Chapter 136: It's Not Him!
Richard Mason nodded slowly. "That's his last registered address."
"Does he have a job?" Bernie asked.
Mason's expression stiffened. "He was working as a painter. What did he do?"
Bernie didn't answer the question. "Did you refer him to the company?"
Mason nodded helplessly. "What exactly did he do?"
Bernie asked for the company's address, jotted it down in his notebook, and stood to leave. "He's currently the primary suspect in a murder investigation."
Mason stood frozen in place.
Bernie added, almost kindly, "It might not be related to his painting work."
They drove to the Southwest District, heading first to Robert Miller's workplace.
The painting company operated out of a warehouse, with three crews totaling over a dozen men.
Bernie found the supervisor and learned that Robert Miller had been fired two months earlier.
"He nearly assaulted a client's wife!"
The supervisor was a large man with a thick beard and a Southern drawl. His memory of Miller was particularly vivid.
"Because of him, my entire crew worked for free for a week! I had to grovel and apologize to the client just to avoid getting sued."
"What did the woman look like?" Theodore asked.
The bearded man thought for a moment, gesturing with his hands. "Long reddish-brown hair. Liked wearing floral dresses. A bit heavy, no, not fat exactly. Curvy, but not overweight."
"She was real nice. When we took breaks, she'd invite us to eat cakes she'd baked herself."
He paused, then waved his hand dismissively. "We all had a hard time believing Robert Miller would do something like that. For a while, I even suspected the client was just making up an excuse to avoid paying."
The supervisor's view of Miller was complicated. "He was a skilled worker. Good at what he did, meticulous and serious about his craft. Didn't talk much, though."
"He kept to himself. Barely participated in conversations with the rest of us. During lunch and breaks, he'd always hide away somewhere, rarely joining the group."
He recalled, "The only times he'd come over were when we talked about women."
"What did he say?" Bernie asked.
The bearded man spread his hands. "Just crude jokes between men. He said he'd tie women up first, then beat them. Said the harder he hit them, the more excited they'd get."
He described several detailed and disturbing things, his tone tinged with disgust. "He claimed women liked being treated rough like that. Said all the women he'd been with praised him afterward and missed him terribly. Said if he didn't visit them for a while, they'd even come looking for him, begging him to rough them up again."
The bearded man shivered visibly, looking revolted. "That's got to be bullshit. Who would actually like being treated that way? We all told him he was full of it."
Bernie turned and exchanged glances with Theodore.
"When you fired him, how did he react?" Theodore asked.
"He went ballistic. Knocked over several paint cans, threw his tools around, cursed me out. I had to withhold his entire paycheck to cover the damages."
He gave his final assessment: "Guy was like a lunatic. Something's not right in his head."
Bernie then asked about Miller's current whereabouts and address.
The bearded man shook his head. He didn't know either.
As they left, the supervisor kept calling after them, "What did he do? Is he going to jail?"
The question went unanswered.
Theodore and Bernie drove to Robert Miller's registered address. The two locations weren't far apart.
Bernie knocked on the door for several minutes before it finally opened.
Robert Miller stood before them.
He was lean and short, barely reaching Bernie's chin. He wore a loose gray work uniform that hung empty on his frame, making him look even smaller.
Miller paused, looking up at Bernie. "I don't know you. You've got the wrong person."
His voice was quiet, Theodore, standing behind Bernie, had to lean forward to hear clearly. The pitch was somewhat high, almost androgynous.
Bernie scrutinized him from head to toe, asking doubtfully, "You're Robert Miller?"
Miller nodded, looking confused. "Yeah, that's me. Who are you looking for?"
Bernie glanced back at Theodore.
Miller's entire demeanor reminded Bernie of the well-behaved students he used to bully back when he was a troublemaker. If he hadn't seen the case file and heard the supervisor's account, he would have sworn they had the wrong person.
Bernie showed his credentials. "FBI Special Agent Bernie Sullivan. This is Special Agent Theodore Dickson Hoover."
Miller seemed flustered, clearly intimidated by the titles.
Bernie gestured inside. "Can we come in to talk?"
Miller hesitated, obviously reluctant, but his gaze fell on the pocket where Bernie had returned his credentials, then lingered on the partially exposed gun holster at his hip. He stepped aside.
It was a studio apartment. Pants draped over the sofa, a pile of dirty clothes in the corner, everything matched the profile.
Theodore looked around while Bernie sat on the sofa and questioned Miller.
"Where were you on the night of April third, this past Monday?"
Miller thought for a moment, then answered softly, "At a bar."
He remained standing in front of Bernie, like a student called to the principal's office.
"What time did you arrive? What time did you leave?"
"Got there a little after six, left around nine. Came straight home afterward and went to sleep. Next morning, I worked as a porter down by the river."
The Southwest District bordered the Potomac River. The fish market was right on the waterfront. Every morning before dawn, porters gathered to haul fish. Work typically started around four or five in the morning and continued until full daylight.
Miller seemed experienced with this kind of questioning, explaining everything clearly and concisely.
Bernie took out his notebook to record the details. "Which bar? Can anyone vouch for you?"
Miller tossed the pants from the sofa onto the pile of dirty clothes and sat at the opposite end. "I go to that bar all the time. The bartender knows me. I only had two drinks, watched the boxing match, then left."
He described the boxing match in detail, the rounds, the fighters, the outcome.
Bernie asked several more questions in succession. Miller answered each one, appearing cooperative. He leaned back against the sofa, relaxed, completely lacking the tension he'd shown at the door.
"Do you remember Annie Halleck?"
Miller froze. His relaxed posture slowly stiffened as he sat upright.
"That red-headed bitch?" He grew agitated. "You're here about her? That whore! I told everyone! She seduced me! None of you believe me!"
