Finals (31 page)

I may as well admit to everything. What was the point in drawing out the inevitable? Denying it would only bring about an unnecessary court case, and knowing my ex the perfectionist, I’m sure the evidence she had was material. I could already see the impending waterfall about to hurl me towards the grave, what was the point in paddling against the current when it was all but over?

A confession would lead to a quick sentencing and I hoped that given the severity of my crimes, my punishment would be death instead of life imprisonment. Rotting in a cage with the constant worry about dropping the soap had no appeal to me.

Before receiving my sentencing, I imagine the press might want a word. I had no clue what I’d say, but the interview is never really about the criminal. The victims and their families will receive plenty of face time undoubtedly. My parents, the blonde, the roomies, and maybe Vickie, Lexie or one of my other friends might have a chance to speak. I imagine there will be copious amounts of tears, scattered with admissions that I didn’t seem capable of committing such horrible offenses. I could hear it now, “A good Catholic boy like Wayne couldn’t do such awful things. I still don’t believe it.”

After my fifteen minutes of fame, with any luck this infamous killer could get one last meal of steak and potatoes before the toxin circulated in my system, bringing sweet everlasting relief. But first things first, I had to have a discussion with Portland’s finest.

Once Dick Tracy brought me over to his two colleagues, a grizzled old son of a bitch gave me the once over as he gnawed on his chewing tobacco.

“
This the kid?” he said, spitting a little of his tabacky on my shoes.

“
Yeah,” grunted my chaperon.

“
I’ll take him up to Dunn. He wants to talk to him,” said the old timer.

“
Great, another chat with the real life Denzel,” I thought. Given the fact that I had lied straight to his face during our last pleasant get-together, I’m sure he was going to be more than pleasant to speak to this time around.

“
Getta going,” grumbled the old codger, grabbing my shoulder as he jerked me forward toward the Buckley Center.

I was surprised to see the Buckley Center so empty when we entered the doors. Evidently, Dunn and his entourage were lurking elsewhere.

The first floor was so eerily silent you could hear a pin drop. Walking by a slew of classrooms, I turned back to ask the old guy where my interrogation was to take place but as if reading my mind, he mumbled, “Elevator,” and we pressed forward.

After passing a half-dozen rooms we arrived at the elevator, which sadly was already on the first floor meaning I couldn’t prolong my encounter with Dunn. An encounter I was dreading more and more with each passing second. As pathetic as it sounds, I was scared to death of seeing him. He was just a man after all, but the guy had a frightening aura about him. I vividly remember the scene in
American Gangster
where
Denzel smashed a guy’s head continuously into a piano in front of a crowded room of party-goers. I could already picture the real life Denzel throwing me across the room as if I were a rag doll, as his gang of affiliates stood idly by watching the investigator beat the shit out of a deceiving lunatic.

I looked at the “stop elevator” button as our ascent towards Dunn began. With one quick press of this button, I could delay my rendezvous with him, and delay my trip to the big house. This prospect was faintly promising until the old man noticed my glance.

“
Two things, son. One, you press that button and you’ll be sorrier than a Jew on Christmas. Second, you tell Dunn everything you know, no bullshit, and you’ll have nothing to worry bout.”

Then for some strange reason with grandfatherly affection, the veteran gave me a pat on the back. The old timer must have dementia or else he didn’t know the severity of my crimes because there was no way Dunn was going to slap me on the wrist after admitting to all my wrongdoings.

Once the doors of the elevator opened, my question regarding the task force’s whereabouts was answered in a resounding fashion. It was as if the entire police station was squished onto this one floor. The majority were uniformed officers like the dinosaur by my side, a few had on suits, and a handful of fellas wore those legendry dark blue FBI jackets.

In a strangely sick way, I felt vaguely proud of my achievements after witnessing such a packed reception. I felt like Hannibal Lector, the elusive criminal mastermind, finally entangled by the police’s well-spun web.

As my elderly escort guided me through the various members of the police assembly, I was somewhat disappointed by the lack of attention. By no means did I expect an uproar of cheers as I stepped off the elevator but I figured at least a few officers might react. I anticipated being hit with loads of vulgarity, mockery and possibly even a couple of loogies. Yet, as we made our way pass the masses, it was as though I were as insignificant as an ant scurrying across the hallway. A few officers glanced indifferently at the two of us, but hostility or anger was certainly not present in their eyes.

Guiding me by the hordes of cops, it seemed as though we were heading towards the Arts and Sciences Department. Like most school days, this narrow hallway was plastered with people, and today several dozen cops clung to the walls like posters as the geezer continued to push me forward.

There were five huddled individuals wearing well-pressed suits and sport jackets outside of Father O’Connor’s door, talking in hushed voices as we drew nearer. This bunch of higher-ups definitely had their work cut out for them today since I’m sure having a meeting with the media was necessary, as well as bringing yours truly to my new residence so I could begin eating gruel and showcasing my new orange garb for the demented perverts I was bound to meet soon enough.

Moving by the five suits, I was pushed into O’Connor’s office. Dunn along with another suit stood looking out the lone window out onto the vacant courtyard. Father Time cleared his throat with a wheeze.

“
Dunn, here’s your boy.”

Turning around, Dunn let out a short, “Thanks,” before focusing his attention squarely on me. The old man freed me from the cuffs before he ventured back into the crowded hallway.

