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I had a thought about how he would come across to a jury. Would they find him sympathetic?
“Not guilty” by reason of the likability factor as well as being freaking insane?
“On the return trip, Mr. Brinkley —” I said.
“You can call me Fred.”
“Okay, Fred. As the Del Norte was docking in San Francisco, did you pull a gun and fire on some of the passengers?”
“I had to do it,” he said, his voice breaking, suddenly strained. “The mother was . . . listen, I did a bad thing. I know that, and I want to be punished.”
“Did you shoot those people?” I insisted.
“Yes, I did it! I shot that mother and her son. And those two men. And that other woman who was looking at me like she knew everything inside my head. I’m really sorry. I was having a very nice time until it all went wrong.”
“But you planned this shooting, didn’t you?” I asked, keeping my voice level, even giving Brinkley an encouraging smile. “Isn’t it true that you were carrying a loaded gun?”
“I always carry Bucky,” Brinkley said. “But I didn’t want to hurt those people. I didn’t know them. I didn’t even think they were real until I saw the video on TV.”
“Is that right? So why’d you shoot them?” Jacobi asked.
Brinkley stared over my head into the glass of the two-way mirror. “The voices told me to do it.”
Was that the truth? Or was Brinkley staging his insanity defense right now?
Jacobi asked him what kind of voices he was talking about, but Brinkley had stopped answering. He dropped his chin toward his chest, mumbling, “I want you to lock me up. Will you do that? I really need some sleep.”
“I’m pretty sure we can find you an empty cell on the tenth floor,” I said.
I knocked on the door, and Sergeant Steve Hall
came into the interrogation room. He stood behind the prisoner.
“Mr. Brinkley,” I said as we all came to our feet, “you’ve been charged with the murders of four people, attempted murder of another, and about fourteen lesser crimes. Make sure you get a good lawyer.”
“Thank you,” Brinkley said, looking me in the eyes for the first time. “You’re an honorable person. I really appreciate all you’ve done.”
Chapter 23
THE NEWSPAPER WAS WAITING outside my front door the next morning, the headline huge over Cindy’s byline: FERRY SHOOTER IN DRY DOCK.
When I arrived at the Hall of Justice, a knot of reporters was waiting for me.
“How do you feel, Lieutenant?”
“Fantastic,” I said, grinning. “Doesn’t get any better than this.”
I answered questions, praised my team, and smiled for a few pictures before going into the building, taking the elevator to the third floor.
When I walked through the gate to the squad room, Brenda struck a little gong she kept at her station and then stood up and hugged me. I could see the flowers on my desk from across the room.
I gathered everyone together and thanked them for all they’d done, and when Inspector Lemke asked if I could give lessons in how to conjure up murderers, we all cracked up.
“I’ve got the nose-twitching part down pat,” he said, “but nothing happens.”
“You gotta twitch your nose, cross your arms, and blink at the same time!” Rodriguez shouted.
I was pouring coffee for myself in the lunchroom before diving into the thick pile of paperwork taking up half my desktop when Brenda peeked around the doorway, saying, “The chief is on line one.”
