A Disturbing Nature, page 42
Palmer realizes Lumen relaxes when Griffin’s name is used in the conversation. “But Griffin didn’t go with you and Langford to Olney Pond?”
“No, sir.”
Retrieving his cigarette, Palmer leans back. “Do you know if Griffin sleeps over, or has ever slept over, Langford’s house? Did he sleep over on any occasion when you did?”
“Mr. Griffin told me he’s never been to Professor Langford’s house.”
“So, would you say your friendship with Langford is better than Griffin’s?”
“Mr. Griffin was friends with Professor Langford before I was. He introduced me to him.”
“Since Griffin introduced you to Langford, who do you think has spent more time with Langford?”
“I’m not sure. Probably me.”
“So, is it fair to say you are now better friends with Langford than Griffin is?”
Mo shrugs. “I guess so.”
Palmer’s questions encourage Lumen to explain his interactions and exchanges with Langford by continuing to weave Griffin’s name into the dialogue to keep the subject at ease.
Each time, Mo provides sincere responses with little emotion. When he’s asked about his relationship with Gonzalez, and whether he had seen either of their cars at specific locations, Mo’s response is always the same, “No, sir.”
After twenty minutes, Palmer begins a new line of questioning. “Mo, did you ever go to Griffin’s house?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many times?”
“Three.”
“Do you like going over Griffin’s house?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you eat there?”
“Yes, sir. Then, we would play games.”
“Would you eat and play games inside the house or outside?”
“Inside. We’d play games like Sorry or Chutes and Ladders.”
Pausing for a few moments, Palmer takes a few drags while staring at Lumen. By this point, he’s well aware of Lumen’s emotional attachments, knowing that Kay, his fellow townhouse residents, and Griffin relax him. At the same time, the mention of Langford or the Branch family—especially the daughter Emily—increases his anxiety. “Did you ever see Langford’s Pacer or Gonzalez’s Datsun outside when you were at Griffin’s house?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you go for a walk on any occasion when you went to Griffin’s house?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a Colored neighborhood.”
Monroe takes a seat at the end of the table. “To be clear, you mean a Black neighborhood, correct?”
Mo is surprised by Monroe’s sudden entrance into the conversation. After a brief pause, he answers. “Yes, sir.”
“Why wouldn’t you take a walk in a Black neighborhood?”
“My dad always told me to be careful of Black people and don’t be out alone in the Colored neighborhoods.”
“Why is that, Mr. Lumen? Why can’t you walk around a Black neighborhood?”
“Because they might hurt me because I’m White.”
“You grew up in Virginia, correct? You lived there until a couple of months ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does everyone in Virginia feel the same way you do about Black people?”
“Yes, sir, uh, I don’t know about that, but we lived in a White neighborhood and didn’t see Black people around much. I only talked about it with my dad, though.”
“Unfortunately, a lot of people feel the same way here in New England.” Monroe leans toward the recorder, wrapping his fingers together and placing his hands on the table. “What about you, Mr. Lumen? Are you scared of Black people? Are you afraid of me?”
“I’m a little scared because you’re a policeman, but I liked my friend Sam back in Virginia, and I like Brian at the townhouse here, and my Black friends at work, and Mr. Griffin and his family. They all seem nice to me.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Lumen. I truly am.” Monroe sits upright, looking at Palmer with a wry smile.
With Monroe’s concerns addressed, Palmer offers him a conciliatory nod. Hoping to settle Lumen back down, he returns to a source of comfort. “Now, Mr. Lumen, Brian refers to Brian Covington, your housemate, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why do you like Brian?”
“Because he’s funny, and he’s nice.” Mo rubs the side of his face. “He has a lot of girls who like him, too, but he doesn’t bring them home anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Carlton doesn’t want girls at the townhouse unless they’re like Kay.”
“Why would Carlton be concerned about Brian’s girlfriends?”
“Because they only come over once, and some of them would say bad things.”