According to his version, Annie Halleck constantly flaunted herself, doing everything possible to seduce him. Her supposed advances knew no boundaries, no time, no place, no occasion was off-limits. Even with her husband and child nearby, even in plain view of others, she'd become aroused whenever she saw him.
First she smiled at him, then waved. When he looked over, she'd tousle her hair, pull down her neckline, lift her skirt, expose her stockings, contorting her entire body, continuously tempting him like a water snake.
"I could tell from the way she looked at me, she wanted me to fuck her! She wanted me to strip her naked right then and there! To fuck her hard!"
He stood up, closed his eyes, tilted his head back slightly, his face contorted with excitement. He held his breath, remained silent for a moment, then exhaled slowly.
"Fuck!"
Miller also expressed exaggerated sympathy for Halleck's husband. "That poor bastard! Working his ass off to make money, staying late at the office all the time. And he has no idea what his wife's been doing behind his back! That slut! That bitch!"
In Miller's telling, he was merely teaching the unfaithful wife a lesson, making her understand shame.
Bernie didn't need to guide him, Miller simply unleashed this torrent on his own. When discussing Annie Halleck, he displayed a completely different personality.
Bernie felt a wave of nausea rising. Miller's ecstatic expression nearly made him vomit up his breakfast.
He quickly cut Miller off, asking if he'd seen Annie Halleck recently.
Miller shook his head. "She's probably in some other man's bed right now."
Theodore, who had finished examining the apartment, returned and invited Miller to accompany them to the Third Precinct.
Miller didn't respond, his eyes darting toward the door.
Bernie stood and blocked his path.
Miller withdrew his gaze. "I didn't do anything! Those bitches were the ones who tempted me!"
Bernie grabbed his shoulder and impatiently pushed him toward the door.
They brought him to the Third Precinct for processing.
Bernie handed over the information Miller had provided, the bar, the boxing match, and the dock work, to Detective Thomas for verification.
Thomas contacted the Patrol Division to check with the bar. The response came quickly: the bartender confirmed Miller's story.
An officer from the Third Precinct also corroborated Miller's account of the boxing match. He was a boxing enthusiast and had watched the same fight at the bar that night.
However, this only proved Miller hadn't spent the entire night with the victim. Verifying the dock work was most crucial, that timeframe coincided with when the victim was killed.
Unfortunately, this verification wouldn't be easy. Most porters at the docks were day laborers. Aside from those with regular positions, they didn't know each other. The agents needed assistance from the dock gangs.
These gangs controlled the labor pool and guarded the docks. Fishing boats had to pay them a cut before they could unload, and only then would porters move the catch. It was similar to a union, but with rates several times higher.
These people would be the first to notice new faces showing up at the docks.
Thomas requested help from the Patrol Division, but no news had come back yet.
Theodore checked the time. Still half an hour until end of shift. He signaled to Bernie, preparing to interview the two neighbors in room 511 at the Riverside Hotel.
This greatly surprised Detective Thomas, who had come to ask if they wanted to interrogate Miller.
He believed further investigation was unnecessary, they only needed to wait for word from the docks. Thomas was convinced Miller was the killer, and certain that Miller was lying. The dock workers would soon expose his lies.
Interrogating Miller directly made sense. Interviewing neighbors was completely trivial, a waste of time.
He kept this opinion to himself and asked Theodore, "Shouldn't we interrogate Robert Miller first?"
Theodore nodded in agreement and assigned the task of interrogating Miller to Thomas.
Based on the morning's performance, Theodore believed the Third Precinct and Thomas deserved greater trust and responsibility.
Thomas looked at Theodore in surprise, then turned his gaze to Bernie.
Bernie clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly. Before leaving, Theodore made what seemed like an unrelated request: "Have the forensics lab check the victim's fingerprints."
Thomas, still recovering from the shock of being given responsibility for interrogating the primary suspect, thought he'd misheard.
He was increasingly unable to understand what the FBI agents were thinking.
As closing time approached, Pennsylvania Avenue entered its usual state of gridlock.
Stuck in traffic, Theodore and Bernie discussed the case.
"You don't think Robert Miller is the killer?" Bernie asked.
Theodore shook his head.
"Why not?"
Theodore didn't answer directly. Instead, he posed a counter-question: "Based on Robert Miller's file, what have you learned about him?"
Bernie turned to look at Theodore, a bitter smile crossing his face. He felt like he'd dug a pit for himself and then obligingly jumped into it.
Theodore pulled out his notebook, opened to a fresh page, and looked at Bernie expectantly.
Bernie recalled the file he'd reviewed that morning, first outlining the necessary elements of Miller's completed assault: "Robert Miller stalked his victim, threatened her with a knife, forced her compliance, and after entering the location, restrained the victim with a belt to commit the assault, then left. This is a standard method to ensure completion of the assault."
The rest were identifying patterns: "Robert Miller chose to commit his assaults in the victims' homes, and during the assaults, he verbally abused and physically beat his victims."
Bernie looked at Theodore for confirmation.
Theodore added, "Throughout the entire crime, he made no attempt to conceal his identity."
He paused, then continued with his explanation. "When Robert Miller assaulted his targets, the accompanying verbal abuse and physical violence far exceeded what was necessary to subdue them. This was to satisfy his psychological need for absolute control, humiliation, and the venting of rage. That was the core motive behind his crimes."
"All his actions served to satisfy this need. As his criminal behavior escalated, the next logical step would be to torture and kill his targets in their homes after the assault."
"Not to push someone off a building in a hotel."
[End of Chapter]
Do you ever wish we lived in a world where people did what is right, for doing right and not just to impress society or anyone?
Haaah, don't know whether to cry or be happy to live in this world.