Page 14 of 1st Shock
For Avery.
Dan swings it open and I follow Charlie inside. The white-haired man is chained to the table, but he angles his rail thin upper body toward us. In the photo Charlie showed me on the ride here, Mickey's hair was dark brown. It must’ve been from years ago because this guy in front of me looks ready for the Early Bird special at the local diner.
This skinny, white-haired old man butchered all those women?
He gives Charlie a long once over. Have I mentioned my sister is beautiful? Her light brunette hair combined with hazel eyes and high cheekbones make her, even at her worst, an absolute stunner. Mickey appreciates this, ogling her with hungry eyes that scream of evil. God only knows what he'd do to her outside these walls.
Protocol aside, no wonder they have him shackled.
"Well," he says, "my lucky day. You're my second visitors, and you're so much more enticing. What do you think, sweetheart? Want to show me your tits?"
And, here we go.
"Knock it off, Mickey." Charlie, ever the cool, professional, offers him her nothing face. The flat-lipped, you're-an-idiot one. "I wasn't willing the last time you asked, what makes you think that's changed?"
His mouth lifts into a half-smile. "Thought you'd take mercy on a locked up old man. Can't blame me for trying."
Um, actually, we can.
Opposite Mickey, there are two chairs tucked under the table. Charlie pulls one out and motions for me to sit. "This is my...associate."
My sister. Always protecting me.
I nod and wait for Charlie to set her briefcase on the floor before sitting down. Once seated, she retrieves the red folder containing case notes and my sketch of Avery. She sets it on the table and takes a second to straighten the folder. As expected, the pause lures Mickey's narrow-eyed and extremely focused gaze. My sister is no dummy. She knows how to work a situation. She also understands the inner-workings of a psychotic mind and right now, a depraved serial killer sits across from her, damned curious about what might be inside.
But Charlie is in no hurry. She sits back and crosses her long legs, placing her hands in her lap. Her interview pose. Casual, but firm.
"I'm working a cold case," she says, her voice direct and unflinching. "I think you might be able to provide background."
The killer's eyebrows hitch. "Background?"
"Yes."
"Like what?"
"Like, you're already going to die in here and we have four women, all young, all blondes, found near the beltway. I think, based on my prior interaction with you, you might know something about these murders."
Go. Charlie.
As usual, she's not taking any guff. She wants answers. So do I.
Mickey lifts a shoulder. "And what? You want me to tell you I killed them so you can provide—what's that word?"
He peers up at the ceiling and makes a humming noise that grates against my already compromised nerves. I know Charlie has a system, a routine, if you will, but this place and man are awful. It's as if someone has opened a valve and every last bit of my energy has drained.
After a full ten seconds, Charlie or no Charlie, I can't stand it anymore. "Closure."
My voice draws his attention and he stares at me. His eyes are a coffee brown dark enough to blur his irises, leaving nothing but two blots of blackness on his face. All is see is death. A shiver runs straight to my heels, but I remain still, refusing to let this filth know he's rattled me.
"Yeah," he says. "Closure."
Charlie waves an elegant hand. "Why not? You're not going anywhere, and it won't cost you anything."
"But maybe it'll get me something."
This we expected. We'd even discussed potential bartering items with JJ. During the conversation, he guided us on reasonable requests versus the hell-no variety.
Charlie maintains her pose, clearly unaffected by the fact she's sitting in front of a serial killer while I’d like to vomit. Given her experience, I'll leave the negotiating to her.
