Gurney was speechless at the man’s composure. Was he totally insane? “You’re pretty cheery for a guy whose case could end the state moratorium on executions. I hear that lethal injections aren’t very pleasant.” Even as he was saying this, frustrated by Sterne’s attitude, he realized how dangerous and inadvisable a comment it was.
Apparently he need not have worried. Sterne just shook his head. “Don’t be silly, Detective. Morons with third- rate lawyers have managed to put off their executions for twenty years or more. I can do better than that. Much better. I have money. A lot of money. I have connections both visible and invisible. Most important of all, I know how the legal system works. How it
“What do you have?”
“Knowledge.”
“Of?”
“Certain unsolved cases.”
Outside, five seconds of a pulsing police siren preceded another bullhorn announcement. The wording had become more urgent. “THIS IS THE STATE POLICE… PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS NOW… OPEN THE DOOR NOW… DO IT NOW… PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS IMMEDIATELY AND OPEN THE DOOR… OPEN THE DOOR NOW.”
“Unsolved cases… such as?”
“You were wondering a few minutes ago how many people I might have killed-how many more than you’ve already counted.”
The thudding roar of the helicopter was growing louder above the cabin, its searchlight brighter. Sterne seemed oblivious to it. His attention was entirely on Gurney, who in turn was trying to analyze and respond to the latest twist in what was becoming one of the most unsettling cases of his career.
“I don’t follow the logic, Larry. If they can hang the Good Shepherd murders on you-”
“Big if, by the way.”
“Okay, big if. But if they can, I don’t see how you get much leverage out of confessing to a couple more.”
Sterne smiled his transcendental smile. “I see what you’re doing. You’re ridiculing my offer to get me to show my hand. Silly little ploy. But that’s all right. No secrets among friends. Let me ask you a hypothetical question: How important would it be to a state police agency to clear-again, quite hypothetically-twenty or maybe thirty unsolved cases?”
Gurney was disheartened. Larry Sterne was either flat-out delusional or an impulsive liar with the kind of megalomania that told him he could make up anything and make people believe it.
Sterne seemed to sense Gurney’s skepticism. His reaction was to double down. “I’m thinking that there should be some leverage in putting thirty cases in the ‘solved’ file. Dramatically improving department statistics. Providing closure for the families. If thirty isn’t a big enough number, we might even be able to offer forty. Whatever it takes to make the kind of deal I have in mind.”
“What kind of deal would that be, Larry?”
“Nothing unreasonable. I think you’ll find me the most reasonable man you’ve ever met. No need to get into the specifics at this point. All I’m talking about is an imprisonment with certain fundamental amenities. A comfortable cell of my own. Basic conveniences. The relaxation of only the most unnecessary rules. I wouldn’t ask for anything that men of goodwill couldn’t easily negotiate.”
“And in return for that, you’d be willing to confess to twenty or thirty or forty unsolved murders? With full corroborative details on motive and method?”
“Hypothetically.”
The bullhorn announced, “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND OPEN THE DOOR. YOU MUST DO IT NOW.”
Gurney tried a wild swing from another direction. “Including the White Mountain Strangler case?”
“Hypothetically.”
“And the number of victims is as high as it is because the basic method was always the same-to kill five or six people each time, to obscure the motive for the one that mattered?”
“Hypothetically.”
“I see. But there’s a question I’d like to clear up-just to be sure I understand the risk calculation driving the MO. Wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that one well-planned murder would pose less chance of exposure than five or six?”
“The answer to that is no. However well planned one murder may be, it still focuses attention on that one victim and the consequences of that one death. There is no escape from the singularity of the event. However, the additional murders remove virtually all risk that the central murder will receive the focus it requires-and they create virtually no additional risk. Murderers are caught primarily because of their connections with their victims. If there are no connections… well, I’m sure you understand the concept.”
“And the cost-the lives ended-that never concerned you?”
Sterne said nothing. His bland smile said it all.
Gurney wondered how long it would take a tough state prison to wipe it off his face.
The smile widened, as Sterne again seemed to sense Gurney’s train of thought. “I’m actually looking forward to my interactions with the penal system and its population. I’m a positive thinker, Detective. I embrace the reality that’s been placed in front of me. A penitentiary is a new world to conquer. I have an ability to attract people who can be of use. You seem to have noted my success with Robby Meese. Think about that. Penal institutions are full of Robby Meeses-susceptible young men looking for a father figure, for someone who understands them, someone who’s on their side, who can channel their energies, their fears, their resentments. Think about it, Detective. With appropriate guidance, young men like that could become a kind of palace guard. It’s an exciting prospect, one I’ve had occasion to think about many times over the years. In short, I believe that prison life will be quite manageable. I might even become a bit of a celebrity. I have a feeling I may become the darling of the psychological community all over again-as they try to rehabilitate themselves with profound new insights into the true story of the Good Shepherd. And don’t forget the books. Authorized and unauthorized biographies. RAM specials. And you know something? I may end up a lot better off than you in the long run. You’ve earned yourself more enemies on the outside than I’ll have on the inside. Not such a great victory for you, when you think about it. I can pay people to watch my back. People who are very good at that sort of thing. But how about your back? If I were you, I’d be concerned.”
“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND OPEN THE DOOR NOW.”
Gurney stared across the room at the plain little man in the tan cardigan. “Tell me something, Larry. Do you have any regrets at all?”
He looked surprised. “Of course not. Everything I did makes perfect sense.”
“Including Lila?”
“Pardon?”
“Including killing your wife, Lila?”
“What about it?”
“That made perfect sense, too?”
“Of course. Or I wouldn’t have done it-hypothetically speaking. Actually, we had more of a business arrangement than a traditional marriage. Lila was a sexual athlete of high refinement. But that’s another story.” He produced a small, speculative smile. “Might make an exciting film.”
He walked past Gurney to the front door, opened it, and tossed the big pistol out onto the grass.
“OPEN YOUR HANDS… RAISE THEM ABOVE YOUR HEAD… WALK FORWARD SLOWLY.”
Sterne raised his hands and stepped out of the cabin. As he walked toward the causeway path, the helicopter searchlight fastened on him. A vehicle at the far end of the causeway-with headlights, fog lights, and two spotlights all on-began to move forward.
That was odd. In conditions like this, you’d want to maintain your position and let the perp come to you. To a preselected spot where you and your backup team could most safely control the situation.
Speaking of which, where the hell
There were a number of spotlights set up out there, but no other headlights. No trooper cruisers. Christ, if there was one, there ought to be a dozen.
