Dance understood Madigan's approach. It was referred to as a blunt-force attack--a term borrowed from hackers who used massive supercomputers to run through all possible passwords to break encrypted messages. With blunt force, officers would inundate suspects with information about them and about the case, suggesting knowledge they didn't actually possess and connections that were tenuous at best. When delivered with confidence, as Madigan clearly had, the details sometimes got suspects to confess quickly.
Yes, blunt force could be effective. But if it didn't work right away, you ended up with a subject who stonewalled; any chance of getting helpful information would be ruined. Accordingly, Dance herself never used this technique. Her belief was that information was the most valuable thing an interrogator has. It could be a steel trap, it could be a weapon but to be effective it had to be fed out slowly to lure the suspect into revealing details that could later be used to trip him up. Madigan had just given away the most important key facts--that Bobby was dead, where the crime occurred and how it happened. Had she been conducting the interview, she would have kept those details secret for the time being.
Edwin looked over the deputy somberly. "Well, I'm very sorry to hear that about Bobby. That's sad for Kayleigh."
Madigan didn't respond. He said quickly, "Could you tell me where you were when Prescott died? Midnight last night?"
"Well, I'm sure you know I don't have to tell you anything but I'm a little surprised at this. Really, Detective. You clearly think I hurt Bobby. Why on earth would I do that? I'd never hurt anybody close to Kayleigh. But the answer to your question is, I was home in my rental."
"Any witnesses?"
"Maybe somebody driving by saw me, I don't know. I was in the living room, listening to music most of the night. I don't have curtains up yet."
"I see. Okay." Then he sprung the trap. Madigan leaned closer and said firmly, "But what do you say to the fact that we've got two witnesses that place you at the convention center around the time he died and then at Bobby's house this morning?"
Chapter 15
WHAT EDWIN SHARP said in reply was probably not what Madigan expected.
With a frown, further blending his dense eyebrows, he asked simply, "Did they have clear views?"
Don't answer, Dance thought to Madigan.
"They sure did. The house right across the road from the convention center stage door. And directly across from Bobby's house."
Hell, Dance thought. Edwin could now figure out exactly who the witnesses were.
He said, shrugging, "Well, they're mistaken. I was home."
Dance said to Harutyun, "Tabatha didn't ID anybody. She couldn't. Was there somebody else there?"
A pause. "Not that I know of."
"And is there really a witness by the convention center?"
"Apparently," Harutyun explained. Then decided to tell her. "Some woman lived nearby saw somebody around midnight."
"She positively ID'd Edwin?"
"I don't ... I don't think so."
The hesitation meant she hadn't, Dance decided. She recalled the layout. The house would have been across the parking lot, two hundred yards from the stage door. At night, she wouldn't have been able to make out more than a vague silhouette.
"Well, Madigan just told a possible homicide suspect about two witnesses and it wouldn't be that hard to find out their identities. They need looking after. He said he'd get some protection for Tabatha. Do you know if he did?"
"Tabatha, yes. The other one, I don't know."
"We need to."
"Okay."
And in the interrogation room, the one-on-one continued. Madigan was probably brilliant at getting confessions from the typical perp you saw in the Central Valley. But Edwin Sharp was not a typical perp.
Well, under Giles versus Lohan...
The stalker listened patiently, analytically as Madigan said, "And we've just been through your house, Edwin. We found a lot of interesting things, including latex gloves, the same sort that were used in the murder. And trace evidence."
Edwin said calmly, "I see. My house, hm? Did you get a warrant?"
"We didn't need one. My deputy noticed some things in plain sight."
"Even from the sidewalk?" the stalker asked. "Tough to see anything inside unless you entered on the property. Well, I don't really think you had the right to take anything. I want it returned."
Dance turned to Harutyun. "Did he get a warrant?"
"No, after we saw things were missing from Bobby's, the Chief sent a deputy over there--Miguel Lopez--and he saw things from the trailer through Edwin's window, in plain sight.... What's the matter?"
Dance didn't reply.
