Eleven (37 page)

Jack announced himself and gestured to the rest of us as being a team from the BAU of the FBI.

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

“We’re here about your wife. We’d like to step inside.”

“She is dead.”

“Yes, we know.”

Knowles hesitated, but he ended up consenting with a nod and another adjustment of his glasses. He stepped inside his house and held the door open for us.

One observation I made of Jack was the man never asked for anything, he presented everything as a directive.

“Come sit in here.” Knowles directed us to the living area, and then excused himself. “I just need to turn the oven off. You have me right at dinner hour.”

Family portraits hung on the wall, and a large wooden cross was centered between them.

Knowles returned a few minutes later. “You’re here about Anna?” He played out the sign of the cross on his chest and took a seat.

“Where were you five days ago?”

“Tuesday?” The older man adjusted his glasses again. “I don’t understand.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I was with a church group for children.”

“What time?”

“From eight until five. It was a Bible camp day.”

“I assume you have people who can verify this.”

Knowles ran a hand over the top of his head. “At least twenty. Why are you asking me these questions? I thought you were here about the man who killed Anna.” Pain saturated his tone of voice.

“We are.” Jack leaned back into the sofa pillows.

“You think?” Knowles placed a hand on his chest. “There is no way I would have done that to my wife. No way. Detectives came, and they took my statements, my alibis. I endured days of interrogation. I spent nights behind bars while Anna’s killer had freedom.” Knowles balled a fist and punched it into his thigh.

“You went on to become a Catholic priest.”

The fist loosened. “That is right. I sank my life into the Lord to deal with what had happened to Anna, to all those other people. There is so much evil in this world.”

“You thought by preaching you could change the world.” I caught the cynicism in Jack’s tone and Knowles didn’t miss it either.

“The Bible can affect you more than one might realize. It’s a hard thing to quantify, but it has only positive effects when put into practice.”

“You retired two years ago now.”

“Just because I am no longer a priest doesn’t mean that I don’t live by the word. I practice peace—”

“Make confessions.”

“But of course. To be forgiven, one must confess one’s sins and repent.”

Bingham’s words refreshed to the forefront,
confess your sins, or don’t and be punished
.

“And you believe you have the power to forgive sins?”

“As a priest I served as a mediator between man and the Lord.”

I watched Jack’s face take on an uncomfortable contortion. “What about Lance Bingham? Does that name sound familiar to you?”

“Of course.”

“From Twitter?”

“Twitter. I’ve heard of it. That’s some online social networking thing, right?”

“Right.”

“I don’t even own a computer.”

“We show you as Bingham’s follower. Maybe The Redeemer sounds more familiar to you?”

“Follower? I’m not sure what you’re talking about. The Redeemer is our Lord and Savior.” Knowles latched his hands on his lap. “But either way you’ll find no computer here as it allows a place for the Devil.”

“You said you know the name Lance Bingham, is it because he donated money to your church?”

“Lance was a nice guy and a family friend, an active member of the church before Anna. We had been friends before I became a priest, before Anna went missing.” He stopped talking for a few seconds, and I heard voices which sounded like they were coming from a television.

“You said a family friend, so you were close?”

“Very close. Every Sunday, he came for dinner. I tried to tell Anna he was a troubled soul, but she wouldn’t have any word of it. She said that he just had a hard past and that he needed people who could look past imperfection and love him for who he was.”

“Troubled soul and a hard past,” I said, stepping into the questioning session. It brought a glare from Jack and a sideways smirk from Zachery.

“He had a horrible temper.” Knowles looked at me. “As told by him, anyway. We were never witness to it.”

Controlled rage would fit Bingham. We knew Bingham to be an organized killer, one who gave thought to his method of operation, targeting of his victims, the outplaying of their torture and then demise. In his mind, his actions were justifiable and he felt no remorse over the kill.

“What was his childhood like?” Paige’s soft voice caused Knowles to face her.

