'This man said one other thing before he hung up,' Mr Givens said. 'He told me not to worry, that justice was going to be done. That's what he said. What's your partner's name? Tracey and I would like to thank him.' In the basement, mounted inside a wall, was a rolling food carrier and next to it, a door locked by a magnetic keycard unit.
Darby helped Rowley police search the rooms. When a keycard wasn't found, the fire department was called to dismantle the door.
She gave her statement to two Rowley detectives. Phone calls were made. Forensic investigators from the state lab were called but wouldn't arrive for a few hours. In the interest of saving time, Rowley PD agreed to let lab technicians from Boston help process the crime scene. Everyone agreed to share.
Word of what happened to Hannah Givens had reached the media, and by 2 a.m., the small, quiet street was filled with news vans and reporters hoping to get an exclusive, behind-the-scenes interview. Darby watched them from the bedroom window, wondering if Walter Smith was still alive.
84
Jonathan Hale stood in the cold room of an old mill building just outside of Vernon, Connecticut. Malcolm Fletcher had selected the location for its privacy. There were no surrounding buildings, no street lights. The nearest house was ten miles away.
Dr Karim had seen to the travel arrangements. One of his men had driven Hale from his hotel to this location. As far as the authorities were concerned, Hale was sleeping inside his New York hotel room.
'Nobody knows you're here,' Fletcher said. 'Walk straight down this hall and turn to your left.'
The abandoned building had no lights but Hale could see well enough in the moonlight. He took off his overcoat and handed it to the former profiler.
'Aren't you coming?'
'This is something you have to do alone,' Fletcher said.
Jonathan Hale wore sneakers, jeans and an old Harvard sweatshirt similar to the one Emma had given him for his birthday. Fletcher had instructed him to wear old but comfortable clothes. The former profiler had also given him latex gloves to wear underneath his leather ones. The clothes, gloves and jacket, everything he was wearing, would be collected in a trash bag and given to Malcolm Fletcher to be thrown into an incinerator.
The hallway ended. Hale turned left and stepped inside a cold room lit up by patches of moonlight.
Walter Smith, the man who killed Emma, was bound to a chair set up on a large plastic tarp, the corners weighed down by rocks. A blindfold covered his eyes. He mumbled underneath the gag secured across his mouth.
The man's face was horribly scarred. He looked like a monster.
He is a monster, Daddy. He abducted me, he abused me and shot me in the back of the head and dumped me into the Charles River. He killed Judith Chen and he was going to kill that other woman, Hannah Givens. He's a monster.
A hammer, revolver and hunting knife were lying on the tarp. The gun, Malcolm Fletcher said, was the same one used to kill Emma and the second college student, Judith Chen.
Hale picked up the revolver. It felt incredibly light in his hands.
For weeks now, he had rehearsed this moment in his mind, playing out different scenarios to see which would be the most rewarding. Shooting the thing in the back of head was too merciful. Hale wanted him to see the gun, wanted to see the look of terror and hopelessness in the thing's eyes and drink it all in until the pain faded. Then he would say Emma's name and shoot the thing in the face.
Or maybe he would prolong it a bit.
Hale walked across the tarp. The thing didn't move its head at the sound but it kept mumbling underneath the gag. Hale pulled off the blindfold.
There was something wrong with the creature's expression. Its eyes were wide, unblinking, staring off in the distance. Hale turned around and saw the corner of the room. There was nothing there.
The thing didn't move, didn't look up, but kept talking underneath the gag. Hale untied it.
'Hail Mary full of grace I am with thee blessed is me and blessed are you among mothers and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Walter -'
It was praying – a bastardized version of Hail Mary.
'- Holy Mary Mother of God and Walter pray for the sinners now at the hour of their death amen. Hail Mary full of grace I am with thee -'
Hale pressed the gun against the monster's head. It didn't flinch; it didn't scream or cry. It had no reaction. Every muscle in its body was rigid, frozen, but it kept praying.
'Look at me,' Hale said.
The creature didn't look.
With his free hand, Hale reached underneath his sweatshirt and clutched Emma's locket in his fist. The hate he had been nursing over the past year burned inside his chest along with his love for his daughter. His love for Emma would not go away. His loss would not go away. His hatred for this man – this monster, this thing… It had to suffer. It deserved to suffer.
Kill it.
Hale's heart was beating so fast he felt dizzy.
That thing killed me, Daddy. It put a bullet in my head and dumped my body in the river. You saw the picture. You saw what he did to me.
Hale stared at the gun. His gloves were covered in blood.
Startled, he dropped the gun and instead of picking it up stumbled back through the hallway.
Malcolm Fletcher stood with his back to him, staring out of one of the broken windows.
'What's wrong with him?' Hale said.
'He's catatonic.'
'He wouldn't look at me but he kept praying.'
'Walter is waiting for his mother, Mary, to come to him. Incidentally, Walter told me Mary chose Emma and the other women for him.'
'Why?'
'The Blessed Mother promised him love.'
Hale looked back down the hallway. 'When will he come out of it?'
'Impossible to say,' Fletcher said. 'Walter could remain in his current catatonic state unless he's given the proper medication. Even then, there is no guarantee.'
'Why didn't you tell me this earlier?'
'Would it have made a difference?'
Hale looked at his gloves. There wasn't any blood.
'I can't do it.'
'Do you mean you can't kill him yourself or you don't want him killed?'
'I can't kill him myself.'
'Would you like some time to reconsider?' Fletcher asked. 'We have all night.'
'No. I've made up my mind.'
'What would you like me to do?'
'You told me what you did to Sam Dingle. You said you had the same thing in mind for Walter.'
'Yes.'
'Have you made the necessary preparations?'
'I have.'
'Then take care of it,' Hale said, tossing his gloves to the floor. At 4 a.m., Darby sat on the unmade bed where Hannah Givens, Judith Chen and Emma Hale had slept and checked her watch. Bill Jordan still hadn't returned her phone call. She tried calling Neil Joseph but there was no answer. Was he still looking for Jordan in the maze of crumbled rooms where no cell-phone signal could penetrate?