Dunn looked as though his night had been similar to mine. His eyes were red, his face unshaven, and his tie loose. I was curious to know how long ago Dunn had begun the quest to find me. I wasn’t overjoyed to see him again, but since he appeared sleep deprived too, I found it hard to believe a malicious beating was on the verge of taking place.

As I glanced around the room, apparently the coppers had felt it was worthwhile to rip apart the priest’s office in an effort to collect more incriminating evidence against me. Books and documents were scattered about as though a cyclone had whipped through the office. Desk drawers were open; the contents thoroughly examined no doubt.

O’Connor’s file cabinet was overflowing with stacks of folders and papers, many of which sat nearby on the floor. Sitting atop the priest’s desk was a laptop, which had probably already been checked for potential information, as well as one of his many Bibles.

“
You’ve ransacked this place pretty good, I hope you found something,” I said to Dunn, who had been staring me down this entire time.

“
If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Dunn said gruffly, his bloodshot red eyes centered squarely on me. “You won’t be seeing O’Connor for a long time.”

“
Okay, Dunn” said the well-dressed stranger, as if Dunn trying to bully a killer such as myself was unacceptable. “My name is Captain Matthews. I’m sure you’re aware of why Investigator Dunn and I are here.”

“
Oh, I have an idea,” I said, trying cover up my nervousness with sarcasm.

“
Take a seat then and we’ll get started,” said Matthews.

Matthews had turned the two chairs in front of Father O’Connor’s desk so they were now facing one another. As I sat across from Captain Matthews, he didn’t seem like such a bad guy. The man wore a classic gray pinstripe suit that also matched his gray hair that was now beginning to recede. For some reason he reminded me of Tommy Lee Jones. He gave off the impression that he was both easy to talk to but at the same time he wasn’t here to play games, kind of like Jones’s character in
No Country For Old Men.

Out of the two men in the room, I was more than happy to have Captain Matthews sitting in front of me rather than Dunn, who was still standing by the window.

“
I’m sure you have some feelings about this mess, son,” Matthews said calmly, leaning forward in his chair. “Is there anything you wanna get off your chest?”

I had rehearsed having this discussion hundreds of times since my last devious act. Questions such as “Where were you on the night of…?” or “Did you kill…?” or even the philosophical, “How could you commit such a…?” ran through my head continuously. No matter what I was doing or thinking at any one moment, like a carousel ride, my thoughts would revolve back to these questions.

During my rehearsed speeches, I would usually go one of two ways. I would do my best to come up with convincing lies, or the truth would burst out of me, silencing my inner darkness once and for all. However, when it came to answering Matthews’s question I did neither.

“
Aside from what Hayley Summers told you, I don’t really have much to add,” I said. Although my goose was basically cooked, I didn’t have it in me to confess everything like a blubbering idiot. The darkness wouldn’t allow me to lose all self respect.

“
I severely doubt that,” Matthews answered matter-of-factly. “You were much closer to Father O’Connor than she was.”

“
Yes, I was,” I replied candidly, not sure why it really mattered. Together they had discovered I was a mass murderer. Why did it matter which one of them wrote the memo, the email, the bulletin, or whatever the hell it was that led me to this moment?

“
In fact, according to the priest you were one of his favorite students. Did you know he has a picture of you and the Andrews Hall gang in his house?”

“
Yes,” I said again.

“
And you’ve been over to his apartment?”

“
Yes.”

“
More than once I believe?”

I was starting to get pissed off by this line of questioning, partly because I had no clue where he was going, and partly because I was surprised that he wasn’t grilling me about Brent or Harvey.

Was this the warm-up round and more hostility was on the horizon? Dunn hadn’t said much of anything, meaning maybe the whole good cop, bad cop routine was coming up. These questions weren’t even about me. Maybe Matthews was merely loosening me up for the onslaught of inquiries about to escape from Dunn’s lips.

“
Yes, I’ve been over to his apartment more than once,” I said.

“
Recently?” Matthews asked.

“
Yes okay,” I said, becoming more flustered. “Would you mind telling me where you’re going with this?”

“
I find it hard to believe you don’t know more than Miss Summers, that’s all,” he said causally.

“
More about what?”

“
I told you he wasn’t gonna be straight with us,” Dunn said, leaving his post near the window to join our conversation.

“
If you’ll stop tiptoeing around and ask me a couple direct questions than perhaps I’ll give you answers,” I said, my voice becoming more authoritative. Here I was thinking I was going to get slammed for murdering four people and the cops were avoiding the matter entirely, what was going on here?

“
Did you know or have any inclination of what O’Connor was doing?” Matthews asked sternly, this tone becoming more rigid.

“
Know what?”

“
You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!” Dunn bellowed, drawing within striking distance, his irritation plainly visible. “You were the last one he called. Witnesses saw you going into his apartment last night and you’re sitting here bullshitting us that you have no clue the guy was a serial killer?”

Chapter Thirty-One

F
or the first time all was lucid; everything was coming into focus. I now understood Vickie’s call, the old cop’s reassurance, the reaction or lack of reaction by the police officers and lastly the questions
. I wasn’t the sociopath.
I hadn’t planned killing Brent with my grandfather’s knife in the library bathroom. I hadn’t tricked Harvey into taking Viagra and nitroglycerin, causing his blood to pump too rapidly and his life to cease. I hadn’t met with a mentally unstable dropout and convinced him to seek revenge on a discriminatory professor. I hadn’t done any of those things. To Matthews and Dunn, I was merely a suspicious character, and possibly an accomplice to the real criminal, Father O’Connor.