“His parents weren’t very good people if you ask me.”

“You knew them?”

“Only what Lance told us, but he’d seal up and excuse himself a lot of times the subject came up.”

“What did he say?”

“His father was a religious man.
Very zealous
, as Lance put it on numerous occasions. Now Lance never came out and said it, but I think his old man beat the church into him. And maybe it took too because Lance was an outstanding example for—”

A man came through the doorway to the living area. His hair was clipped short, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses like his father. “Who are these people?”

“Don’t you worry about it.”

“They’re cops?”

“This is my son, Reggie.” Knowles halted eye contact with any of us, and his head bowed forward if only a little. “These are FBI agents investigating the murder of your moth—”

“It’s about time!” Reggie adjusted his glasses as his father had earlier. “She’s been gone forty years.”

“You would have been young at the time,” Jack said.

Reggie’s eyes snapped to him. “I was a baby.”

“It is harder on a small one than you would think,” Knowles said.

“I turned out just fine.”

Knowles’ jaw went askew for a second.

Reggie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon so if you would all leave now.”

Knowles stood. “This here is my house, Reggie, and if you want to continue living under my roof you listen to me.”

Jack stood and the rest of us followed his lead. “We might have more questions moving forward.”

“Of course.” Knowles was angry, as evidenced in his eyes and the subtle pulse in his cheek. “You know just because her body was found, I still don’t have full closure. Capture the man who did this to her. Please.”

In the car, Jack spoke first. “We need to get a background on that kid.”

“You heard him. He would have been a baby at the time of his mother’s murder,” Zachery countered.

“Like you mentioned before what’s to say Bingham had a partner from the beginning? Maybe this kid found Bingham, and like Royster fell prey to his manipulation tactics. He could have filled his head with talk about his mother.”

Zachery played out the thought, “And he started killing other people?”

“He had a rough start in life. His mother was murdered, his father was so grieved he turned to the church and made that his family.”

“Did you notice when Reggie said he turned out all right he didn’t accredit his father for that, and in turn his father didn’t back up Reggie’s self-assessment,” Paige added.

“Oh, I noticed and it seemed like he didn’t even want his son in our presence,” I said.

“Hey good point, Brandon. He did seem embarrassed by him. I noticed that as well.”

“So the question is why.” Jack dialed on his cell phone. “Nadia you’re on speaker. I need you to pull a background on a Reggie Knowles, likely Reginald.”

“Of course. And about the list—”

“You’re finished it?”

“No, I’m not having any luck getting a hold of the church administration. I’m going about it the long way. That’s how I knew about Bingham donating—”

“Keep us updated. And Nadia?”

“Yeah.”

“You have a video tape coming to you for early morning delivery. I need you to rush review of the footage—”

“No problem.”

“It’s been recorded over.”

A pause on Nadia’s end and then, “I’ll do what I can.”

“I trust you will. Call right back with Reggie’s background info.” Jack ended the call and spoke to us. “Knowles said that Bingham had a strict upbringing.”

“Which is the perfect elixir for a narcissist. Because of a strict home environment, they feel like they need to be perfect, and when they fall short, they feel the need for punishment. This results in an obsessive-compulsive disorder where they feel they always have something to prove and need to excel their contemporaries. That’s based on statistics anyway,” Zachery said.

“We also need to think outside the regular parameters with this case because Bingham targets those he gets close to, contrary to statistics on serial killers. He has such control that he’s able to take time with his victims. He has mastered the art of manipulation so that he can even turn an enemy into an ally—thinking of Royster.” Jack’s cell interrupted him. He answered. “You’re on speaker.”

“I have the background,” Nadia paused there.

“And?”

“It doesn’t look good, boss. There’s no present address on file for him. His last known was jail back in ’93 when he was twenty-two. He had been serving time for drug possession and B&E with a weapon. He landed a homeowner in the hospital with a broken arm and rib. But that’s not all.” Nadia took a deep breath. “There was a psychological assessment attached to the file. He expressed a desire to hurt living things. You know those cards that are held up and the doctor says, tell us what you see—”

“Nadia, point.”

