‘Empowerment?’ I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.
‘Absolutely. Imagine, if you will, a constant sense of worthlessness, feeling inadequate at all times, as if everyone looks down on you. Then all of a sudden you have the power of life or death in your hands. You see fear in the eyes of your victim instead of contempt. You hear their pleas, their begging and it strengthens you. Gives you a sense of worth. It may even arouse you.’ His eyes shine as he talks.
‘The murders of Kira and Mrs Starr appear to have been premeditated and acted out to suit his purpose. I’m only guessing here, but perhaps he was trailing Mr Johnson in preparation for an attack when an opportunity presented itself. The seized chance would account for a difference in the method of the kill. Also, consider the fact this attack took place beside what is a fairly busy road. He wouldn’t have had time to fully enact his fantasies.’
I figure Dr Edwards is enjoying this distraction from the usual complaints and worries. He hasn’t even tried asking me a question for a good ten minutes.
‘What you say makes sense, in a scary kind of way.’ I shift position, the frame of the couch squeaking at my movement. ‘I know it may constitute a breach of ethics, but do any of your patients fit into this category?’
His fingers steeple. ‘First of all, I have a duty of care to the community, so it wouldn’t be a breach of ethics for me to warn the police of someone I felt was a dangerous individual. Second, I don’t have any patients who display such a lack of self-confidence. Third, anyone with these symptoms wouldn’t deem themselves worthy of therapy. They’d figure themselves a lost cause, a waste of the therapist’s valuable time.’
I wasn’t expecting him to give me any possible suspects, but it’s still a blow to not get even one suggestion.
‘Considering the way this conversation has gone very much in your favour, I’d like to ask you one question and get an honest answer.’
‘Shoot.’ Answering one question is a small price to pay for all his answers.
‘Every time Kira’s name is mentioned your pupils narrow for a heartbeat. To a psychologist, it’s the equivalent of a distress flare. I want you to tell me why you are reacting this way.’
I want to call him names or storm out rather than give him this information. However, a deal’s a deal. I owe him honest answers in return for his professional opinions.
Ten minutes later he knows everything. His pen scratched all the way through my recital of the facts.
I finish speaking and he lays down his pad and pen to steeple his fingers. I’m now familiar enough with his body language to recognise the gesture precedes one of his pronouncements.
He makes me wait a minute or two before opening his mouth. ‘Stop me at any point where I’m wrong, but I think this has come as a great shock to you. The knowledge of this engenders a feeling of responsibility. You’re no longer after her killer because you’ve been hired. It’s now become personal. There are probably some feelings of inadequacy and self-chastisement for not being aware of her feelings. Knowing how she felt for you has transposed your normal morals with a burning need to bring this guy to justice. There will of course be anger. At Kira for not telling you how she felt, towards the killer for obvious reasons, although most of your anger will be channelled inwards at yourself for not being more aware.’
I realise I’ve nodded agreement to each of his points. There’s no way he will have missed that so I give him a verbal confirmation. ‘You’re right.’
‘I know.’ There isn’t any conceit in his voice, just a statement of fact. ‘You’re a proud man and I’d be surprised if you haven’t wondered how many people knew about her infatuation. If those same people have been laughing at you behind your back.’
I say nothing while making sure I don’t give him a nod of agreement.
‘What I suggest you do is focus on catching the killer or killers. It’s unlikely Kira has told anyone. If she did confide in someone, there’s nothing you can do about it.’
41
I walk up the path and knock on the door of Mrs Halliburton’s house. She’s been top of my list of people to see since I saw her named as Johnson’s next of kin, but it’s only now I’ve had time to make the visit.
I wonder if it’s the same Mrs Halliburton who taught me history. It will be good if it is; common ground always helps people to open up.
The door opens to reveal a woman in her mid-fifties. I recognise an older version of the passionate teacher who’d worked so much harder than her peers to make her lessons interesting to bored teenagers.
I extend my right hand. ‘Mrs Halliburton, I’m Jake Boulder. You used to be my teacher back in the day.’
‘How may I help you?’ She looks me up and down, her red-rimmed eyes registering little.
‘I’m working with Alfonse Devereaux and we’ve been asked to help the Casperton PD with your brother’s murder.’ I make a point of slipping Alfonse’s name into the conversation as he was always popular with the teachers.
‘Yeeess. I remember you both.’
The way she draws out the yes makes me unsure she does remember us, but at least she’s being polite and not asking me to leave.
‘Sorry if this seems rude, but why are the police hiring civilians?’ She gives a dismissive wave. ‘Scratch that. One of their detectives was round earlier.’
I gesture inside the house. ‘I won’t take much of your time.’
‘You can have the next year if it helps catch the swine who murdered Paul.’
The underlying fury in her tone tells me she’s gone past denial and has landed in anger.
I follow her into the house. Like her, it’s homely and lived in. Nothing is dirty except a coffee mug, but there’s enough untidiness to make it a comfortable, welcoming place.
She points me to a seat and pets the Labrador puppy flopping its way around her ankles. There’s no offer of coffee or any other kind of drink.
I sit as instructed before starting with my questions.
‘Can you tell me a little bit about Paul – where he worked, his family, his interests and hobbies, any enemies he may have had?’ I already know the answers to these questions, but I’ve read enough fictional interviews to know you should always start by establishing a baseline of emotions by getting the subject to recount known truths.
She takes a deep swallow. ‘He worked up at the reservoir. His job had some fancy title like systems analyst when all he did was sit on his butt making sure the dials were all pointing the right way. He was separated from his wife, and his daughter is at college in Salt Lake.’
A handkerchief is pulled from her sleeve and used to dab her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I know this must be tough for you, but everything you tell me can help us catch the man who did this to your brother.’
‘I know.’ The handkerchief is lifted to her face again.
I give a gentle prompt. ‘His interests and hobbies.’
‘Yes. He didn’t have a lot in his life. He worked every hour they’d let him so Leah could go to college.’
‘And when he wasn’t working?’
‘He’d do odd jobs to raise a few extra bucks. You know, mowing lawns, painting. That kind of thing. Virtually every penny he made went to his ex-wife or Leah.’ The amount of resentment in her voice makes me wonder just how acrimonious his divorce had been.
‘He didn’t go bowling or date or anything?’
‘Nothing. He had no life other than work.’
‘What about enemies?’
She laughs in my face. ‘Paul wasn’t the type of man to have enemies. He went through life unnoticed. Nobody bothered with him beyond polite conversation. After the divorce he worked, slept and then worked some more.’