Inside the interrogation room Edwin was saying, "Well, I haven't been in Bobby's trailer, so ..."
"Oh, how did you know it was a trailer?" Madigan demanded triumphantly.
"That's right, you called it a 'house' earlier. I thought that was odd. I know where he lived because of Kayleigh's song two years ago. 'Bobby's Double-Wide.' All about the history of country music. Sort of like Don McLean's 'American Pie.' Surprised you don't know it. Being all gung-ho for Kayleigh, I mean."
Madigan's smile deflated and he seemed to be wrestling down his anger. "Just confess, Edwin. You want to, I know you do."
A textbook line from blunt-force interrogation. This is the moment when the perp might start to cry and, indeed, confess.
But Edwin said, "Can I collect my things now? Where are they? In the Crime Scene Unit? That's in the building south of here, right?"
The detective blinked. Then he said, "Look, let's be realistic here. Work with me. I'll talk to the prosecutor. I'm sure he'll cut a deal. Maybe you were arguing with Bobby. You know, that chest bumping that started at the Cowboy Saloon that afternoon? It escalated. These things happen. We could be talking reduced counts. And maybe he'll cut out the stalking charge altogether."
"Stalking?" Edwin seemed perplexed. "I'm not a stalker. Kayleigh's a friend. I know it and she knows it."
"Friend? That's not the story according to her lawyers."
"Oh, she's afraid of them. They're controlled by her father. They've all been telling her lies about me."
"That's not the way it is," Madigan said. "You're in town to stalk her. And you killed her friend because he threw you out of the Cowboy Saloon yesterday."
Edwin remained completely placid. "No, Detective. I came to Fresno to get out of the Seattle rain for a time, to come to a public concert ... and to pay respect to a performer I like, a woman who's been nice and frankly shown some interest in me. One of the best musicians of our era, by the way. You accuse me of stalking but I'm sorry, I'm the victim here. You never did anything about my call."
Madigan's face revealed confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I thought that was why your deputy Fuentes asked me here. My complaint."
"Complaint?"
"You don't know? I have to say that doesn't surprise me. Saturday night, I called nine-one-one and reported a Peeping Tom, a trespasser, behind my house. But nobody did anything about it. You've got, what? Twelve hundred deputies? I just needed one to come out and see where this guy was standing, talk to the neighbors. But did they? No. Not for an out-of-towner."
With a grim laugh, Madigan responded, "We have four hundred deputies in Fresno and sixty in Madera. They cover over six thousand square miles of territory from the Valley all the way up to the mountains. I'm afraid a Peeping Tom, if there really was one, isn't going to be all-hands-on-deck."
Dance noted that if the stalker was on a fishing expedition to get information about the limitations of the sheriff's office, he'd certainly succeeded.
Edwin kept up the offensive, easy as a June day. "Your hometown girl is, quote, 'stalked' and you think it's the end of the world. I'm a newcomer and nobody cares that somebody's casing out my house. If Bobby Prescott was murdered and witnesses place me at his house, or trailer, then I'm being set up. Somebody had another reason to kill him and they're us
ing me as a fall guy. You really have to understand, Detective, I love her. I'd never hurt anybody close to her."
"You don't love her, Edwin. You're obsessed with a celebrity who doesn't know you from Adam."
"I think love has to have some obsession to it, don't you, Pike? Aren't you obsessed with your wife some? Or weren't you, at one point?" Edwin had spotted the wedding ring.
"You will not talk about my family!" Madigan sputtered.
"I'm sorry," Edwin said, frowning. His eyes were enigmatic but belied contrition.
Madigan said, "Kayleigh doesn't love you at all. You're way off base."
Efforts to get suspects to admit they were wrong, or that their beliefs were based on errors, were usually useless, especially in the case of fanatic-or obsession-based crimes like stalking.
Edwin shrugged. "You say that but you know she sent me emails and letters. She practically said she loved me."
With some difficulty Madigan controlled his anger. He said, "Son, you have to get real here. She sent you the same emails she sent to ten thousand fans. A hundred thousand. We've been briefed by her lawyers. You got a half dozen form emails and a couple of form letters."
