Winter Kill, стр. 37
“I didn’t kill that hiker,” Berkle said. “I haven’t killed anyone.”
Adam looked unimpressed. “What do you do for a living, sir?”
“As you can see, I raise dogs.”
Adam indicated the black semi truck cab parked beside the barn. “Do you also drive a big rig?”
“No.” Berkle reluctantly qualified, “I used to.”
“What route did you use to drive?”
“I drove all over the country.”
Adam nodded noncommittally. “And you’ve lived in the area…how long?”
“My entire life. Sure as hell longer than Sandy Gibbs. I bought this property in ’95.” Berkle said to Rob, “You know where I was yesterday. I was with the search team to the south, looking for the Joseph girl. My dogs found her cell phone. My dogs.”
“I know,” Rob said, and despite his best effort, he knew he sounded apologetic.
Knew because Adam gave him a cool, critical look before saying, “Do you mind if we have a look around the premises, sir?”
“Yes, I mind! What the fuck do you think you’re looking for?”
Good question. Tiffany had been found. Did Adam think they were going to discover a bloody knife beneath one of the doggie beds? Anyway, Rob was all but positive that the figure he’d seen the night before was not Berkle. Even though the man with wings had been standing on a ridge looking down at them, he had not appeared as big and burly as Berkle did right now.
Despite the fact that he believed Adam was way off track—and that he, Rob, was going to have to live with these people long after Adam returned to the big city—he felt compelled to ask, “Would you mind telling us where you were Saturday morning about three o’clock?”
“Here. In bed!”
“And Thursday night?”
“In bed. At home.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
Berkle’s glare faded. He suddenly laughed. “Yeah. Sure. Ask the dogs. They’ll vouch for me. No, better yet, talk to my lawyer, asshole!”
He shoved through them, striding toward the house.
Rob looked at Adam, who was absently massaging his shoulder and staring after Berkle.
“That sure could have gone better,” Rob couldn’t help saying.
“It went all right.”
“All right?”
Adam threw him a quick, surprised look. “Yes.”
“Come on, Adam. You know as well as I do Berkle was not who we saw on that hillside last night. Can you imagine him dressing up like a giant bird?”
“No.”
“No. We just pissed off the best tracker in the county. And for what? That was a complete waste of time.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Rob stared at him. “How did you figure that?”
Adam met his gaze, green eyes shining with conviction. “He’s our guy, Rob.”
Chapter Twelve
Rob preserved a formidable silence all the way back to the SUV.
But once they were inside the vehicle and out of listening range, he said—clearly exercising self-control, “You want to explain to me why you think Berkle, who has been nothing but helpful to the investigation, is our guy, but Gibbs, who tried to kill us and everyone else on that mountain yesterday, is somehow a credible witness against him?”
“He’s lying. Everything out of his mouth was a lie.”
“Even if that were true, and I’m not sure how you think you could know that based on all of five minutes conversation, you already agreed it wasn’t Berkle last night. And if there’s some nut running around dressed like a raven who isn’t involved in these murders—”
“I’m not talking about Cynthia Joseph’s or Azure’s slayings. I’m talking about the Gaura killing.”
“The Gaura killing is a cold case.”
“Yes. Two—three—different killings. Two different cases,” Adam said. “In fact, I think the Koletar killing may be linked to Gaura’s murder.”
Rob stared at him. “You think we’re dealing with two serial killers.”
“Yes.”
“Adam, you’re probably my favorite person in the world, so don’t take this the wrong way. You’re crazy.”
What was crazy was that he even registered the favorite person in the world comment. Adam said patiently, “You suggested the same thing yourself not that long ago.”
“I was kidding!”
“No, you weren’t.”
Rob scowled at him. “Okay, according to Gibbs, who you seem to think is such a reliable witness, Berkle is responsible for all the killings.”
“Gibbs is an idiot,” Adam said succinctly. “I don’t think he’s a reliable witness. I do believe he gave us a reasonably accurate accounting of his own personal experience in the woods that night.”
“Seventeen years ago!”
“Nobody would forget an experience like that.”
Rob shook his head. “Two serial killers?”
“Technically there have to be more than two murders to qualify for serial killing,” Adam said. “But I think the Raven is just getting started. Berkle…he’s been out there for a while, and your woods—or the lake—may hide more bodies than you think.”
Rob grimaced. “Don’t call him ‘the Raven,’” he said. “Don’t give him a goddamned name. Imagine if some reporter got hold of that!”
“Sorry.”
They were silent, listening to the dogs still barking in the kennels behind the house.
“This isn’t just a hunch,” Adam said. “It’s a matter of logistics. Look at this place. There’s no one for miles around. He could do anything to anyone, and no one would see or hear. Plus, Berkle has a job that allows him to prowl remote areas of the countryside, unquestioned. And if they do question? He’s training tracking dogs.” He tried to suppress the small shudder the next thought gave him. “Hunting dogs.”
“You can’t think—”
“I don’t know, Rob. I know that he’s got a large enclosed trailer to haul those dogs around. He can drive country roads pulling that thing behind him, and again, no one would ask questions. And before that, he was a trucker. The entire nation could have been his hunting ground. Why not say what his route was?”
“He did!”
“All over the country is not a real answer. He didn’t want to say. Why?”
Rob frowned, staring out the window, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel. “Berkle doesn’t like you. That could be a lot of what you picked up.”
“I know he doesn’t like me,” Adam replied. He remembered Berkle from the first night he’d arrived in Nearby, back in October. He’d walked into the Lakehouse Restaurant, looked straight at Berkle, and Berkle had looked right back at him and turned his back. As though he knew exactly who and what Adam was. “Nobody likes the FBI. There’s more to it than that.”
“He’s the right age for the Koletar killing, I guess. But then so is half the population of Nearby. What the hell would his motive be?”
“Psychological gratification of some kind. Whatever it is, it’s not going to make sense to us. Maybe he robs his victims. Maybe he’s a lust killer—”
“Gaura and Koletar were male.”
“And men never feel lust for other men?”
Rob’s look of outrage would have been amusing in other circumstances. “Bert Berkle is not gay!”
“Is there a Mrs. Berkle?”
“No. There isn’t anyone, male or female, in Berkle’s life. I told you, he’s a loner.”
“That inability to form attachments is a classic indicator. Rob, I can’t tell you why someone like Berkle turns to murder. Childhood abuse? Maybe he’s got an extra chromosome. Maybe he’s got a screw loose. Who knows? We’re probably never going to find what triggered him either, although there had to be a trigger of some kind.”
Rob gave another of those exasperated exhales.
“We caught him off guard,” Adam said. “He never expected to fall under suspicion, let alone to be questioned. That won’t happen again. And, by the way, that’s another indicator—how fast he threatened to lawyer up.”
“He wasn’t afraid. He was angry.”
“He was offended.” Adam’s smile was caustic. “We pricked his ego. All this time he’s been thinking he was so clever, so smart, fooling everyone. And then we came along, and he realizes he’s not as smart as he thought.”