Detective Butts finished his water and paced behind Walker, rubbing his stubby hands together, while Chuck sat on the corner of the table across from him. Lee recognized the technique. Invade his territory, crowd him, make him feel cornered, creating feelings of insecurity. But judging by the smirk on Walker's face, it wasn't working.
"So you guys actually think I might be the killer?" Walker said, his mouth curled into a contemptuous smile.
"You tell us," Chuck answered, his voice failing to conceal his dislike of Walker. "We've been asked by the mayor to interview a few sex offenders living in the area. And that would include you."
"Hey, that stuff's all behind me," Walker protested. "I got a new life now, a steady job, a girlfriend-the works. I'm even seeing a therapist," he added, "not that it's any of your business."
"You're right," Chuck replied, "it's not my business. What I'm interested in is where you were on February eleventh."
Walked smiled broadly, revealing a gold tooth. "No sweat. On the eleventh I was out of town. Went to see my dear old mom-I'm a very devoted son. I can show you the plane tickets to prove it."
Chuck held his gaze. "Plane tickets can be forged."
"Call my mother and ask her."
Butts left his pacing and came around behind Walker. "Oh, that's a good idea," he said. "I'm sure she wouldn't be interested in covering for her only son-I know she wouldn't think of lying to the police."
Lee touched Chuck's elbow.
"What?" Chuck said.
Lee leaned in to whisper into his ear. "It's not him. This isn't our guy."
"Okay," Chuck whispered back, "but I still have to go through with this."
"Your friend is right, you know," Walker said. "I'm not your guy."
Chuck's fair face reddened. "You know what? I'll decide that for myself."
Walked shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Suit yourself," he said, cleaning his fingernails with a book of matches. The picture on the matchbook cover was of a tall, curvaceous feline wearing black lingerie. The logo read PUSSYCAT LOUNGE.
"You know," he said, "I don't go for Catholic girls. Too uptight."
Chuck leaned into Walker's face. "This may be just a game to you, you son of a bitch, but it's not to us, and if you make one more crack like that, I swear-"
"Hey, easy, there," Walker said, holding up his callused hands. "I didn't mean anything by it, man. Just trying to let you know I'm not your guy."
"Jesus," Chuck muttered. "What is it with you guys that you can laugh about something like this? What was left out when they put you together, huh?"
"I'm not any happier than you are about this guy," Walker snarled. "Hell, I'm no killer. It would never occur to me to hurt a woman-ask my girlfriend. I'm a pussycat."
"Like the dancers at the Pussycat Lounge?" Butts said, indicating the matches on the table.
"Hey, hey-my girlfriend works there, okay?"
"Figures," Butts muttered.
"She's a waitress, okay?" Walker said, going for a cigarette.
"No smoking in here," Chuck snapped. He tried to snatch the cigarette from Walker's mouth, but Walker was faster, and put it back in the pack.
"Hands off, man-these things are expensive! Jeez, what do you guys do around here for fun?"
"Beat the crap out of guys like you," Butts shot back.
"No shit. And you don't get busted for police brutality?" Walker asked with mock innocence.
"Why don't we find out?" Butts replied.
"That's enough!" Chuck snapped at the detective.
Walker smiled, and Lee was taken aback by the cruelty in that smile. "You know, every minute you spend with me is time you're not spending catching this guy. Why, he could be out there right now, selecting his next victim, some good little Catholic girl. Nice piece of virgin ass. He could be putting his hands-"
Lee's vision seemed to contract, and he felt as if the air in the room was pressing in on him. "That's enough!" he bellowed, springing to his feet. He lunged at Walker and managed to wrap his hands around Walker's throat.
But Walker was bigger than he was, and very quick. He broke Lee's grip and landed a series of punches with such speed that no one in the room could move fast enough to stop him. The first blow connected with Lee's stomach, knocking the air out of him, and then Walker aimed for his face, an uppercut to the chin followed by a roundhouse that caught Lee in the upper cheekbone, right at the bridge of his nose.
He staggered backward, feeling the blood rushing from his nose, blinded by the force of the blow. He hit the floor hard, dazed and shaken.
Chuck seized Walker by the shoulders, at the same moment calling for backup. Butts was right behind him, pinning Walker's hands down as two uniformed officers rushed into the room, guns drawn.
"Handcuff this guy," Chuck said, and one of the officers quickly slipped a pair of cuffs around Walker's wrists. "Now get him out of here!"
As the officers escorted Walker out of the room, he called out over his shoulder to Chuck.
"Hey, why don't you get your friend some lithium to calm him down?"
"Shut up!" Butts shot back.
"You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" Walker said as they dragged him away.
"Whatever," Chuck muttered. He looked at Lee, who stood leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, blood trickling from his nose.
"You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
Chuck had heard that answer before.
"I'll call a doctor."
"No!" Lee tried to calm his breathing and realized he was trembling-not with fear, but with rage.
"I think we've had enough today."
"I'm sorry."
"Okay, but you can't let that happen again."
"Right. I won't."
Chuck sighed. "So what about Walker? Could he-"
"No. The Slasher isn't a child molester. His rage is directed against women-and God. And I think he could be a virgin."
"How do you figure that?"
"I know it's a stretch, but I think the knife is a phallic substitute. There's been no sign of actual penetration. Which means he would probably come across as emotionally immature."
Chuck snorted. "When's the last time you met an emotionally mature criminal?"
"No, I mean seriously emotionally challenged. Like if you met him, you'd really notice it. Shy, withdrawn, odd-not your cocky sleazeball type like Walker. Sort of childlike."
"The priest is pretty childlike."
"Yeah, I guess he is," Lee admitted.
"And he would be totally unthreatening to women."
Even Lee had to admit that Father Michael Flaherty was beginning to look better as a suspect. But there was one thing they could all agree on: time was running out, and if they didn't close in soon, another woman would die.
Chapter Fourteen
It was dark when Lee walked up the steps to his apartment on the third floor. As soon as he put his keys down on the table next to the front door, the phone rang. He reached it in two steps and picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Heya, Boss Man, it's me."
There was no mistaking that voice, high and squeaky, with a pronounced Bronx accent. It was Eddie Pepitone-hustler, Vietnam vet, professional gambler, sometime con man-and quite possibly the one person to whom Lee owed his life.
"Hi, Eddie. What's up?"
"What's up? What's up?" Eddie's tone was mock irritation. "You tell me, Boss Man-you're the one with the dead girl on your hands."
"How did you-?"
"News travels fast in my circle, my friend. I keep my ear close to the ground, know what I mean?"
"I mean, how did you know I was-?"
"On the case? Oh, I just figured-kinda put two and two together, you know? Seemed like it was up your alley and all."
"Okay, but-"
Eddie cut him off. "Look, I got a little time right now. What do you say we meet at McHale's in about half an hour?"