Nightwatcher (Nightwatcher #1)(95)

Not exactly true. There aren’t enough guys downstairs to entirely seal the perimeter. Rocky can only hope Jerry didn’t slip out and down one of the stairwells before they got up here. If he’s still inside the apartment, the only way out now is past Rocky, Brandewyne, and Vic—and that’s not going to happen.

He reaches out to knock again, but Brandewyne grabs his arm and gestures at the knob. He sees that it’s turning, and his hand goes immediately to his gun.

The door swings open and there stands Jerry Thompson, tears running down his fat face.

“Help me,” he blubbers. “Please.”

You always have to do what the police tell you to do. That’s the law.

Mama taught Jerry that years ago. That’s why he came out of the bedroom and opened the door when they told him to.

He wasn’t surprised to find that Jamie was gone. Well, not Jamie. Whoever had been pretending to be Jamie. It wasn’t really her. Jerry knows that now.

“Jerry, you need to tell us exactly what happened,” the lady policeman tells him, after making him sit down on the couch and answer questions about what his name is and where he lives.

“Okay,” Jerry says, and he explains everything to her and to the other policeman and to the other man, the one in the suit. He tells them all about Jamie, and about Mama, and about Kristina and Marianne, and it feels good to finally say it all.

But when he’s finished, the police officer—the bald one with the big stomach, the one who seems like he’s the boss of the lady—says, “Jerry, you and I both know that’s not exactly how it happened.”

Jerry blinks. “It isn’t?”

“No. First of all, we know that Jamie died ten years ago, after she hurt you, hurt your head—”

“No,” he interrupts, “that’s wrong. Mama’s the one who hurt me.”

“Who told you that?” the lady policeman asks.

“Jamie did. Because I didn’t remember what happened. Mama always told me I fell down . . .”

“You didn’t fall down, Jerry,” the man with the big stomach says.

“Jamie hit you in the head,” the lady says. “Jamie hurt you. And then she died. Do you know that Jamie died?”

Jerry shakes his head. “I thought she did, because that’s what Mama told me, but Mama lied. Jamie really didn’t die. She just stayed away because she was afraid of Mama, and then she came back to take care of me. She said Mama moved away, but . . .”

Jerry casts a worried look over his shoulder at the bedroom door. More police officers are in there, taking pictures.

“Jerry,” the boss policeman says, “look at me. Focus on me.”

Jerry does, because you have to do what the policemen tell you. Police ladies, too.

“Your sister died ten years ago. And your mother—she’s dead, too. She didn’t move away. Someone killed her. Who did it?”

“Maybe Jamie did.”

“Jamie . . . is . . . dead. Who killed your mother, Jerry?”

The policeman and lady are so mad at him. Jerry is afraid. He looks over at the window, again wondering what would happen if he jumped out.

“Jerry, who killed your mother?” the man asks again.

“I don’t know!”

“You did. You killed her.”

“I did?” Bewildered, Jerry shakes his head. “But I don’t—”

“Jerry, think about it. Maybe you’re just forgetting.”

Jerry thinks about it. He thinks hard.

“Look, we found the fingers in a box under the bed in there.”

“What fingers?”

“And we found your wig in the bathroom, and it matches a hair we found on one of your victims, and we found your dress, and—”

“But I don’t have a wig and a dress—”

“—your makeup . . .”

The makeup!

“I don’t wear makeup. Jamie does. That’s Jamie’s,” Jerry adds helpfully, because he really is thinking hard.

The cops ignore him, though, just go on talking.

“You killed your mother,” the policeman says, “and you killed those two women downtown at the buildings where you work.”

“And tonight,” the police lady says, “you went back down to Hudson Street and you tried to hurt Allison Taylor, didn’t you?”

“No!” Jerry is sobbing now. “No!”

“You don’t remember?”

“No!” He’s so tired, and so sad, and scared, and confused . . .

He doesn’t remember doing any of the things they’re telling him he did. But . . .

Remember, Jerry? She told you she wanted to go live far, far away from here. Across the ocean. Remember?

Jerry doesn’t have a good memory sometimes, because he hurt his head. That’s what Jamie told him. Maybe he forgot what he did to Allison and Marianne and Kristina just like he forgot that Mama told him she had moved away.

“We know what happened, Jerry. You do, too.”

“I don’t remember! Maybe Jamie does! Ask Jamie!” Jerry looks wildly around the apartment, hoping to see his sister. But she’s gone.

“Jamie isn’t there,” the policeman says, “because Jamie only exists up here.” He taps his head. “Do you understand, Jerry?”