Part 22 (1/2)
”Bulls.h.i.+t, no way did I leave a trace there,” Randall snapped too quickly before realising his error.
Barrett smiled for the first time, but it was a shark's smile, devoid of light and life. ”Just think how easy it would be for me to find some physical evidence, Mr Zerneck; some fibres, a little blood under her nails?”
”You wouldn't dare.”
”Oh I would, Mr Zerneck. I would dare to do that and a whole lot more. Just think of the story: a reporter obsessed with the Crucifier case to the point of staging a murder. h.e.l.l, maybe you are the real killer after all and Martin Kline was your patsy?”
Several thoughts raced through Randall's head all at once from anger to fear, but in the end all he could say was, ”So what do you want from me?”
When Jane woke again, she was lying on the back seat of a car driving steadily along a main road. She sat up slowly, fighting the wave of nausea, and looked forward.
”Here,” Danny said, reaching back and pressing the silver brooch into her hand.
”Thank you. Where's Doctor Reese?” she asked Danny, who was sitting up front and driving alone.
”Gone, I dropped him off; there's no need to keep him involved any further,” Danny answered, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.
”Is he going to tell?”
”No, or at least I hope not. Maybe if he gets backed into a corner he might crack, but right now he's already taking some leave from work and heading off on holiday with his daughter.”
”Are we in his car still?” Jane asked, concerned.
”No, it's a rental and don't worry I had a friend do the paperwork, a very discreet friend.”
”Nathan, your boyfriend?”
”Yes,” Danny answered after a long pause.
”So I'm guessing that no one knows about him?”
”You'd guess right.”
”So where are we going?”
”There's an old cabin in the woods.”
”Sounds ominous.”
”It belongs to Nathan's grandfather. We should be safe there; no one knows about him or the cabin,” Danny stressed. ”As far as Nathan is concerned, it's just me using it. He doesn't know anything about you or our jail break so no one will look for either of us there.”
”So what, we're just going to hide out?”
”We need some time, Jane - time to figure things out.”
”You mean time to catch this man.”
”Yes, because right now we're the only ones looking.”
”That doesn't make me feel any easier, Danny.”
”Well, what else can we do? There's a stack of dead people here, Jane ... friends,” he said in a small tight voice choked with anger. ”I couldn't walk away even if I wanted to.”
Jane knew that he made sense; she felt the same way, but they were just two people, and fugitives no less. ”So where do we start?”
”With this,” Danny said, plucking an old fountain pen from an envelope on the pa.s.senger seat.
”What is it?”
”One last present from the departing doctor. He managed to snag it from the evidence locker at the station.”
”Dare I ask who it belonged to?”
”Martin Kline. It's the pen that he used to write his ledgers with. I thought that we could find you a secluded spot and let you hold it for a while.”
The room was a raging torrent of camera flashes as the gathered photographers scrummed and jostled for position with raised tempers and sharpened elbows. The pressroom was woefully small for such an event but Barrett had insisted on leading the press conference and he wanted it to be far away from the meddling of London.
His suit was pressed and cleaned and his b.u.t.tons gleamed under the lights. He stood tall and proud, commanding the room with his presence and relis.h.i.+ng the antic.i.p.ation.
”Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please,” he announced loudly and was happy to see that the room immediately quietened.
Several hands shot up, trembling arms desperate for attention, desperate for answers, but he ignored them all.
”I would like to start by announcing that the man responsible for the recent spate of deaths in the area has been identified and an end has been put to his reign.”
”Is it true that a reporter for The London Herald caught and killed the man in a desperate struggle?” a man bellowed out from the back of the room, with no regard for protocol.
”I am here today to put to rest several rumours that seem to be circulating,” Barrett said in a strong clear voice. ”Randall Zerneck was working with the police in a very limited capacity, under my direct supervision,” he lied. ”After becoming aware of serious deficiencies within this very station, I took it upon myself to intervene and run this investigation personally.”
”You mean Detective Inspector Meyers?” a female reporter called out.
”All I can say is that there is an investigation into a senior member of the force based here in Faircliff. As the investigation is currently under way, I am unable to comment further at this time.”
”Are you saying that you are responsible for the identification of the Crucifier?” another reporter quizzed.
Barrett smiled broadly. ”What I will say is that this investigation is the result of much hard work from many dedicated men and women. I would also like to add my displeasure at the need of the press to attach such casual nicknames to such serious crimes.”
”If it was your investigation, then how come Zerneck was in Kline's bas.e.m.e.nt alone?” an attractive woman demanded, standing up in the front row, and Barrett made a mental note to invite the woman back for a little one-on-one later.
”Unfortunately, when dealing with... non-professionals,” Barrett said, leaving the right length of pause to underline his point, ”there can be lapses of judgement. Mr Zerneck acted somewhat hastily and placed himself in a very dangerous position; he was very fortunate that we showed up in time.”
The rest of the press conference was a tap dance as Barrett managed to dance around several key issues and create the appearance of his own success without divulging too many details. He knew that Zerneck was going to back his new version of events without too much fuss. He could spot a coward a mile away and Zerneck had 'self-preservation' stamped through his core like a stick of Blackpool rock. He would allow the reporter enough credit to sell some books but it was now Barrett's face that would be at the forefront of any national praise.