“He always pictured a wounded animal, a bird without wings, dogs without legs, mice without tails. You get it. We have to get this guy, boss. But I’ve done a quick trace in the system, and nothing’s coming up. Like I said no current address, no credit cards, and no cell phones are registered to him.”

“It’s all right we know where he is.”

“You know—”

We were on the move back to the house.

CHAPTER 36

Lance Bingham prided himself on two things—self-control and intelligence. Of course, he realized the two inevitably relied on the other. Without intelligence dictating the result of action, restraint would be impossible.

He sat at the cafeteria table with men wedged so tightly on either side, it made it hard to lift a fork to his mouth. Brushing his arms against theirs made him want to tear their limbs off. He imagined them lying on the floor bleeding out.

The images of blood brought a sense of accomplishment. He had taken control over the lives of numerous souls, more than law enforcement would ever discover. They would define him a serial killer. The smile had widened before he killed it by stuffing a forkful of mush into his mouth.

And Anna—Anna was special. She barely screamed when he cut her. The fact he kept in control had impressed him. Normally their cries were what steadied him. He took pleasure in death, but the execution was equally if not more important.

The discovery in ’86 had been responsible for his move to Salt Lick. He remembered the face of Detective Martin Jenkins as clearly as if he were standing in front of him today.

Another smile formed and was destroyed by another mouthful of food.

The memory brought with it an inner satisfaction. The detective had no idea he had been talking to the killer.

Bingham stabbed his fork into his plate, and the fat guy to his right made the mistake of looking at him. Bingham felt rage flutter through his veins, an uncontrollable pulsation. His hands shook. He thought of it. He imagined it. He had to harness control of it. Slowly the shaking calmed down and then stopped.

He wouldn’t ruin everything over this piece of shit. He was too good for that. He killed with purpose, not simply for pleasure. And he had taught his followers this, but they had disappointed him. They had made a mistake. They had led the investigation to them simply because they could not operate as he had—with control and intelligence. They felt they could get close to the feds without being touched. They felt they could invade the young agent’s home—
special agent
—he corrected in his thoughts. What an arrogant young man he was. But still they could never know exactly how Anna had started everything.

Jack directed Paige and Zachery to the back of the house and the images of Royster’s residence flashed through my mind. We were approaching this the same way. I imagined bullets hailing through the front window. Instead, the front door swung open. Reggie Knowles stepped onto the concrete steps. “What are you—”

“Going somewhere? It’s dinner hour.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Reggie went to move by us.

“Turn around. Hands behind your back.”

“Why?”

“Now!”

“Okay, okay.”

Jack snapped on the cuffs and said, “You should remember how this feels.”

Reggie projected a wad of spit toward Jack’s face, which barely missed and landed in the grass.

“And you just assaulted a federal agent.”

“This is bullshit!”

Jack yanked back on his arms, turning Reggie around to face the road. He pushed him forward. Reggie planted his feet.

“Dad!”

Paige and Zachery came back around to the front of the house. The door opened again, and Keith Knowles stepped outside. He seemed to have aged since we left the house less than ten minutes ago.

“Dad, tell them I’m innocent. Tell them!”

All of us watched as Keith Knowles retracted back into the house and closed the door.

“Dad!” Reggie’s legs buckled, but Jack hoisted him up.

“He can’t save you from where you’re going.”

Reggie hurled a wad of spit again, and this time it hit Jack’s left cheek.

“You are so going to be wishing you didn’t do that,” Zachery said.

Jack said nothing.

 “Agents how nice to see you again.” Sergeant Haynes came down to the interrogation observation room.

Other officers had led us in and directed us here for the process to begin. Jack was in the room with Reggie Knowles.

