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"There's nothing to tieanyoneto the crimes so far," Amber pointed out. That was legitimate, but they needed to go somewhere in this case.
"Which is why we talk to him, and we hope that he slips up."
Simon briefly wondered why the local PD hadn't come up with Marcus Johnson as a possible suspect before this. Why they hadn’t come to speak to him the moment the first woman died. Maybe it was just the recency of the second murder so that they were still coming to terms with this being a serial killer, maybe they hadn’t seen the connection to the bridges, or maybe they'd just dropped the ball. He wanted to believe that Francesca would have found this angle if these killings had taken place in Westford.
The thought of Francesca made Simon smile briefly, even though he knew that he ought to focus on the case. He hadn't expected to find that kind of connection with someone in the middle of a murder investigation, and he was glad that she was arranging to come over to DC to visit. When this was done, he hoped that he would get to spend plenty of time with her.
Right now, though, as pleasant as the thoughts of Francesca were, Simon needed to keep focused. He and Amber needed to find Marcus Johnson among the homeless people living under the bridge. They needed to find a man who might be a serial killer.
The two of them left the car, approaching on foot so that they would have a better chance of getting close to the area under the bridge without scaring off the people there. Above, darkness was closing in rapidly, the water of the river a dark rush off to one side, the sound of it reminding Simon of just how close they were to the water.
The area beneath the bridge was dark and damp, with the only light coming from a small fire burning in a metal drum, creating an orange glow. There were several makeshift tents and shelters under there constructed from scrap metal and tarpaulin, creating a rough camp there beneath the bridge, and maybe a dozen or more people were sleeping or huddled together against the chill of the evening. It was clear that this was a community of sorts, even if it was a desperate one, one that might fall apart at any moment.
Amber and Simon approached carefully, picking their way between the tents. There was graffiti here under the bridge, but Simon couldn’t make out any gang signs he knew. He suspected that this was just a place for the city’s down and outs rather than its criminal element.
Already, Simon could see eyes on them as they moved forward, a few of the people there backing away, obviously already realizing that they were law enforcement. The two of them walked towards a group of men who were sitting around the fire, huddled together for warmth. They were all wearing dirty and ragged clothes, with unkempt hair and beards. Most of them were gathered around the burning oil drum. A couple of them were off to one side, rather incongruously playing chess on an aging board with cheap plastic pieces. They looked up as Amber and Simon approached, their eyes wary and hostile. It was obvious that they knew from the first look that Simon and Amber were there on official business. Simon could sense the tension there, but he didn’t feel as though it was about to turn into a violent situation. The people there mostly seemed sullen and silent, as if hoping that Simon and Amber would go away as quickly as possible.
Amber spoke up before Simon could, calling out so the people there could hear.
"We're looking for Marcus Johnson," Amber said. "Do any of you know where he is?"
Simon knew at once that it was too direct. Amber had probably been trying to save them time or maybe even trying to get them out of there as quickly as possible so that they could stop bothering these people, but the question instantly put the people there on edge.
The men exchanged glances, but no one spoke. Simon could see the fear in their eyes, the desperation to avoid any more trouble from the police. Had they worked out that Simon and Amber were FBI, or did they just think that they were detectives? Would it make any difference to them? Simon doubted it.
"Look, we're not here to cause any trouble," Simon said. "The sooner someone talks to us, the sooner we can go and get out of your way. We just need to talk to him. It helps him if we can find him."
There was still no answer from any of the people under the bridge. They’d probably all heard that kind of thing before. It was clear that they'd learned better than to talk to law enforcement. A few of them even started to drift away from the small encampment under the bridge, heading off as if they would rather give up their sleeping spot than risk having to talk to the FBI.
Simon and Amber exchanged a look. They couldn't risk losing their only lead. Amber seemed to have an idea, though. She headed over to the men playing chess.
“Do you mind if I play?” she asked.
The men looked uncomfortable, but they weren't about to say no. Amber sat down opposite one of them, resetting the pieces. She started to play, not saying anything, not asking about Marcus Johnson, not yet. Simon stood off to one side, trying not to look too threatening and hoping that Amber knew what she was doing.
She won the first game easily, then spun the board around to play black. She won that game too, and by now, a couple of the others were watching her. A big man pushed forward.
“Play me next, miss FBI,” he said, with a slight Eastern European accent. “Let’s see how good you are.”
He said it with the confidence of someone who clearly thought he was good at the game. Even so, Amber beat him. Simon didn’t understand enough about the game to knowhowshe beat him; he just spotted the moment when the big man frowned. He played on a few more moves, then stuck out a hand.
“You play well.”
Amber took it. “I’m better with puzzles.”
“But now, I must have a rematch, yes?”
Simon wondered if they really had time for Amber to play everyone there in the camp, but he was willing to go along with it. It was obvious that she was trying to build some kind of rapport with these men.
“Marcus Johnson,” she said, her tone soft. "We're not here to hurt anyone or cause any trouble. We just need some information. The sooner we find out where he is, the sooner we can leave you all alone."
One of the men, an older man with a wild beard and missing teeth, spoke up. "Marcus ain't here. He's probably down near the university. Reckons he can get money off those college types."
The man laughed and spat as if to emphasize how little he thought about the other man's chances. Simon wasn’t interested in that, just in the implications of what the man had said for the investigation.
Simon looked over to Amber. The university? If Marcus Johnson was hanging out there as well as near the bridges, then he suddenly had a link to both places that seemed to be connected to the murders. Now, they really had to find him,especiallyif he wasn't here where they'd expected him to be. If he was off at the university, that might mean that he was already out there, stalking another victim.
There was definitely no time to let Amber finish her game of chess.
