Free The Basement by Stephen Leather Page A

45th Street,
    aren't you?"
    “Yeah, I work out sometimes.”
    “You could probably lift me, couldn't you?”
    “Sure. What else?”
    “We think the man we're looking for is well above average intelligence. Possibly a genius.”
    “On what basis?”
    "On the basis that we're no closer to catching him now than we were two years ago. Because he's never left any evidence that could identify him. And because we've never found the bodies.
    Oh, he's clever, all right."
    “What else?”
    “An interest in movies.”
    “Because he videos his victims?”
    "It's more than that. The technical quality is good, the videos are edited before they're sent to the TV stations, there's a professional feel to them. And you were at the New York Film School,
    right?"
    “You know I was.”
    Turner puts his hands on his hips like a prizefighter between rounds. “Where's your video camera, Waller? The one you told us about.”
    I shrug like it's the last thing on my mind. “I lent it to a friend.”
    “Care to give us his name?”
    “Not really.” I turn back to Marcinko. “Nothing you've said so far is specific to me, Lisa,” I say, using her first name, making it personal.
    She looks me right in the eye. “Marvin,” she says, “do you know where Sarah Hall is?”
    I keep my eyes on hers, fighting the urge to look away, fighting the urge to scratch my nose or shift my feet or give off any of the dozens of signals that would suggest that I was lying, the signals that she's trained to spot. “No,” I say. “No, I don't.” I smile. “You don't need a search warrant to see that she's not here.”
    “Which is why we were wondering if you had another home somewhere.”
    Turner coughs like he smokes too much. “Yeah. Somewhere bigger,” he says.
    I shake my head. “What you see is what you get.”

The Basement
    Marcinko nods as if considering what I've said. "You've been following the case, haven't you,
    Marvin?"
    “Sure? I watch TV.”
    She carries on nodding, watching me with her pretty blue eyes. The silence crystalises around us like water turning into ice. “So you said,” she says eventually. "But you don't have a TV,
    Marvin."
    I stare at her for several seconds. Several long seconds. “It's in for repair.”
    “Really?” It's clear that she doesn't believe me.
    “Really.”
    “What about the video recorder?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You say you have a video camera, but you haven't got a video recorder. Or is that being repaired, too?”
    “I lent it to the friend who wanted the camera.”
    She gives me the friendly smile. “You're not stupid, Marvin. You can see where this is heading.”
    “Yeah. But you still don't have probable cause. You have a profile, that's all.”
    "So we were wondering if you'd come down to the station with us, help us to clear this thing up,
    one way or the other."
    “I don't think so.”
    She holds my look for a while. “Please,” she says.
    “Not this time, Lisa,” I say. “This isn't a joke any more.”
    Turner stands close behind me. I can smell garlic on his breath. Garlic and stale cigarette smoke. “This was never a joke, Waller,” he says. “You killed those women and you're going to kill Sarah Hall if you haven't already. We know you did it, Waller.”
    “So arrest me, Ed.”
    He grins. “We will, Waller. Sooner or later, we will.”
    “Marvin,” interrupts Marcinko. “We'd like you to take a lie detector test.”
    “It won't be admissible.”
    “No, but it would put our minds at rest.”
    I think about it for a while. I decide it might be fun. I nod. “But not today,” I say.
    “Whenever you want.”
    “Tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock.”
    She nods. “Okay. She smiles. ”Thanks, Marvin."
    * * *
    You stand at the door, your eye pressed against the peephole, one hand flat against the painted wood. The door is warm to the touch but it's deceptive because underneath the wooden veneer is a two inch thick slab of cold steel suspended from the concrete