‘Any vandalism charges?’ Darnell asked curiously, holding back the information fed to him from Lae regarding her warnings at Springfield University.
‘No, not to date.’
‘So can we question her?’
‘For what?’ Vanessa shrugged. ‘A one-off fine for a protest and a dissertation topic, which any anarchist would’ve thought up on this course? The fact that three of them chose a similar subject really shows how accessible this theory is. I think we need more than what we have to question her.’
‘You and I are very different.’
‘How so?’ Vanessa looked at her colleague with intrigue.
‘I go in like a bull in a china shop, question everyone until I get to the bottom of things,’ said Jackson. ‘While you take your time and pounce when you’re sure of your suspect. We both get there in the end, but our processes are polar opposite to each other’s.’
‘I guess that’s true. My process doesn’t get us sued though.’
‘I’ve been in the biz for thirty years. I ain’t been sued once.’ Darnell laughed before blowing his nails. ‘Had my fingers burned a few times though.’
‘I guess we even each other out. Ying and Yang.’
*
Chatham, Illinois is a small suburban town, stretching just over five square miles and housing a population of 12,000. Like its surrounding villages, it lacked any character but had a warmth which only grandma’s house could offer.
The flat village had row upon row of identical homes, broken up by a cluster of shops. It had little history of crime as its residents looked out for each other and their homes. The neighbourhood watch was used for local gossip rather than protection. Darnell chuckled as he imagined the uproar this scandal would cause in the suburban haven if their suspicions were correct.
They arrived at Rick Spabrunt’s home, having found the address in the Oak Ridge personnel records. It was a one-storey house with colonial blue cladding covering the exterior. A garage was attached to the property with the doors wide open; inside the detectives spotted someone sawing wood. As their lights shone in on the inhabitant, a shaved scalp, piercings and tattoos came into their focus from the driveway, matching the man they’d seen in the CCTV footage.
‘He’s our man.’ They shot each other a celebratory glance before stepping out of the car. As they lifted their badges towards their suspect, Rick stepped back in horror, attempting to cover his head. His disturbed Disney tattoos shone beneath his perspiration and a dirty white tank-top could barely hide the incredible likeness to the man whom Vanessa had spotted at the Confederate Club, but she wasn’t going to share that with Darnell, nor her suspect, just yet.
‘Well, Mr Spabrunt, you look quite different to the photograph on your personnel file. Would you kindly come with us?’
‘What’s this about?’ Rick replied with terror.
‘We have some questions regarding your involvement in the disappearance of Lincoln’s body.’
‘Everything I know I’ve already told the police.’ He threw up his hands in the air before thrusting down a cloth he was using to wipe his grubby work-hands.
‘Well we have some outstanding enquiries. You can either come down with us now, quietly and calmly in our car. Or we can make things very difficult for you later. We’ve arrived today in an unmarked car. As far as your neighbours know we’re just out-of-town visitors. How would they react if we sent some of our boys in blue down to pick you up in handcuffs?’
‘OK, OK,’ Spabrunt replied with a resigned tone. ‘Let me make a call though, I want my lawyer at the station when I get there.’
‘As is your right. We’ll be by the car.’
*
At the station, Rick was joined in the interview room by his lawyer, a fifty-something white-haired woman in a grey suit. Ms Turnbecker JD had large square glasses with purple shaded lenses and white frames. She looked eager to smoke, a habit she would have been able to enjoy inside the station walls earlier in her career.
‘Tell me where you were on the night of 1st November 2012?’ Darnell led the questioning. The suspect replied with ‘no comment.’ Darnell continued. ‘Where were you on the night of the 3rd November 2012?’
Rick Spabrunt remained silent.
‘Did you poison yourself on November 7th 2012 when Lincoln’s body was stolen?’
‘No comment.’
‘Where is Lincoln’s body?’
Ms Turnbecker sighed and tapped her pen on the table. She offered the detective a resigned stare before turning to her client and rolled her eyes.
‘God damn it, will you talk?’ Darnell hammered his fist down onto the desk, making the others at this interrogation table flinch. Vanessa disapprovingly sneered at her colleague before turning to the lawyer and smiling.
‘What my colleague means is, it would be helpful to your client if he could support us with our enquiries.’
‘My client has the right to remain silent,’ Turnbecker replied. ‘Why don’t you start by showing us what evidence you have to suspect Mr Spabrunt?’
‘We have CCTV footage to show your client entering two separate Lincoln sites days before the disappearance of the kidnapping of his body. In those locations, a symbol was left on certain signage or artefacts. The same symbol which was spray-painted onto the President’s coffin moments before his body was stolen.’
‘So what? My client has been visiting Lincoln sites. He has an interest in the former President, like most Americans with an eye for history. Would it be so odd that someone who works at one Lincoln site would want to visit other sites out of interest for his work, or for his own pleasure?’
‘Funny how his appearance changes between business and pleasure.’ Darnell glanced at the spiral carvings on his shaved head and his tattoos on his