Haynes stood beside me and stuffed his hands in his pockets, something I surmised he was good at by this point. An observer who no longer got his hands dirty, but allowed his subordinates to stain theirs with lies.

“You still aren’t going to tell us what’s going on here.”

“We will when it’s necessary,” Paige answered. “And it’s not yet necessary.”

“You’re the one who shot that unarmed man at his pawn shop.”

“He was only unarmed
after
your officers removed evidence.”

The Sergeant rocked on his feet. “That investigation is in process.”

“Well, then I suggest until you finalize it you keep your mouth shut about it.”

I smirked, impressed by Paige’s ability to stand up for herself.

The rocking stopped, and the Sergeant’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. His eyes focused through the glass.

“Your record speaks for you.” Jack paced the room, holding a beige file folder that contained a printed copy of Reggie’s background.

“That was who I used to be.”

“A leopard never changes his spots. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Maybe one an old person knows.”

“Seems to me you’re not a kid yourself. You turned forty last month.”

Silence.

“You feel like a kid?” I knew Jack’s tactic was to play to Reggie’s pride, test the perimeters.

“I’m not a kid.” He drew out every word.

“You like to hurt things.”

Reggie didn’t say anything.

“But, I mean if they deserve it—”

“Then they deserve it.”

“Fair enough.” Jack took a few steps around the table. “How did losing your mother affect you?”

“I was a baby.”

“But you grew up without her.”

“Dad had other women, at least until he really found God.”

“You say that mockingly.”

“He may have appeared righteous, but the man isn’t all that pure.”

Jack sat across from Reggie. “Why do you say that?”

I knew Jack was working to get close to Reggie, to open him up so that he would expose himself. Once Jack felt he had established a connection, he would turn on Reggie and this would serve to ignite him and hopefully result in a confession.

“He’s not unlike anyone else at church. I don’t even know how he was approved to be a priest.”

“What do you mean not unlike anyone else at the church?”

“No one is all good.” Reggie rubbed a flattened hand on his throat.

“Your father did things.”

“Everyone sins. Ask God.” Reggie laughed. “But as long as you confess and repent you shall be forgiven.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“Not at all.”

“You have a record.”

“I’m true to who I am. I don’t hide behind some self-professed righteousness.”

“Where were you five days ago?”

Reggie didn’t even take the time to think about it. “Scoring coke on the corner of MLK and—”

“You do realize you’re telling a federal agent this.”

“You need to prove it.”

“You just gave me your confession.”

“Then I shall be forgiven.” Reggie took a bow from the chest up across the table.

In the observation room, Sergeant Haynes said, “The guy’s not so bright. Isn’t drug possession part of what landed him in jail before?”

“He knows we still have to find him in possession,” Paige said before glancing at Zachery and me.

Inside the room, Jack didn’t say anything for nearly a minute.

Reggie adjusted his seated position.

Jack opened the file on the table. “You were sent to Juvie in ’84. You were thirteen. And then you spent some time in jail for drug possession and armed B&E. You assaulted the homeowner. We want to know what you’ve been up to since you got out in ’93?”

We knew the first murder in Salt Lick dated back about twenty-five years ago at which time Reggie Knowles would have been behind bars. But we also knew that Bingham likely didn’t have a partner from the start.

“You’re the fed. You tell me.”

Jack looked to the mirrorpane and ran a finger across his neck.

“We need to ask you to leave Sergeant.” Zachery made the request.

“Leave? This is my police station.”

“This is a highly sensitive case.”

Haynes looked among the three of us, and when he realized we weren’t going to back down he left the room.

Jack confronted Reggie with the truth. “You have anger in your soul.”

“How would you presume—” Reggie’s words stopped there.

“You have pride in who you are.”

“Like I said, I’m true to who I am.”

“Most people with your record would have kept it going, but you haven’t seen behind bars since ’93. Maybe it’s just because you haven’t gotten caught?”