The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (68 page)

“Yeah,” Garrett said. “Yeah, it was the first time for him, like you said. You know, I can have sex like any other man. Better than any man. Don’t need the pain, not all the time. Did it with Drew, real gentle like he wanted, real sweet. Then showed him who I am, that was sweeter. Created the most perfect betrayal. Most incredible surprise. Took him so high, then so damned low. You couldn’t do either.” A pause, then, “If his friend could testify, you would have used it by now, Ash. You didn’t have any evidence when you came here. Except the partial fingerprint.”

“The evidence was mostly circumstantial, that’s true. But it added up to be statistically impossible that it was anyone else.”

“You couldn’t arrest me on that basis.”

“But I knew it was you. And now I have these tapes.”

“You won’t be in a position to use them, Ash.”

“Yes, I will.” And Fletcher smoothly changed the subject. There was no point in returning to the threats. Not yet. “Tell me about how you camouflaged yourself in each new state.”

“People see what they want to see, bunch of idiots. Self-deluded, right? I’m this nice friendly guy, I employ their sons and friends and nephews, I buy them beer. That’s what they want to see, they don’t look beyond it. It’s easy, all you have to do is charm them.” He grinned for a moment. “You know what works? Tell them enough of the truth, they won’t look for more. Tell them you’re queer, but still be a friendly regular guy, they won’t go looking for anymore dirt.”

“You’ve always been open about being gay?”

“Sure. It’s no big deal. Or it wasn’t, times are changing again. Just buy people off, with charm and money. Donate the right amounts to the right political campaigns. Do some volunteer work for them, putting up signs, handing out pamphlets, applauding speeches, whatever. Then they work for you. I  usually follow the Democrats, they’ll hate that when they know what I am. If you get through this, tell them all about me, Fletcher.” He laughed at this joke he’d been playing on an entire political party. “You know how the system works, Ash. Money and deals.”

“Yeah,” Fletch murmured, “I know.” ‘Favors and bribes’ was how Albert had described it. Not a nice idea, Xavier being friends with a man like this for the sake of his money and support. At first Fletcher felt relieved that it was years since Garrett was in Denver because that meant he’d missed the beginning of Xavier’s career - and then Fletch wondered what sort of people Xavier was mixed up with now instead.

“It’s easy,” Garrett was continuing. “Never enrolled to vote, though, no one ever realized that. Never gave anyone my name and address I didn’t have to.”

This was exhausting. Not only the late hour and that they had just begun on the fifth tape, but the very nature of the interview was draining Fletcher. And then there was all the tension of fearing what the outcome would be. Nevertheless, he had a few more questions to ask. His first priority, of seeking enough verifiable evidence to arrest and convict the man, had been fairly well covered. The second priority, of discovering what crimes Garrett had committed that Fletch didn’t already know about, was broadly met - though Fletcher needed names and more detail. His third priority, of discovering something of who Garrett was, required some further answers. Fletcher asked, “What’s the link between the victims?”

Garrett didn’t reply, again seemed to have lost interest.

“What are the similarities? What are you looking for?”

“What do you think?”

“For a start, they’re all attractive. Is that vanity on your part, or is there some reason?”

“You understand, Ash. You find them attractive.” Garrett smiled a little. “Are you queer, too?”

Fletcher said, very easily, “No.”

There was a silence, as Garrett returned to his own thoughts.
At least
, Fletcher took the time to reflect,
I’m a better liar than an honest man should be
. Discovering this fact was merely one more of a million reasons he didn’t want to be here, to be doing this.

From the first, when he’d resolved on this confrontation, Fletcher had little faith he would survive the night. Though he seemed to have Garrett fooled with his mock confidence, Fletcher took the man’s threats seriously. But Fletcher remained certain of one thing: if he was going to die tonight then he would take Garrett with him.
This is the end of the line.

And the latest lie was easy, too, though with it he denied his love for Albert.
Don’t believe me, Albert, just like you never believe me.
It was easy to lie because some day half the people in America would be listening to this tape. Fletcher had never really known whether he’d be able to lie if Caroline asked him directly. He couldn’t quite imagine how she’d word it. Probably something like, ‘Fletcher, please tell me my suspicious mind has been working overtime. You’re not having sex with Albert Sterne, are you? I don’t know how I could ever have even thought such a ghastly thing.’

But he should be able to lie to Caroline - he’d lied to Albert, Mac and Celia that night, after all. And they had accepted the stories necessary to ensure Fletcher could do this on his own, they had trusted him enough to not even question him. He’d lied because he had to do this, and they would have stopped him. Because they shouldn’t be a part of this horrible thing, or no more a part of it than they already were.

Strange that he and John Garrett should be sitting here silently, each immersed in their own thoughts, almost like companions.
How can this be possible? And what the hell is going through Garrett’s mind right now?
Fletcher let out a quiet breath, recalled his last topic. “Your victims,” he said, and Garrett lifted his head, looking almost as dull as when Fletch had arrived that night. “You said something about wanting them to be real. What does that mean?”

“Important to know them, know who they are.” He shrugged, asked heavily, “What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Fletcher said. “Most of them were young men who had a future, who were doing things with their life, who had potential. Why?”

“Important they didn’t surrender.” The words almost listless. “They had spunk, they fought me, that was the best. They had further to fall.”

Fletch abruptly asked, “What made you this way?”

That seemed to generate a little more interest. Garrett looked across at Fletcher. “Wanted to play football, they never let me on the team. Didn’t do well at school, grades were poor, wanted to go to college, had to work instead. Things might have been different.”

