CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
May's heart pounded as she stared at this prisoner, who might hold the key that could unlock the entire case, if she could only ask him the right questions.
If he was prepared to answer them. If he was in the right mood, or if he even liked or respected her enough to want to.
He shuffled in. Leg irons restricted his movements, and his hands were cuffed in front of him.
He was a tall, rangy man, whose shoulders looked a shade too big for his prison overalls. His untidy brown hair was streaked with gray. His face was sallow but his eyes were sharp.
He was escorted by a burly prison guard.
"Sit down here, please, sir," the guard said. He was firm yet respectful with the dangerous killer.
Prisoner Kane sat. He stared at May. With nothing separating them, not even glass, this felt like a very personal encounter. And his eyes were like chips of steel. His face was stone. Apart from a gleam of curiosity, May didn't get any impression at all that this interview was going to go well.
May desperately wanted him to be ready to answer.
"Morning, Mr. Kane," she said. "I'm - er - I'm May Moore." She didn't want to say Deputy, but also didn't want to say Agent. With the guard in earshot and the warden listening in, her actual status was suddenly very complicated.
Kane rested his hands on the table. The cuffs clinked against the steel. It was a cold sound. As cold as his gaze as he stared at her. She saw a chilly intelligence in his eyes.
"Are you comfortable?" she asked him. "Can we organize anything - I guess maybe coffee isn't possible right now, but water, perhaps? A glass of water?" She glanced anxiously at the guard.
Prisoner Kane stared at her for a moment in impassive silence. And then he did something May really hadn't expected him to do.
He burst out laughing. His face contracted in mirth. The sound resonated around the room, reverberating off the empty walls.
May was thoroughly unnerved. The laugh sounded genuine, but was it a sign that Kane was playing with her?
He continued to laugh, but then his amusement began to fade.
"Look at you, May Moore, asking me if I want water," he said. "Not in seven years has anyone asked me that in this room. And I've had a few lawyers and police badgering me over that time, asking this and that." He narrowed his eyes, but she didn't think his gaze was as quite as hard as it had been.
"No, I don't want water. Thank you. But what do you want?" he asked.
Seeing that things had settled down, the guard who had been standing beside Kane, stepped back and walked out through the security door. He closed it, but May was sure he was standing by, ready to burst in again if needed.
"I'm involved in a difficult case," May said. She realized the fragility of her predicament. This man had a son. She was going to be asking him, basically, to betray his son.
This was huge. It suddenly felt insurmountable, but all she could do was attempt the mountain.
"What case?" he asked.
"There have been a number of bombings. Different people have been targeted. They have been killed, and there have also been collateral killings and injuries. We're hunting for the perpetrator, and based on the evidence, it seems that - it seems that your son Dirk might possibly be involved."
"Why do you say that?" he challenged.
"One of the killings was Sheila, the criminal lawyer who handled your case."
He nodded in silence.
"Another was Mrs. Flannery, the art teacher at his school."
He stared impassively at her.
"Another was the manager of a roadhouse diner, Mrs. Barbara Vining. In another, police from the Sunnybrook precinct were targeted. And the most recent victim was a property rental agent who’s now retired, but who previously worked in the area, called Mrs. Jacobs."
"Go on?"