‘Maybe I will. What was it like for you? Your first kill?’ Cramer felt his teeth clench involuntarily. Jackman looked at Su-ming and gestured with the gun. ‘I’m waiting,’ Jackman pressed.
‘The first person I killed was my mother,’ said Cramer.
Jackman’s jaw dropped. Then his expression changed, from amazement to admiration. He whistled softly.
The Colonel went over to the window and looked across at the tower block opposite. Most of the floors were in darkness, but the lights were on in Vander Mayer’s apartment. He could make out a figure standing by the study window but it wasn’t possible to see whether the figure was looking in or out. The Colonel couldn’t even tell who it was. He looked around for his binoculars but they’d been packed away, along with his transceiver and the rest of the equipment he’d been using. The Colonel tapped his lips with the flat of his hand as he considered his options. The figure in the window hadn’t moved.
The Colonel picked up the telephone and tapped out the number of the doorman in the main lobby.
Jackman put his head on the side as he looked at Cramer. ‘Your mother? You killed your own mother? Why, did you want to go to the orphans’ Christmas party or something?’
Su-ming turned to stare at Cramer. Cramer looked at her, wishing there was some way to communicate with her, some way to tell her to cause a diversion so that he could get the stiletto out, because if they didn’t do something Jackman was going to kill them both. Jackman needed time to get away, and the only way to buy it would be to leave two more bodies on the floor next to Vander Mayer. ‘She was dying,’ said Cramer flatly.
‘Cancer?’ said Jackman.
‘Brain tumour. Inoperable.’
Jackman nodded and there was something almost sympathetic about the gesture. ‘Tough.’
‘Yeah. If it had happened today they’d probably have saved her. Back then, there was nothing they could do. They sent her home to die.’
Cramer looked at Su-ming. All he needed was for her to distract Jackman for a moment. As soon as Jackman pointed the gun at Su-ming and not at him, Cramer could make his move. One step. Pull out the stiletto. Another step. Drive the knife forward. The last step. Up into Jackman’s throat. It would take one second, two at most. Su-ming was staring at him, aghast, her hands up to her face, covering her mouth.
‘She was in pain every day. Every minute of every day. Pain like you wouldn’t believe. I used to hate getting home from school. I used to stay out of the house as much as I could.’ Cramer knew he had to keep talking, to play for time.
‘How old were you?’ Jackman asked. His interest seemed to be academic, as if he were a psychiatrist analysing Cramer’s case.
‘Eleven,’ Cramer answered. ‘I was eleven.’
‘How? How did you do it?’
‘The doctor had prescribed her strong painkillers. Really strong. My father kept them hidden from her because of what she might do. She kept begging me to get the medicine for her.’ Cramer took a step forward. Jackman appeared not to notice. ‘I got the tablets for her, and I watched as she took them. I knew she was killing herself, but I didn’t try to stop her.’
‘And how did you feel?’
Cramer massaged his temples with his knuckles as if he had a headache. He wanted Jackman to get used to seeing his hands moving. ‘She was in a lot of pain. And she was dying anyway. All I was doing was helping the process along.’
‘A mercy killing?’
‘Yeah. You might call it that.’
The Colonel tapped the receiver against his ear as he waited for the doorman to answer the phone. It was at least twenty rings before the doorman came on the line. He was out of breath and apologetic, explaining that he’d been helping a resident carry his cases to the elevator. The Colonel asked him if there had been any visitors to the Vander Mayer apartment.
‘Mr Vander Mayer himself arrived half an hour ago. And I just showed another visitor up.’
‘Who was that?’ queried the Colonel.
‘Hang on while I check the book,’ said the doorman and put down the phone. The Colonel looked across at the tower block. The figure was still standing by the study window. ‘Here we are,’ said the doorman. ‘His name was Jackman. Bernard Jackman. He wasn’t expected but Mr Vander Mayer said he’d see him. Is there a problem?’
‘No. Everything’s fine,’ said the Colonel. He replaced the receiver, frowning. Vander Mayer, Cramer, Su-ming and Jackman were apparently all in the apartment, so why didn’t they answer the phone? And what was Jackman doing up there?
Jackman kept the gun pointed at Cramer’s head, giving Cramer no chance of making any sort of threatening move. Cramer’s palms were sweating and he rubbed them on his trousers. His right hand was only inches away from the hilt of his stiletto. One movement and he’d have it in his hand, three paces forward and Jackman would be dead. All he needed was an opening. A distraction. Jackman moved away from the window, keeping his gun on Cramer. He went over to the mirrored wall and stood with his back to it. Now he was even further away from Cramer, well out of range. Cramer forced himself to relax, to conceal the signs that he was preparing to launch an attack.
‘What about you, Bernie?’ Cramer asked. ‘Why did you decide to leave the side of the angels?’ Cramer could see Su-ming reflected in the mirrored wall. She was sitting with her legs pressed together, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘For the kick. For the excitement.’
‘You gave up. .’
‘I gave up nothing, Mike. I was too good for the Bureau, I knew that within weeks of joining. Have you ever felt like that? Like Gulliver, surrounded by midgets? Intellectual midgets? It was like that for me at high school, and at college. I thought that when I joined the Bureau it’d be different, that I’d finally be among people like me. The G-men, the best and brightest of the country’s law enforcement officials. That’s what they like you to think, but it’s bullshit. They’re as dumb as the cops. Dumber sometimes.’
Jackman had begun waving his gun around again, but Cramer had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t shoot until he’d finished saying what he had to say. It was like a confession, thought Cramer. Except the confessor wasn’t planning to leave any witnesses. ‘If they were smart, they wouldn’t be cops,’ said Cramer.
‘Right,’ said Jackman eagerly. ‘The really bright people don’t go into law enforcement, or if they do, they leave pretty damn quickly. Like me.’
‘Better off working for yourself, right?’
Jackman narrowed his eyes as if he was wondering whether or not Cramer was humouring him. ‘It’s not about money, if that’s what you’re implying,’ Jackman said. ‘That’s not why I left. If I’d wanted money I’d have gone into business. I could have made a fortune, Mike. I could have been as rich as Vander Mayer. Richer. I’ve met a lot of rich people in my time, and most of them aren’t much brighter than cops. You don’t need brains to make money, you just have to work your balls off. Look at all the Vietnamese and Chinese who move to the States. They start with nothing, but they make fortunes. Fortunes. And they’re not all geniuses, I can tell you.’
Cramer nodded vaguely. Jackman was rambling. It was as if he didn’t often get the opportunity to explain himself, and now that he had a captive audience it was all tumbling out. ‘So why did you leave?’ Cramer asked.
‘I finally met a man who was my intellectual equal,’ said Jackman. ‘A man called Anton Madeley. He’s a genius, Mike. A true genius. It was like meeting a soulmate.’
Cramer glanced at Su-ming’s reflection in the mirrored wall but her attention was fixed on Jackman.
‘I was sent to interview Madeley to update our VICAP report. At first he wouldn’t open up to me, but even at our first meeting I knew that the guy was special. He knew stuff. He knew how people’s minds work, what made them tick. He could get inside your head and find out exactly what you wanted. What you needed.’