Page 47 of Nothing Watching

With one last burst of energy, Juliette tackled Vogel to the ground, causing him to cry out in pained surprise as his body hit the sidewalk. He struggled beneath her, thrashing and trying to break free, but she held him down with all her strength. Her fingers dug into his arms, and she could feel the disproportionate, wiry strength in his body.

Wyatt arrived at her side a few moments later, panting and out of breath, but with his handcuffs at the ready. Juliette held on for grim death as Wyatt got them around the fugitive’s wrists.

They could see now, in the full light of day, the dark circles around his eyes, the wild curls of his hair, and the thin line of his lips. He was taller than Juliette had expected, with broad shoulders and a lean frame. His black fleece jacket did have a hood, Juliette noted.

“Get off me!” he screamed, emitting a volley of swear words to accompany the futile cry. “How dare you shackle me! I will not be restrained by common police!”

“Actually, you don’t have a choice,” Juliette panted, holding on tight to his right arm while Wyatt took the left. “Save your breath for walking.”

She and Wyatt pulled him to his feet and marched him quickly to the car, still gasping for breath and looking at each other in disbelief.

This man was intelligent and crafty and surprisingly fast and strong. He’d almost gotten away. A combination of teamwork and dogged determination had allowed them to catch him, but the hardest part was still ahead. He wasn’t going to break easily during questioning, and Juliette knew that the deciding factor might be the DNA testing. But that would take time they didn’t have.

To solve this case in the limited window they had available, they had to make him talk.

And from his behavior so far, Juliette knew that was going to be a challenge. This was a highly intelligent, devious man who was capable of thinking on his feet, and who had absolutely zero respect for the law, or even for society’s norms. Undoubtedly, he was a sociopath—but was he a killer?

The stark reality was that if they couldn’t get a confession from him, they might be pulled off the case before this could be confirmed.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Until the DNA evidence confirmed it, by the earliest tomorrow, there was no definite link between this suspect and the crime. That was uppermost in Juliette’s mind as she walked into the interview room with Wyatt to face Frederick Vogel. The burden of obtaining proof now rested on their shoulders. If they were right about him, this would be a challenge.

If they were wrong about him, and the killer was still out there, it would be a disaster.

A DNA sample had already been taken from Vogel, or “the mad professor” as Juliette had mentally categorized him, and for good reason. He’d been ranting, spitting, cursing, and threatening nonstop since being dragged into the police station, resisting every step of the way.

There had been no logic to his threats. No coherence. Out of his mouth, murderous promises were pouring, interlaced with long, rambling, and inaccurate quotations from great literary works.

Making any sense of what he was saying was like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

As they entered the interview room, Vogel looked up at them with a glare, his eyes wild and feral. Juliette could feel the anger emanating from him like a palpable force.

“What do you want?” he spat, his voice shrill and venomous.

“We want to ask you questions about the murders,” Juliette replied, knowing that she was in for the long haul here and there would be no easy answers. “We believe you may have information that could help us.”

Vogel spat out an instant denial. “I don’t know anything. And why would I help you, when you are nothing but scum?”

“We believe you may know something,” Juliette said firmly. “For a start, we have some parallels between your circumstances and the killer’s likely methodology.”

“You’re comparing me to a killer?” he sneered.

“It’s clear that the killer has an in-depth knowledge of literature, just as you do. And then, your history of assaulting young women is also of interest.” She frowned at him, noting that he was now looking uncomfortable. “And then, more importantly, the way you tried to evade us when we arrived at your front door is a sign of guilt.”

Vogel leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your words are nothing more than hot air, like the devil’s breath on my shoulder. I know better than to listen or reply. Your dull, meaningless blathering could suffocate a man.”

Juliette sighed, knowing that this was going to be a long and difficult interrogation. But she was determined to get to the truth, no matter what it took.

“Why did you run from us?” she asked. Surely a reasonable question, but from the way he huffed out a furious breath, it appeared otherwise.

His face twisted in anger. “Now you ask? Put yourself in my shoes. I was at home, working on a particularly challenging philosophical theory. I was grappling with a high-level concept that is so far beyond your menial intelligence that I won’t even try to explain it. And then, at a critical point in my thinking, you tried to invade my private space? I do not have the mental energy to engage at such a low, common level, so I chose to leave. You didn’t deserve to have me dignify you with my presence!”

Juliette didn’t believe that excuse for a second. But she had to admit that he was proving adroit at avoiding the questions.

“Running is a clear sign of guilt,” she insisted.

“Running is just my way of ensuring peace of mind. The justice system is riddled with incompetence and bias. You have nothing solid against me. And you will not. Life’s wheels will turn and the truth will be revealed. You will know, in time, that what you see here in front of you is nothing more than someone willing to martyr himself for the burning causes of free thought and personal autonomy.”

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