The Whisper Man(62)

A collector. He made it sound benign—respectable almost—but she had seen details of his collection. What kind of individual was drawn to the material that he had spent so many years acquiring? She pictured Collins and the people like him as rats scurrying around in the dark underbelly of the Internet. Doing their deals and making their plans. Chewing at the wires of society. When Collins looked up at her now, the disgust she felt must have been obvious on her face.

“It’s really no different from interests other people have,” he said defensively. “I learned long ago that my hobby was considered niche by most, and abhorrent by a few. But there are others who share it. And I have proved trustworthy over the years, which has allowed me access to more important pieces than others.”

“You’re a serious dealer?”

“A serious dealer in serious things.” He licked his lips. “And like any such dealings, there are open forums and there are private ones. My interest in the Whisper Man case was well known in the latter. And several years ago I was made aware that a certain … experience might be open to me. Assuming I was willing to pay, of course.”

“What was this experience?”

He stared back at her for a moment, and then answered as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“To spend time with Tony Smith.”

A moment of silence.

“How?” she said.

“In the first instance, I was told to visit Victor Tyler in prison. Everything was arranged through Tyler. Frank Carter knew about it, but he had no interest in being directly involved. The procedure was that Tyler would vet the people who came to him. I was pleased to pass that particular test. Upon receipt of funds delivered to Tyler’s wife, I was directed to an address.” Collins grimaced. “I wasn’t surprised to be sent to Julian Simpson.”

“Why?”

“He was an unsavory sort. Poor personal hygiene.” Collins tapped his head. “Not entirely all there. People used to make fun of him, but they were all frightened of him, really. The house too. It’s a strange-looking place, don’t you think? I remember children used to dare each other to go into the garden. They’d take photographs of each other there. Even before then—back when I was a child—people thought of it as the local scary house.”

Amanda glanced at Pete again. His face was inscrutable, but she could imagine what he must be thinking. Julian Simpson’s name had never come up in the case at the time. The police had known nothing of the man or his scary-looking house. And that was entirely understandable. There were people like Simpson in every community, their reputations among the young not necessarily based on anything real, and certainly not to the extent that adults would think anything of them.

But regardless, she knew Pete would blame himself for this.

“What happened next?” she asked Collins.

“I went to the house on Garholt Street,” he said. “After paying more money to Simpson, I was made to wait in a downstairs room. After a time, he returned with a sealed cardboard box. He cut it open carefully. And there … there he was.”

“For the record, Norman…?”

“Tony Smith.”

Amanda could hardly bring herself to ask the question.

“And what did you do with Tony’s remains?”

“Do with them?” Collins sounded genuinely shocked. “I didn’t do anything with them. I’m not a monster—not like some of the others. And I wouldn’t have wanted to damage an exhibit like that even if it had been allowed. No, I simply stood there. Paying my respects. Imbibing the atmosphere. You may find this hard to understand, but it was one of the most powerful hours of my life.”

Jesus, Amanda thought. He looked like a man remembering some lost love.

Of all the scenarios she had been imagining taking place, his answer was simultaneously the most banal and the most horrifying. The time spent with a murdered little boy’s body had clearly bordered on a religious experience for him, and imagining him standing there, believing he had some special connection with the sad remains in a box at his feet, was as awful in its own way as anything she could have thought of.

Beside her, Pete leaned forward slowly.

Not like some of the others. Whatever toll the account was taking on him, he just sounded weary right now—tired all the way down to his soul. “Who were the others, Norman? And what did they do?”

Collins swallowed.

“This was after Dominic Barnett took over—after Julian died. I think the two of them were friends, but Barnett didn’t have the same level of respect. Things deteriorated under his care.”

“Is that why you killed him?” Amanda said.

“Barnett wouldn’t grant me access anymore—not after the last time. I had to protect the exhibit! Tony needed to be kept safe.”

“Tell us about the others, Norman,” Pete said patiently.

“This was after Barnett took over.” Collins hesitated. “I’d visited several times over the years, but for me it was always the same. I was paying my respects, and I wanted to be on my own with Tony. But once Barnett was in charge, there started to be others there too. And they were not as respectful as me.”

“What did they do?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Collins said. “I left—I was disgusted. And Barnett refused to refund me. He even sneered at me. But what could I do?”