and wouldn't speak. I decided I'd keep my silence, just like Sherman. But next night on TV news they showed a photo of him, and even wild-looking like he was, I knew somebody'd surely recognize him." She glanced at Jeb now, and maybe those were tears glistening in her dark eyes. "Tell you true, I was pregnant by a man who'd recently deserted me. I wanted that child to have a chance in life, so I ran. I admit I panicked, but thinking back it mighta been the best thing I coulda done. I moved to Courtney, Louisiana, got a waitress job, and sacrificed for Jeb. I don't regret a second of that time." Jeb was looking at his mother now, his own eyes moist. "My boy Jeb was bright as a new dime, a scholar, and 'cause he was a brilliant student he went to the best schools even if I only made a poor working woman's wages."
"What about Sherman?" Quinn asked.
"I never knew. Tell you true, I made it a point to avoid watching or reading the news entirely in those Louisiana days. Never learned a thing about his whereabouts nor whether he recovered his memory. Far as I was concerned, that time was past. I had to look ahead, for myself and for Jeb. But I knew I'd hear about Sherman someday, and when I just happened to look at a New York paper in a store near a motel in Louisville, right there on the front page was a story about the Butcher, about what he did to his victims. I knew it had to be Sherman, so I phoned Jeb and told him everything. We decided the two of us best come to New York and try to find Sherman before you people did. We were gonna try to stop him from what he was doing and have him give himself up."