Autopsy Of A Mind - Chapter 170

The Director-General’s brow scrunched up. “I did say there were some problems at work… but yeah… I was probably back at work back then.” He huffed. “I am sure I was at my job because that was how I had heard of the news.”

He wasn’t really at the job at the time. He had been suspended and moved to a behind-the-desk duty. But he was still on probation. He wasn’t coming to work, so he had definitely not heard it at work.

He went off into a tangent about where he could have heard this information.

“Well, was there anything uncomfortable between the two of you after you parted?” Nash asked. There was a slight insinuation, but nothing too outright to alarm the Director-General.

“I can’t even remember a proper conversation I had with her. It has been so long! I thought she was killed by a serial killer or something. Wasn’t that it?”

It was, but we didn’t linger on it.

“You went to her apartment, didn’t you? Where was it located?”

I noticed his passive disposition as he gave the following truthful response. He noted her address… her prior address. The victim had since moved apartments.

“Do you know of the new apartment she was living in?” Nash asked subsequently.

His demeanor changed immediately. He became slightly agitated as he pretended not to remember. “I am sure she did. I don’t quite remember.” And then he said a specific locality where the victim had actually moved.

“Did you ever visit that apartment?”

“No!” he responded immediately.

“Oh. Are you sure you never visited this apartment?” I asked after a short silence.

“No. This was such a long time ago. I may have?” he recanted his previous statement.

“I mean… what did you think when you heard about her being murdered? What was your reaction? You heard at work?” I prompted him to speak more about this. I knew he had called at least the mother at the time. A police officer had called her and spoken to the mother. Only now, I knew who it really was.

“It was shocking, really. I called her family and spoke to them briefly to give my condolences,” he acknowledged.

“Do you know what the circumstances were regarding her death?” Nash injected.

He hummed as if he was thinking about it. “Let me think back. It was a burglary but later they thought it was a serial killer, right? I probably saw a flier with her face on it about the case?”

“But what has this got to do with anything? Her getting killed? I didn’t have anything to do with it. Somebody said whatever…” He was looking at her, probing for more information.

“No, this case was dropped on my table and I was going through it and your name popped up. You were right up the stairs so I just… went to ask you in person what you knew. We need to trust our own, right?” I prompted.

Bill’s brow raised. “This is not the time you should be looking at other cases. I heard how your assistant and the new intern got kidnapped or something. I got a call from the officers. We need to find her. It’s mildly disgraceful that the police can be so easily taken hostage, but also… her life is on the line,” he said quickly.

Both Nash and I stiffened. “Who was the officer who said this?” I asked.

“You know. It’s just gossip,” the Director-General commented. Clearly, he had heard from his son and no one else. This bastard!

“Right. Someone else is working on it. The Chief didn’t want us just sitting around and reading papers so he told us to solve some older cases. That is why we have been going around solving them. This was one of those. We see this so we want to talk to you, of course. The only reason we are doing it here is that this is some very personal stuff—”

“No, I get it!” he retorted immediately, his voice calm. He thought he had an upper hand on us.

“So at that time, there were a lot of angles that they looked at it with. And you have been on this job for longer than I have. You know… we need to cover all bases,” Nash said. He put in these little laughs to make light of the situation.

“No, I understand. But if you are saying that I am a suspect, I have a problem with that,” he said immediately. “If you are doing this as an interrogation, you are accusing me of this.”

“We are trying to figure out what happened,” I said firmly.

“Well, I need to get a lawyer if that is what is happening!” he countered.

“You have your free will. You can do whatever you want,” I challenged.

“I know, but—” He wanted to know about the BTS Killer case not a single murder out of the dozens he had committed.

“You are not under arrest. You can leave any time you like,” Nash said at the same time I said, “We are not threatening you to stay here.”

“No! I am trying to give you some background on how I knew her and now you tell me that I hurt her? I don’t want to get in trouble for something I didn’t do. You’re saying I did something I never did.”

“Okay, we understand.” Now Nash sounded placating.

“How would the two of you feel if the tables were turned on you,” he claimed.

“No, we understand completely,” Nash assured once again.

“You’re free to go whenever you want. If this makes you uncomfortable—”

“Now you are starting to make me uncomfortable,” he shouted.

“The thing is nobody was arrested on the case. They looked at all the angles they could think of and now we are looking at the ones they didn’t. That’s the procedure, right?” Nash asked matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know…”

“Obviously you know that technology and evidence interpretation had changed over time. Would you be okay with giving us a DNA sample?” Nash asked. We had no DNA evidence, but we could make it seem like he had left behind evidence on the newest package.

“Maybe? Now you are making me think that I should be talking to a lawyer,” he laughed. Almost nervous. “I know how this works. I have been doing this a long time and I wish I was recording this conversation. It sounds like you are trying to pin this on me.”

“You know this as well as we do, we need to identify potential cases and eliminate them,” I interjected into the rant.

“I can’t believe this!” he banged his fist on the table. Good thing he didn’t carry weapons with him because I was sure he would pull it out in this scenario to defend himself.

“Well, we got a package this morning and worked hard on it to get all the prints and DNA samples from it. If we run it against you, will you be willing to give us that data?”

Come on, take the bait! I willed him to do it. It wouldn’t prove anything, but I wanted to see how far he would go to wriggle out of punishment. Or did he love his son more? Which would make him talk?

“Maybe. I know—”

“That’s all we ask. We will do what we can to put this together,” Nash interrupted. “Your name is in the book. For whatever reason. And it would be irresponsible on our part to overlook you.”

“You guys are doing your job. And I have to contact somebody, so…” He looked at the two of us.

“That’s fair,” was all I said.

The Director-General got up from his chair, mumbling as he went towards the door. I shot Nash a look.

“The analyst is waiting outside. We have him,” he whispered so that he couldn’t hear us. My heart settled in my chest.

“We let him go, see what the evidence is, and then get the cuffs on his hands,” I gritted through my teeth.

We were out of the door and the analyst was waiting jitterily beside it. “The Director-General just stormed up the stairs with his phone. He is calling a lawyer!” he panicked.

“Don’t pay him attention. What did you find?” Nash tried to calm the younger man.

The analyst turned the laptop screen towards us. Pictures.

Hundreds upon hundreds of pictures.

Of the Director-General in various kinds of women’s clothing, gagged and bound. Some were in a pit in what looked like the backyard, while others were in their house. From the angles, I knew that the camera was not placed on a stationary surface and put on a timer. Someone was clicking these pictures from various angles.

“It’s Benny Phillips, isn’t it? He clicked the pictures,” Nash said, awe evident in his voice.

“He was helping his father realize his serial killer dreams. It was probably why he never killed anyone himself, instead helped and nurtures others to do it,” I explained.

“We have him!” Nash cheered.

“We do,” I nodded. I turned to the analyst. “Get printouts of the photos of him and those of the victims’ ID cards and bodies. I need it in ten minutes.” I looked at Nash. “Go arrest him. Take a few officers with you so that he doesn’t pull out a weapon and wriggle out of the situation. And I will go bring back all the crime-scene photos to show him the difference in lighting and angles.”

Nash gave a huge grin. “Let’s get a confession and location out of him, shall we?”

“Let’s,” I repeated.

Just hang on a little longer, Evie. I’m coming for you.