“You mean like swearing or using profanity?”
“No, sir.” Mo pulls his hands down to his lap, tapping his thumbs together. “Because they would say mean things.”
“What kind of mean things, Mr. Lumen?”
Mo pushes the seat of his pants into the chair and leans over the table. “Like calling me an idiot or a retard or telling me to bark like a dog.”
Palmer watches Lumen rest his palms on the edge of the table and push his chair back a few inches. “Were these girls also saying mean things about the other housemates?”
“No, sir.”
Palmer pauses to fill Lumen’s water glass and watches him take a drink, Lumen’s shoulders hunched. Palmer wonders what Lumen would think of Peggy and Pauline. Would he see them as someone like Kay or the girls who were mean to him? “Mr. Lumen, do you go to church?”
Mo rubs his neck. “Yes, sir.”
“Where do you go to church?”
“I go with Kay’s family to Saints Peter and Paul.”
“Have you ever seen either Gonzalez’s car or Langford’s car in the parking lot of the church or anywhere near the church?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you ever gone back to the Thompson home after church?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what do you do after church at the Thompson residence?”
“I have lunch with Kay’s family and watch TV.”
“Have you ever gone to the Thompson residence for anything other than lunch after church?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you remember when those were?”
“I watched two World Series games with them: game two last Sunday and game three on Tuesday night. Mr. Thompson’s a big Red Sox fan.”
“Did you ever go for a walk on any of the occasions you went to the Thompsons’ home?”
“Yes, sir, one time.”
“When was that?”
“On Tuesday. I was nervous about the game, so I went for a walk. My mom always said it’s good to walk off your nerves.”
Palmer watches Lumen’s eyes light up when he mentions his mother. “That’s right, Mr. Lumen. Did you see either Gonzalez’s car or Langford’s car when you went for your walk?”
“No, sir.”
“Think very hard, son,” Monroe says. “We’ve had multiple sightings of vehicles fitting the descriptions of their cars in the area that evening, so please try to remember.”
Palmer witnesses Lumen’s brows furrow and eyes fall to his hands. It appears to him that Lumen doesn’t like being called ‘son.’ Maybe he doesn’t like being called son by Monroe, or maybe he doesn’t like being called ‘son’ by a Black man. He wonders if Lumen inherited some of his father’s prejudice or if he’s just afraid.
Monroe taps the table in front of Lumen. “Did you see either of their cars?”
Mo stares at Monroe for a short time, trying to remember, before answering. “Maybe.”
Monroe leans into Lumen. “Maybe? Which car?”
“Cars went by while I walked—a few. A-And maybe I saw one of them, but I don’t remember. I don’t really look at the cars when I’m walking.”
Frustrated, Monroe raises his voice. “What time did you get back from your walk?”
Mo sinks into his seat. “A little after the pregame started.”
Palmer places his hand on Monroe’s cuff. “So, a little after seven?”
“Yes, sir.” Mo relaxes, preferring Palmer’s calm manner.
Monroe rises to his feet and stands by the door, shaking his head and glaring at Palmer.
Palmer offers Monroe a reassuring nod before continuing. “Who else was at the house when you returned?”
“Kay and her parents. Carlton came, too, but he got there a little after the game started.”
“And the game started at eight thirty, correct?”
“I think so.”
Palmer straightens up, feeling Monroe’s eyes still piercing through him. He considers Dufresne’s relationship with Lumen, his access to the locations where the murders occurred, his mobility, and his motives. He does not perceive the same anxiety in Lumen as when they’re discussing Langford. “Carlton was always with you when you went with Kay, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does Carlton know where Professor Langford’s home is located?”
“He dropped me off at his house once.”
“Do you know how many times Carlton went to Langford’s house that you’re aware of?”
“Only that once.”
“Did you ever see Carlton’s car any other time you were at Langford’s house?”
“No, sir.”
“And you never saw Gonzalez’s car when you were at Langford’s house?”