“It can’t be that simple, John.”

“If I’d known I was queer,” Garrett said, apparently appealing to Fletch. “Might have been different. If I’d had a friend, a boyfriend.”

“Maybe. But there’s a lot of other men out there who never got to play football, who never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Why didn’t they become killers?”

“They weren’t as smart as me.”

“Tell me about your parents, John.”

This obviously annoyed the man. He shrugged and looked away. “My father left us when I was a kid, left us for good. My mother  - hell, she never did anything in her life but get pregnant and drink herself to death. Why?” Garrett asked with great sarcasm. “Think I’m their fault?”

“There’s no easy answers for any of us. I don’t know what made me the way I am, either.”

“Then don’t practice your psychology on me. Amateur hour. Who are you to tell me it wasn’t because I didn’t go to college? What do you want to hear?” The tirade grew louder: “You want to hear my father hit me? My mother tied me to a chair because she was too drunk to look out for me? Child abuse, sure it’s in all the newspapers now. Real fashionable. Didn’t know what it was then. No one to help. No one to tell. No friends. Just had to deal with it and do the right thing. Tried to do the right thing, never understood why it was so damned important.”

Fletcher said quietly, “I’m sorry, John.” Strange that he could feel grief for the boy John Garrett used to be. But grief for the boy didn’t forgive the crimes the man had committed.

“Fuck you, Ash. You’re twenty years too late with
sorry
. Don’t want your pity. Obvious no one was going to give me a damned thing, I  did the right thing or not. So I took what I wanted. You’re all cowards, living by the rules. Have to be brave enough and smart enough to stop taking all the damned shit.”

“You’re aware that you’ve broken the rules?”

“Of course I damned well know.”

“You realize that murder is wrong? Yet you choose to commit murder.”

Garrett was glaring at him, furious. “Don’t give me this shit, Ash. If I know right from wrong I’m sane, I can stand trial. Crazy. Right and wrong has nothing to do with it. Right and wrong has nothing to do with laws or what my father told me or any damned thing. Nothing to do with a boy’s pain, nothing to do with the heat when the darkness comes. Said you understood. Said - their death be slow, their terror be great. Right and wrong is nothing compared with that.”

“John, listen to me,” Fletcher said, very calmly. “Listen to me now. There was a point to it, there was meaning in what you did, when you had control. But you don’t have control over it anymore.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me that?”

“You said it yourself. You said it doesn’t mean anything without control.”

“No,” Garrett said.

Unsure whether that was agreement or denial, Fletcher continued, “I’m arresting you, Mr Garrett, for the murders of Andrew Harmer, Philip Rohan, Stacey Dixon, Sam Doherty and Tony Shields. I’ll also charge you with the other murders we’ve talked about.” It was almost frightening, how little effort it took for Fletch to list all of the deaths from memory. “One in Illinois, two in Minnesota, three in Washington State, four in Wyoming, three in Colorado, four in Georgia, five in Oregon. Twenty-two murders, Mr Garrett. This is the end of the line.”

“No.”

Garrett had both hands on the edge of the table, gripping hard. If he pushed now, Fletcher would be temporarily pinned in his chair. Fletch kept a very wary eye on the man, ready to move.

“This isn’t the end,” Garrett said, colder now. “Can’t be. Stupid to come here, Ash. Going to kill you. Planned it out for Steve, how it would be, you’ll do instead. Better. You’ll know exactly what I’m doing. How long I can make the pain last.”

“I’m not going to let that happen, Mr Garrett.”

“You’ll do fine. Then whatever boys I want. Maybe Steve. Maybe Andy Halligan. Maybe I’m too smart for that. I’ll move on, another state. Find three boys. Another three after that.”

“Listen to yourself. You used to be in control. You used to wait for two years. You’ve lost the whole point.”

“No.”

“You used to be so clever, but you’re making mistakes, John. You’re making mistakes and then deliberately forgetting about them. You’ve got yourself fooled but you can’t fool me.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, Ash?” The man was almost roaring. “When this ends, it’s on
my
terms. Long way to go yet. Plenty of deaths along the way.”

“No, John, this is the end now.”

“You’re not arresting me, I told you that. Deal is you die or I die. That was the deal. Maybe we both die, Ash.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You die, then. Long and slow. Beautiful. Could make it last for days. Tell me which was your favorite? Which was the one that really turned you on? Maybe Georgia. So brutal, no finesse to those deaths. Mass of pain until the darkness came.”

Fletcher stared across at the man, unable to respond.

“You die, and I keep killing. No one else knows what I am. They’ll let me go. Nowhere near finished killing, Ash. So many boys out there. So many lovely boys with the spunk to fight me. Glorious.”

“I won’t let you go, Garrett. I won’t let you hurt anymore young men.”

“You’ll let me go. You’ll be a beaten bloody mess. Won’t lift a finger to stop me - your fingers will all be broken.” And the man laughed.

“I’m arresting you,” Fletch repeated. “Your threats are worthless.”

“If you’re so damned determined this is the end of the line, Ash, kill me. You die or I die.” Garrett paused, breathing heavily. “What? You’d rather society did it for you. Gas chamber, electric chair, hanging, injection, bloody firing squad. All care, no responsibility. Coward. You want to end this,
you
end it.”

“Don’t think I won’t, if you force me to.”

“Coward, can’t even say it.”

“Don’t think I won’t kill you, Mr Garrett, if you force me to.” Fletcher explained, “There are a handful of people who have to be fought on their own terms. You’re one of them. And I choose to fight you.”