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Authors: Thomas H. Cook
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round with Smalls, then if nothing came of it, he’d drive to Seaview and see what he could dig up.
He made his way down the corridor, concentrating on this final confrontation, thinking of Anna Lake, of how, for her, he had to make it work. The clock at the end of the corridor was silent but relentless, the seconds falling like stones, burying him. He opened the door and noted with pleasure the way Smalls looked up and shrank away from him. Fear, he decided as he stepped into the room, that must be his tactic. He would scare Albert Smalls to death.
Do you have to leave me here?
8:28 P.M. , Interrogation Room 3
Cohen nodded slightly as Pierce came through the door. “All yours, Jack.” He rose from the chair and stepped away from the table.
Pierce swept into the empty chair as if on a wing of fire. “Look at this, Smalls,” he snapped. He drew a photograph from his jacket. “This is Catherine Lake. She was eight years old. She was murdered eleven days ago. In the park. By the duck pond. The path she took through the park went right by where you were … what … sleeping? Isn’t that your story? That you were sleeping in that drainage pipe?”
“I was asleep.”
“A woman found her,” Pierce said hotly. “A young woman who was walking near the pond. Do you rememberthat woman, Smalls? The woman who found Cathy Lake’s body? We told you about what she saw in the park on the night of September first. Eleven days ago. Let me tell you what she saw.”
8:32 P.M. , September 1, City Park, Duck Pond
She saw a figure, ragged and unkempt, scuttling across the shadows of the path just as she rounded the long curve at the southern tip of the duck pond, and for a moment Nancy Lisbon stopped and simply watched as the figure lumbered along the edge of the path for a few yards, then wheeled around to face her so that she saw his features clearly beneath the streetlamp, noted the snarled beard, the leaves and dirt that clung to it. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she remained still, resolutely facing the filthy, bedraggled creature who peered at her from a distance of thirty feet.
He stared at her, motionless, like some animal frozen by her gaze. Then he began to undulate in a curious slithering motion that sent a chill through Nancy Lisbon, turned her around as forcefully as a hand, sent her racing back at a dead run around the duck pond, panicked and gasping, until she saw two uniformed patrolmen and told them what she’d seen.
“He scared me,” she told Zarella. “Like a snake scares you.”
“Okay. Show us where you saw this man.”
Lisbon led the two officers back down the path, darkness closing in around them, lacing the trees in complicated shadows. On the way, she thought of the figure who’d confronted her on the path and knew absolutely that she would never again walk in the park, that this good, healthy, relaxing thing had been stolen from her forever.
“Right there.” She pointed to the curve in the path. “Just beneath the light. That’s where he came out of the bushes. Then he started moving in that weird way.”
“Where did he go after that?” Sanford asked. “Did you see?”
“He walked along the edge of the path,” Lisbon answered.
“How far down the path?” Zarella asked.
“I don’t know … ten yards maybe.”
The two cops headed down the path together, past where Lisbon had first seen the bearded man, then ten yards beyond it to a break in the shrubs.
“About here?” Zarella asked her. “This is where he stopped?”
“Yes. He stopped and turned back toward me,” Lisbon replied. “That’s when I got scared.”
“Okay,” Sanford told her. “Just stay here on the path for a minute. We’ll go take a look, make sure this guy’s nowhere around.”
“Do you have to leave me here?”
“Just for a couple of minutes,” Zarella assured her. “We’ll come back right away and escort you out of the park.”
Lisbon nodded stiffly. “Please,
He made his way down the corridor, concentrating on this final confrontation, thinking of Anna Lake, of how, for her, he had to make it work. The clock at the end of the corridor was silent but relentless, the seconds falling like stones, burying him. He opened the door and noted with pleasure the way Smalls looked up and shrank away from him. Fear, he decided as he stepped into the room, that must be his tactic. He would scare Albert Smalls to death.
Do you have to leave me here?
8:28 P.M. , Interrogation Room 3
Cohen nodded slightly as Pierce came through the door. “All yours, Jack.” He rose from the chair and stepped away from the table.
Pierce swept into the empty chair as if on a wing of fire. “Look at this, Smalls,” he snapped. He drew a photograph from his jacket. “This is Catherine Lake. She was eight years old. She was murdered eleven days ago. In the park. By the duck pond. The path she took through the park went right by where you were … what … sleeping? Isn’t that your story? That you were sleeping in that drainage pipe?”
“I was asleep.”
“A woman found her,” Pierce said hotly. “A young woman who was walking near the pond. Do you rememberthat woman, Smalls? The woman who found Cathy Lake’s body? We told you about what she saw in the park on the night of September first. Eleven days ago. Let me tell you what she saw.”
8:32 P.M. , September 1, City Park, Duck Pond
She saw a figure, ragged and unkempt, scuttling across the shadows of the path just as she rounded the long curve at the southern tip of the duck pond, and for a moment Nancy Lisbon stopped and simply watched as the figure lumbered along the edge of the path for a few yards, then wheeled around to face her so that she saw his features clearly beneath the streetlamp, noted the snarled beard, the leaves and dirt that clung to it. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she remained still, resolutely facing the filthy, bedraggled creature who peered at her from a distance of thirty feet.
He stared at her, motionless, like some animal frozen by her gaze. Then he began to undulate in a curious slithering motion that sent a chill through Nancy Lisbon, turned her around as forcefully as a hand, sent her racing back at a dead run around the duck pond, panicked and gasping, until she saw two uniformed patrolmen and told them what she’d seen.
“He scared me,” she told Zarella. “Like a snake scares you.”
“Okay. Show us where you saw this man.”
Lisbon led the two officers back down the path, darkness closing in around them, lacing the trees in complicated shadows. On the way, she thought of the figure who’d confronted her on the path and knew absolutely that she would never again walk in the park, that this good, healthy, relaxing thing had been stolen from her forever.
“Right there.” She pointed to the curve in the path. “Just beneath the light. That’s where he came out of the bushes. Then he started moving in that weird way.”
“Where did he go after that?” Sanford asked. “Did you see?”
“He walked along the edge of the path,” Lisbon answered.
“How far down the path?” Zarella asked.
“I don’t know … ten yards maybe.”
The two cops headed down the path together, past where Lisbon had first seen the bearded man, then ten yards beyond it to a break in the shrubs.
“About here?” Zarella asked her. “This is where he stopped?”
“Yes. He stopped and turned back toward me,” Lisbon replied. “That’s when I got scared.”
“Okay,” Sanford told her. “Just stay here on the path for a minute. We’ll go take a look, make sure this guy’s nowhere around.”
“Do you have to leave me here?”
“Just for a couple of minutes,” Zarella assured her. “We’ll come back right away and escort you out of the park.”
Lisbon nodded stiffly. “Please,
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