“No, sir.”
“One last time, Mr. Lumen, think very hard, Gonzalez’s car was seen in the immediate vicinity of Langford’s house on a number of occasions over the past six weeks. Did you happen to see Gonzalez’s orange Datsun?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. I don’t really notice cars when I’m walking, and I don’t look at them when I’m inside someone’s house.”
Palmer leans back and taps the table. “Alright, Mr. Lumen, that’s all we have. Detective Monroe will take you back to the officers who brought you here so they can drive you home. If we have any further questions, we’ll contact you. Thank you.”
Mo stands next to Monroe. Before exiting, he turns back to Palmer. “Can I ask one question, sir?”
“Yes, you can.” Palmer straightens up, hoping Mo will have something significant to contribute.
“Do you think Professor Langford or Flatbush is the killer?”
Palmer settles back and takes a long drag, blowing smoke across the table to where Mo had been sitting. “We can’t answer that today, Mr. Lumen. We’re just collecting as much information as we can right now. That’s why we had you come down for questioning.” He looks to see if Mo has any other questions. “Thank you again. You’ve been very helpful.”
Palmer lingers in the interview room, tapping his fingers on the table. In the aftermath of their conversation, he sees Maurice Lumen as everyone else does—a respectful, affable young man with limited maturity and intellect. Unlike everyone else, Palmer knows Lumen’s now a central figure in the investigation and could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing—a monster. But why was The Beast not aroused? Could Lumen be the subject of a monster? Or is he well-cloaked? He replays the interview in his mind. While Lumen seemed indifferent when Gonzalez was mentioned, why was he uncomfortable discussing Langford? Is there a connection between Lumen and Langford? Why was he so anxious when answering questions about fourteen-year-old Emily Branch and the young women who weren’t like twenty-year-old Kay Thompson?
Palmer thinks about Peggy and Pauline back in Ohio—about the same age as Emily and Kay. He also considers how similar Dayton is to Providence: with declining populations and about fifty miles from a significant metropolis and a major league baseball franchise. He wonders if the girls are rooting for Cincinnati in the Series. He wonders if they think about him. He wonders if they go jogging on the local trails. But mostly, he wonders if there’s someone like Gonzalez or Langford or Lumen lurking in the woods.
When Monroe returns, Ross and Lowe are in tow. They stand around the table staring at Palmer, his shoulders slumped, head in hands, taking deep breaths through his nose.
Palmer runs his hands down his face and realizes he’s not alone. “There’s no shortage of suspects on this one, is there, gentlemen?”
Monroe pats Palmer on the back. “It’s okay, Frank. We’re all feeling it.”
Palmer pitches forward. “Cut the sentimental horseshit, Jeff. I’m trying to get rid of a headache.”
“We all are.” Ross laughs at his own joke.
Monroe backs away. “Hey, sorry I got a little uptight in there.” He shakes his head. “Lumen kid’s answers just frustrated the hell out of me.”
Palmer nods. “It happens. Any new information?”
Monroe curls his lip. “The bullet we found at Bryant is the one used in the murder of the Rollins girl. Forensics matched the fired bullet footprint to the exit wound, and ballistics confirmed the bullet’s a 9mm—not a match to the gun found in Gonzalez’s glove box. In addition, the spent round’s well-tarnished, indicating it’s an older bullet, maybe more than a decade old.”
Palmer straightens up. “That means the gun that fired the bullet is probably a pistol.”
“That’s true.”
“Then we need to get the team back there to search for a casing.”
“I’m on it. Let me go make a call.”
“Jeff, wait up.” Palmer scratches his head. “I’d recommend having them make a straight line from where the body was found to the walking path along the access road. Have them look up to thirteen feet left and right of that line. I believe thirteen feet is correct but confirm with ballistics that’s the maximum spent shell ejection for a 9mm pistol. Tell the search team to start from the trail and check for any footpaths in the woods that cross that line. I’m sure I saw a few, but I can’t remember if they cross. If my hunch is correct, they should find the casing just as they enter the woods or near any path along the line to where the bullet was found. They should be able to pinpoint a few high-probability thirteen-foot circles to conduct their search. I’m hoping they can find the shell quickly.”
