“Lucky?”
“Said he was ready to confess. Harrington’s in with him right now.”
“To killing Teresa Mason?”
“All of them. Where’ve you been?” They turned a corner and headed for the interrogation room, Jennifer had to keep slowing down to not leave Jack in the dust. Her last comment sucked the spring out of his step.
They entered the holding area, Jack peered in at Bishop through the two-way mirror. Harrington was inside, standing over him menacingly, shouting.
Jennifer stood beside Jack and spoke softly, “He knew that Ketamine was the drug used to incapacitate several of the victims — I checked the prior toxicology reports. Traces were found in his van.”
Jack nodded. “It’s a common rape drug.”
“He also knew where the bodies were found, post-mortem specifics.”
“Those details have been published in every newspaper.”
“We checked into his work history at Baxter Mills, one of their contracts is with Monroe College for the Arts. Bishop was employed there during the time Carmen Muniz was a student. It links him with proximity.”
Jack’s expression clouded, “What about Angelina?” Jennifer reluctantly switched on the speaker so they could listen in on Harrington’s interrogation.
“I want to hear it again,” Harrington said, his voice on the speaker sounding condensed and small, as if transmitting from a CB radio miles away. Bishop, exhausted, mumbled something incoherent. Jack leaned his ear towards the speaker.
“Speak up!” Harrington shouted, kicking a leg of Bishop’s chair, jolting him upright.
“The sedation began to wear off,” Bishop began, “I knew she would scream… I choked her until she went unconscious again. But she wouldn’t stay out, so I grabbed a rock…hit her in the head. She started bleeding from everywhere, wouldn’t stop screaming, so I kept hitting her.”
Jack listened, his eyes tightened to narrow slits, still skeptical. He folded his arms and stood with legs shoulder width apart, his head tilted to one side.
Harrington put his hands on the table and leaned into Bishop’s face. “You used a rock to crush her skull.”
“No choice,” Bishop said, avoiding eye contact. Harrington sat down.
“Where is she now?”
Bishop mumbled again, “You won’t have to dig to find her.”
Harrington slammed his fist on the table. “Speak up!”
“The reservoir.”
“State for the record, Mr. Edward Bishop has just confessed to the abduction and murder of Angelina Rosa,” Harrington enunciated for clarity.
Jack winced, the small candle of hope that fueled his purpose flickered and was extinguished. Jennifer could almost smell the smoke. She backed away and gave the man space, a man she respected, who never had an ill word for anyone. The man that inspired others to work harder, stay up longer, honor the badge.
“I’m sorry Jack,” was all she could offer. Jack shook his head, not accepting it.
“No, but she, she looked right at him.” Jack mumbled.
“What?”
“I need to speak to him.”
Jack burst into the interrogation room, startling both Harrington and Bishop. Harrington spotted the purpose in Jack’s step and quickly vacated the chair. Jack sat down and placed a picture of Carmen Muniz on the table under Bishop’s nose.
“Tell me about her,” Jack said, like a cynic about to ruin a magician’s trick. Harrington watched with intrigue.
Bishop’s eyes crisscrossed the photo. “I already told them everything.”
“I want you to tell me.”
Bishop looked down at the picture again, picking at his teeth with a dirty fingernail.
“Did you know her?” Jack asked. A tiny jagged smile crept across Bishop’s face. Jack fought back the urge to take out his .38 and cut him down right there. He composed himself. “Did you rape her?”
Bishop grinned an ugly grin. He picked up the picture, leaned back as if reminiscing with it, expanding his chest, proud of his accomplishment. He turned the picture so Jack could see. “Look at that mouth.”
Bishop flipped the picture back onto the table. Harrington flexed, anticipating Jack’s reaction to be violent. Surprisingly, Jack remained calm and dignified; he merely clenched his jaw and proceeded.
“How did you kill her?” Jack asked. Bishop gazed up at the ceiling as if he were a clerk and Jack had asked him in what aisle could he find the tool section.
“Strangled her?” Bishop said playfully. Jack wasn’t amused. Harrington stepped forward, ready to pounce some discipline into the back of Bishop’s skull, but Jack shook his head no to ward off the attack.
“Are you asking me, can’t you remember?” Jack asked, his patience on slow boil.
Bishop’s shoulders swelled with arrogance. “I remember she smelled sweet like an avocado, ripe and fresh. Pretty for a spic whore.” Bishop smiled, showing teeth, his eyes twinkling with a macabre delight.
Jack saw red. He leaped from his chair, clawing at Bishop’s throat. Harrington grabbed Jack, restraining him, prying Jack’s fingers from around Bishop’s neck. Jack finally saw reason and released him. Bishop coughed, making the most of it, dramatically rubbing his throat as if he had glimpsed the grim reaper.
“You can’t fucking do that! You can’t fucking touch me!” Bishop coughed, his eyes watery and red.
Harrington walked Jack calmly towards the door. Bishop sat hunched over, still clutching his neck, breathing heavily.
“I told them at the clinic I had problems. They wouldn’t listen. Maybe now you’ll listen to me.”
CHAPTER 52
Jennifer, Harrington, and Jack stood huddled in the adjacent holding area. Jack seemed listless and distant as he studied Bishop through the glass. Bishop’s eyes seemed like black sockets in the overhead fluorescents, a frightening expression of emptiness on his face.
“We’ll need to get a dive team over to the reservoir tomorrow morning,” Harrington said.
“You did everything you could Jack,” Jennifer said.
“No, I missed something…” Jack checked his watch for no reason, not sure what to do next, dazed.
“Thanks to you he’s off the streets,” Harrington said. “He finally made a mistake and we got him.”
Jack turned, his eyes ablaze. “We didn’t do shit! He’s been coming and going as he pleases, getting away with murder for over 10 years. And the only reason we have a suspect in custody is because some brave young girl defended herself long enough to hand him to us!”
Jack ended his rant with a loud cough that multiplied. He doubled over, red in the face. Jennifer put her hand on his back to steady him.
“Jack, are you okay?” Jack stepped away from her.
“Do you need your pills?” Harrington asked.
Jack scowled at Harrington with embarrassment. He wiped his mouth, the fit subsiding.
“I just need to catch my breath, can I do that? Move back so I can catch my breath.” Jack leaned up against the wall and took out his pills. There was no use hiding his condition any longer, his tenure was over — what more was there to stay for? And his condition was no secret to anyone, no matter how noble his efforts to shun sympathy had been.
“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Jennifer said, leaving the room. Jack’s taut breathing slowed, returning to normal. Despite his hardened shell, he was appreciative of their concern. They were good, caring friends. Denying his suffering was just his way of denying the inevitable, denying death.
Harrington leaned in close to Jack, capitalizing on their time alone. “Jack, we knew the odds she’d be found alive were a million to one. Carl knew it, or should have.” Jack fumbled to get his pills in his mouth, his hand shaking. “I know how much you wanted to believe that little girl’s story. But don’t do this to yourself. Good detective work solves crimes. You’re one of the best. He’ll never hurt another child, thanks to you.”