least it seemed that way to Decker.
Still no recognition. And with the cleanup and cutting of beard and hair, Decker looked closer to the cop he’d been seventeen months ago when he’d allegedly dissed Leopold at the 7-Eleven.
He stared into the man’s face and turned on his DVR. Frame after frame raced through his mind, going back to the precise time period when he had supposedly run into the man. The date flashed up in his head so close that it seemed to be on the other side of his eyeballs. One month before the murders, that’s what Lancaster had said. Decker tacked on one week on either side of that date just to be sure.
His DVR whirred and frames flew past by the hour, by the minute. Decker had been to that 7-Eleven three times during that period.
Sebastian Leopold was simply not in there.
Decker shut off his DVR and sat down in a chair built into the wall.
“Mr. Leopold,” he said in a low voice. “Do you recognize me?”
Leopold seemed to be listening but not actually hearing.
“Do you recognize me?”
Leopold gave a shake of the head.
He moved his hands in odd ways in front of him. Decker observed the precise patterns the man was making.
“You need an attorney,” said Decker, and he patted his briefcase.
Leopold stopped moving his hands and nodded at this.
Decker took out his pad and pen.
“Can you tell me what happened that night?”
“Why?”
There was a sudden caginess in the voice that slightly surprised Decker. He had interviewed many prisoners, many accused. Many were dumb as dirt and had committed crimes for reasons stupider than they were. But some were a lot smarter than folks gave them credit for. And maybe Leopold was one of those.
“You need a defense. You’ve confessed to three murders.”
“I’m guilty. I done it.”
“You still need legal representation.”
“Why?”
“It’s just how the legal system works. So I need to know the facts.”
“They’re going to execute me.” The tone was of a child confessing his expected punishment. The cagey prisoner had transformed into a little boy. Decker wondered if it were the drugs doing this to him, making a pinball game out of his thought process.
“Is that what you want?”
“Not up to me.”
“You’re right. It’s largely up to a judge and a jury. But you still have input. So, you want to tell me what happened?”
Decker checked his watch. Four minutes had passed. And at any moment someone might walk by who knew him. He turned so that his back was to the cell door.
“I killed them,” said Leopold simply. He was staring dead at Decker now, and Decker was looking for any hint of recognition in the other man’s eyes. If he saw it, what would he do? Strangle the man like he might have done to his daughter?
Leopold started moving his hands again. He looked like a conductor leading an orchestra that didn’t exist. Decker watched for a few moments, then refocused.
“And why did you do that?”
“Dude pissed me off.”
“What dude?”
“The dude. Dude that lived there.”
“How he’d piss you off?”
“Just pissed me off.”
“But how?”
“Didn’t show me no respect.”
“You worked there? You were a customer there? At the 7-Eleven on DeSalle?”
Leopold ignored this and said, “Well, I got him, didn’t I?”
“How’d you do that?”
“Killed his family.”
“No, I mean how did you know where he lived?”
“Followed him.”
“How?”
Now there came a caution in the man’s eyes that Decker had not seen before.
“I don’t need to tell you shit. You a cop? Trying to trick me?”
“You confessed, Mr. Leopold. There’s nothing left to trick. Do you see that?”
Leopold blinked and rubbed at his neck. “Yeah, I guess I see that.”
“And, no, I’m not a cop. So you followed him. How?”
“What do you mean, how?”
“Car, foot, bike?”
“Ain’t got no damn bike.”
“So a car?”
“If I ain’t got a bike, I ain’t got no car.”
“So on foot,
Still no recognition. And with the cleanup and cutting of beard and hair, Decker looked closer to the cop he’d been seventeen months ago when he’d allegedly dissed Leopold at the 7-Eleven.
He stared into the man’s face and turned on his DVR. Frame after frame raced through his mind, going back to the precise time period when he had supposedly run into the man. The date flashed up in his head so close that it seemed to be on the other side of his eyeballs. One month before the murders, that’s what Lancaster had said. Decker tacked on one week on either side of that date just to be sure.
His DVR whirred and frames flew past by the hour, by the minute. Decker had been to that 7-Eleven three times during that period.
Sebastian Leopold was simply not in there.
Decker shut off his DVR and sat down in a chair built into the wall.
“Mr. Leopold,” he said in a low voice. “Do you recognize me?”
Leopold seemed to be listening but not actually hearing.
“Do you recognize me?”
Leopold gave a shake of the head.
He moved his hands in odd ways in front of him. Decker observed the precise patterns the man was making.
“You need an attorney,” said Decker, and he patted his briefcase.
Leopold stopped moving his hands and nodded at this.
Decker took out his pad and pen.
“Can you tell me what happened that night?”
“Why?”
There was a sudden caginess in the voice that slightly surprised Decker. He had interviewed many prisoners, many accused. Many were dumb as dirt and had committed crimes for reasons stupider than they were. But some were a lot smarter than folks gave them credit for. And maybe Leopold was one of those.
“You need a defense. You’ve confessed to three murders.”
“I’m guilty. I done it.”
“You still need legal representation.”
“Why?”
“It’s just how the legal system works. So I need to know the facts.”
“They’re going to execute me.” The tone was of a child confessing his expected punishment. The cagey prisoner had transformed into a little boy. Decker wondered if it were the drugs doing this to him, making a pinball game out of his thought process.
“Is that what you want?”
“Not up to me.”
“You’re right. It’s largely up to a judge and a jury. But you still have input. So, you want to tell me what happened?”
Decker checked his watch. Four minutes had passed. And at any moment someone might walk by who knew him. He turned so that his back was to the cell door.
“I killed them,” said Leopold simply. He was staring dead at Decker now, and Decker was looking for any hint of recognition in the other man’s eyes. If he saw it, what would he do? Strangle the man like he might have done to his daughter?
Leopold started moving his hands again. He looked like a conductor leading an orchestra that didn’t exist. Decker watched for a few moments, then refocused.
“And why did you do that?”
“Dude pissed me off.”
“What dude?”
“The dude. Dude that lived there.”
“How he’d piss you off?”
“Just pissed me off.”
“But how?”
“Didn’t show me no respect.”
“You worked there? You were a customer there? At the 7-Eleven on DeSalle?”
Leopold ignored this and said, “Well, I got him, didn’t I?”
“How’d you do that?”
“Killed his family.”
“No, I mean how did you know where he lived?”
“Followed him.”
“How?”
Now there came a caution in the man’s eyes that Decker had not seen before.
“I don’t need to tell you shit. You a cop? Trying to trick me?”
“You confessed, Mr. Leopold. There’s nothing left to trick. Do you see that?”
Leopold blinked and rubbed at his neck. “Yeah, I guess I see that.”
“And, no, I’m not a cop. So you followed him. How?”
“What do you mean, how?”
“Car, foot, bike?”
“Ain’t got no damn bike.”
“So a car?”
“If I ain’t got a bike, I ain’t got no car.”
“So on foot,
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