"That's what they're telling you. Doesn't mean it's true."
"Edwin, a lot of fans feel that way about performers. I sent a fan letter to a star once. He sent me back an autographed picture and--"
"He?" Edwin asked quickly.
Madigan hesitated a moment. "We got you dead to rights, son. Tell me the truth. Tell me you killed Robert Prescott and we'll work something out. Tell me and you'll feel better. Believe me."
Edwin said, "You know, Pike, I think I don't want to say anything more. I'd like to leave. And I'd like to pick up my things now. People versus Williams. You have to arrest me or let me go."
Dance asked Harutyun, "The evidence? It places Edwin at the scene?"
She didn't even bother to wait for a reply. Harutyun's shift of eye away from her was all she needed. "He doesn't have any forensics, does he?"
"We think it'll probably match.... But no, he doesn't have any yet."
"Dennis, ask the Chief to come in here."
"What?"
"I need to talk to him. It's very important."
Harutyun examined her, glancing down at the ID on her belt. His mouth tightened beneath the mustache. He realized that she had deceived her way inside.
"I'm sorry," Dance said. "I had to do it."
He grimaced and sighed. Then snatched up a phone and dialed a number. They could hear it buzz inside. Madigan looked at it with surprise and irritation. Edwin didn't pay attention but instead turned and looked into the reflective glass. Since he couldn't see the occupants of the room he wasn't focused on either Dance or Harutyun but the mere transit of his eyes in their direction was unsettling.
And his smile was wax. That damn smile.
"Yes?" Madigan said casually into the phone, though Dance noted a white thumb where he gripped the handset.
"Detective?"
"What?"
"I'm here with Agent Dance. She'd ... like to have a word with you? If possible."
His incredulous eyes started to swivel toward the mirrored window too, then he restrained himself.
"At this moment?"
"That's correct. It seems important."
"Wonder how she ended up in there."
Did the stalker know what was going on? Dance couldn't tell but he continued to look at the mirror.
"I'm busy."
Dance grabbed the phone. "Detective, let him go. Don't arrest him."
After a moment, Madigan dropped the phone into the cradle. "Edwin, have some water."
"I want to leave," he repeated, the essence of calm.
Madigan ignored him and stepped outside. It seemed like a matter of seconds before the door flew open in the observation room and he was storming up to Dance.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"You've got to let him go. If you don't have probable cause--"
"This's my case, not yours."
She knew she'd embarrassed him in front of his people. But she couldn't help herself. "You have to let him go."
"Just 'cause you figured out somebody dropped that light on Bobby Prescott doesn't mean I want or need any more of your opinions."
So, she reflected. Dennis Harutyun had given her credit for that deduction, back at the convention center.
"He has to be released."
A jagged edge in his voice, Madigan said, "So you're on his side now?"
Dance found she was quite angry. "It's not a question of sides. It's a question of proving a case. Edwin may very well've killed Bobby. But if he goes to trial and gets off, that's double jeopardy. He's gotten away with murder."
"I answer to Sheriff Gonzalez, not you."
"Let him go and monitor him. It's the only way to make a case."
"And what if he gives the deputy the slip and decides it's time to kill Kayleigh. Like Rebecca Schaeffer."
The actress who was murdered in Los Angeles some years ago. Her tragic death at the hands of a stalker had led to California's enacting the first anti-stalking law in the nation.
"Well, you saw his--what do you call it, kinesics? That's your expertise, you were pretty quick to tell me. Was he lying when he said he was being set up? You'd trespassed into the observation room by then, hadn'tcha?"
"I couldn't tell under those circumstances. I didn't have time."
"Ah."
"He's asked to leave and you haven't let him. That's a problem."
Madigan looked at Edwin in the room. The young man had pulled out a pen and pad of paper and was jotting notes. A lot of them.
Madigan called to Harutyun, "Book him. Cuff him and get him to detention. Breaking and entering at Bobby's only at this point. I know there's evidence for that." He turned to Dance. "Crystal'll take you to your car and you better go now. You being in here's trespass and, as you can probably tell, I'm in an arresting mood at the moment."
