playback device. Mark held out a second headset toward him. Scott shook his head and indicated that he wanted to talk.
Mark removed one earpiece. ‘You haven’t missed much.’
Scott held up his hand. ‘Where are Jayne and Steelie?’
Mark glanced at his watch. ‘Probably in the security line at the airport.’
Scott rolled his index finger over, as if spooling a tape backward.
Mark got the message. ‘They were cleared by the doctor and had no reason to – or interest in – staying around, especially with King upstairs here. Carter org’d their flights and took them to the airport. He’s escorting them right up to boarding.’
Scott swallowed an expletive.
Mark put a hand on his earpiece and then pointed at Scott. ‘Here we go.’
Scott got his headset on and sat down. He didn’t recognize the voice he heard. It had to be King.
King:
I didn’t need a uniform back then. And I was using the van.
Eric:
How’d you get them to go with you, then?
King:
It’s the red light district. How do you think I did it?
Eric:
You were a John?
King:
I wasn’t a John. I posed as a John. Two different things.
Eric:
So you asked the women to get in your van. Then what?
King:
You don’t have to ask them to get in! They ask you. Or haven’t you cruised the district, SA Ramos? Houston’ll tell you; they’re desperate to get in. Isn’t that right, lady?
Angie:
It’s Special Agent Nicks, Mr King. Answer the question.
Scott pulled off the headset. He couldn’t focus but he knew what he would have to do to get back on track. He indicated to Mark that he’d be back in a few minutes and went in search of the hospital’s post office.
When Scott returned and resumed listening, he could tell the interview had moved on.
Eric:
The garden and the garage. Why did you use them?
King:
First rule they teach us Bureau criminalists, something a lowly agent never learns: every contact leaves a trace. So I had to hang on to the bitches. Took ’em up the garden path. Literally. Ha!
Eric:
Why the dismemberment?
King:
Running out of space. Easier to transport from the back of the van. You ever move a dead body? It’s heavy. Because of the water or the bones, or both.
Eric:
But you didn’t just dismember. It looked like careful cutting.
King:
I’m flattered that you noticed. Yes, for show pieces, I took great care.
Eric:
Show pieces?
King:
The ones I’ve been scattering across the country in one long love letter to Special Adversary Houston.
Eric:
You mean the ones you left in Los Angeles?
King:
[Laughter] Uh, no, SA Ramos. He’s a bit slow, isn’t he, lady? Let’s ignore him. You, lucky lady, will find body parts everywhere between here and California.
Angie:
These are people you killed in other states?
King:
No, they were not people I did in other states. The body parts are from the same pros I picked up on Atlanta’s fine boulevards. I’ve dumped them along the interstate.
Angie:
Why did you do that?
King:
The glorious day finally arrived when Special Adversary Houston went public with his warning that a serial killer was loose in Atlanta and he gave a decent description of my van. I seem to recall he was flanked by you, Ramos but you stayed silent like the good little partner that you are. And that was the signal for me to start making it look like those bitches were killed elsewhere. I had some body parts frozen solely so I could dump them in places where they’d defrost in time to look fresh to the cops who’d find them. I left clues that different truckers came through Atlanta with regularity, picked up pros, took them interstate, and killed them while on the road. Houston would have been following that trail, with me leading him by the nose. And that would have been the end of the serial killer theory, the end of the interest in my van, and the end of Houston.
Angie:
We’re not aware of body parts being found outside Atlanta, besides the ones you lost in Los Angeles.
King:
Yeah, well, the cops are stupid. First they have to find the stuff, then they have to scratch their asses. It would have worked, in time.
Angie:
Mr King, if you’re going to do a deal with the prosecutors, you’re going to have to give up the locations of these women’s bodies.
King:
I am, am I? Listen, you don’t tell me how it’s done. I tell you how it’s done. [Unintelligible muttering] Bitch.
Eric:
Watch your mouth, King. Agent Nicks is right. They will not deal with you unless you give us locations.
Scott pulled off the headset to answer his cell phone, which had begun vibrating and displaying the Los Angeles number of his boss, Craig Turner. He walked into the hall as he answered.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘Houston. I’ve got your fax from this morning. The suspect’s declined legal representation?’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘Is the interview underway?’
‘Yes, I’m at the hospital now and Ramos and Nicks are in with him.’
‘And?’
‘It’s going well. They’re stringing him out, taking him round corners.’ Scott didn’t refer to how often his own name was coming up in the interview because he didn’t understand it yet.
‘Good. What have you got for material to ID the bodies coming from the suspect’s back yard?’
‘I spoke to Atlanta Missings this morning. They’re going back over the misper reports for cases that fit the