“I’ll oversee the search team myself in the morning,” Monroe says. “What do you make of the kid’s interview? Lumen seems harmless, but he’s been everywhere the murders have occurred.”
Palmer nods and pulls out a cigarette. “And then some. I recommend you also get a search team out to Georgiaville Pond.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“It won’t solve a whole helluva lot since Langford and Gonzalez were there, too.”
“You think this Lumen kid’s capable?”
“God, I hope not,” Palmer says, lighting and releasing a short, quick burst. “If this kid turns out to be the killer, it will alter criminal investigation as we know it.” He stares at the wall. “Jesus, just imagine, a polite young man with the mental capacity of an eleven or twelve-year-old filled with sufficient rage to murder at least ten young women with no apparent sexual motive.”
“He’s a full-grown man, Frank.”
“With the mind of a pre-pubescent.”
“He’s big and physically capable.”
“There are a lot of angry eleven, twelve, and thirteen-year-old kids out there. Regardless of size, any of them are capable with a gun.” He looks at Monroe, his eyebrows raised. “You wanna think about hunting down young kids?”
Ross taps the table with his finger. “What about the Co-Ed Killer in Southern California?”
Palmer settles back into the chair. “I researched the Kemper case for profiling. He’s tall alright, something like six-nine. Shot his grandmother when he was fifteen because she reminded him of his mother, whom he hated. Then he shot his grandfather to spare him the pain of seeing the dead grandmother. However, that didn’t make him a mass murderer.” Palmer takes a thoughtful drag, blowing the smoke out his nose. “His more recent murder spree focused on young hitchhikers. Those were accomplished by an adult sexual predator with an extremely high IQ and diagnosed paranoid schizophrenia. There have been some young murderers in the United States, but not mass murderers like the Co-Ed Killer or the Pastoral Predator. I don’t see the high intellect, paranoid schizophrenia, or sexual maturity in Lumen.” He shakes his head. “No, unless he killed someone close to him down in Virginia and his lack of intellect is an elaborate disguise, I wouldn’t be inclined to compare him to Kemper.”
“Let’s pray he’s not another Kemper.” Monroe stands, walking past Palmer. “We’ll get a team out to Georgiaville Pond tomorrow morning. I’ll give Stricker a call and tell him to get his team ready.”
“Have the team at Georgiaville focus on the side of the pond opposite to where the main trail is located and start looking within ten feet of the water’s edge. If there’s a body there, it will have been dragged from a path and left near the water.”
Monroe grabs the door handle. “I’m on it.”
“One more thing, Jeff.”
Monroe turns back, his cream-colored eyes tinted red. “C’mon, Frank, we’ve only got so many resources.”
“Sorry, we’re gonna need some interviewers to talk to Lumen’s housemates and the Thompson girl tomorrow. I need to understand the relationship between Lumen and Dufresne.”
“Are you gonna sit in any of those?”
“I won’t be here.” Palmer takes a final drag, exhaling as he presses his cigarette into the ashtray. “Gerry and I are headed to Virginia in the morning. We need to speak with a Mr. and Mrs. Branch in Sumerduck.”
-79-
THE STORM INTENSIFIES
Sunday, 19 October 1975
Mo slogs to the dining hall with the weight of Mr. Thompson’s words hanging over him and the gravity of Palmer’s questions dragging him down. Taking advantage of a late afternoon break in the rain, he wades over to the Unistructure for an early dinner, knowing The Lady Behind the Lunch Counter doesn’t work on weekends, so there won’t be the same food selection. After a bland meal, he exits the dining hall and is greeted by a familiar face.