Chapter 16
AFTER FIFTEEN MINUTES of silent driving, Crystal Stanning said to Kathryn Dance, "I didn't block you in on purpose. I just parked there."
"I know that."
In Stanning's personal car, a sun-faded Toyota, they were just pulling into the drive of Bobby's trailer. The young detective stopped, brakes squealing. A belt needed replacing pretty soon too. The grass here, pale and thin, looked dustier and more spiky than before. Heat ripples undulated like sheets of flowing water above the Pathfinder.
Stanning fished another set of keys from her purse and said, "Yours'll be hot. You'll be wanting to mind the wheel. People've gotten burns." They climbed out.
"I'll take care."
"And here it is September. I don't know 'bout glaciers melting but I'll tell you it's hotter now than when I was a girl."
"I hear you."
"You can buy those windshield shades at Rite Aid. They work pretty good. Though I imagine you won't be staying around."
Dance wondered if Madigan had asked his deputy to drop that into the conversation to see where it went.
She said only, "Thanks."
"Just 'tween us?"
"Sure."
"Kayleigh Towne's a big deal here. Fresno's not the glitziest place on earth. We come in real low on nice-places-to-live surveys and Kayleigh's made us famous. I don't know, maybe the Chief thinks you're here to boost yourself up, you and the CBI, I mean. Take her away from us, you might say, with this investigation. And if that happens, the sheriff's office'll lose out on the money. Maybe a lot of it."
"Money?"
"Yeah, if we can't handle the case, he's thinking that'll go into the hopper when it's budget time. See, he fights hard for us in the department, the Chief. One time, he was convinced we couldn't find this girl got herself kidnapped and killed because CSU couldn't analyze some dirt trace at the scene. He still feels bad about that. So he's always fighting for more pennies."
"I see."
"He got his dirt mac
hine, whatever it is. Don't know that it gets used much but that's the way he is."
Without another word, the deputy drove off.
Dance walked to her vehicle.
So what do I do? Even if she wanted to take on the case, which would mean working with a wholly uncooperative local team, she didn't think her boss or Sacramento would go for it. Whatever Madigan felt, the CBI was the least political law enforcement organization she'd ever had contact with. Even if the suspect had been after a much more famous star, a stalking case wasn't the sort the bureau would take on. Yet, Kayleigh was a good friend, other people were in danger, she was convinced, and Madigan was outgunned by Edwin Sharp.
That odd smile, the calculation, the calm demeanor, the research. They were armor and they were weapons.
And what was beneath that smile? What was in his heart and mind? To a degree unlike any other suspect she'd known, Edwin Sharp was a mystery. She simply couldn't read him.
She got into the Pathfinder.
Got out again immediately. It had to be 130 degrees inside. She leaned in, started the engine and rolled down the windows. Then turned the AC on full blast.
As she waited for the interior to moderate, she walked closer to Bobby Prescott's trailer, now marked with crime scene tape. She thought again about the astonishing collection of music history inside.
Brush and grass waved in the breeze and dust ghosts rose and vanished. She realized it was completely deserted here now, aside from the squad car in which a young Asian-American deputy sat in front on the shoulder, with a view of both Bobby's and Tabatha's trailers.
Despite the absorbing heat, Dance felt another chill of unease. She'd thought of another implication of Madigan's arresting Edwin Sharp. If someone else was the killer, and he was using "Your Shadow" as a template, then he'd have free rein to carry out the next murder without fear the police were searching for him.
Finally the Pathfinder was cool enough to drive. She put the vehicle in gear and drove away from the scene, the yellow police tape fluttering cheerfully in the breeze behind her.
Debating.
I don't want to do this. It'll be a nightmare.
But ten seconds later she made the decision and was on her phone to the CBI office in Monterey, on her boss's voicemail.
"Charles. It's Kathryn. I need to take over an investigation in Fresno. Call me for the details." She debated about explaining what kind of nuclear detonation this would provoke and the political nightmare that would ensue.