silence, listening for what he would say next.
"And I've decided who will interview him. Williams, since you're already acquainted with him, I have a feeling he is most likely to talk to you. Make sure you ask the right questions, and don't screw things up!" Mitchell said.
"I won't, sir," I replied, eager to talk to the apparent serial killer. I was also apprehensive at the same time, because this could be it – the people of Minot had been waiting for twenty years to find out the truth about the disruption of their small town, and this might finally be it. To be frank, I would have been bitterly disappointed if it turned out to be a hoax, and I would have been so angry, I would have done everything in my power to make the sentence as long as possible for a person who wasted valuable police time. I didn't even know his name, so that would be a good place to start.
He was ready. Whoever this man was, he was sitting in the interview room, waiting for me to come in and talk to him. Before I entered the room, I looked at him through the glass window, watching his every move, trying to see what he was feeling at the moment. He was shaking slightly, and his fingers were moving around his hands a lot, so it was obvious that he was nervous.
"Funny, isn't it?" said Miranda. "We complain that we don't get a challenge, and the next day, this happens!"
"Yes," I said, more concerned about what I was going to say to him. I had interviewed suspects several times before, but this person was different. I didn't know why. I was tired of waiting, so I decided that this was it. I was about to talk to the potential infamous Minot Hacker.
I entered the room and he looked at me, watching me like a predator. I said nothing, and he said nothing, until I sat down. There was nothing else in the room but the two of us, with two chairs and a table to separate us. No tape recorder was present for the time being, because it was only the start of the investigation, but there was closed-circuit television watching us.
"So, are you going to tell me your name?" I asked him, unsure about his reply.
"John Doe," he replied quickly.
"Well, that's really original, isn't it?"
He said nothing. He did not look at me. Instead, he stared at the floor.
"What's your real name?" I asked him.
"John Doe," he replied, slightly annoyed this time.
"So, John," I said, slightly sarcastic, "What made you come into the police station last night and confess to the murders?"
"I...I don't know," he replied. "I...oh! The guilt was too much for me! I couldn't take it anymore."
I froze for a second. It was quite unusual, the way he acted.
"Okay, so you decided to come in on the twentieth anniversary of the first killing?"
"Yes."
"Any particular reason for that?"
"No."
"Do you want attention or something?"
"No!"
"So, you're telling me, that it is just a coincidence that you just happened to confess to us on an important anniversary?" I asked, quite frustrated with him already. I knew this was going to be a long interview, since I was not going to give up easily.
He nodded. He did not seem so sure, but I wanted to move on and come back to that later.
"So, you are genuinely the murderer?"
"I am," he said, looking me right in the eye for the first time.
That shocked me, for whatever reason. I didn’t know why, but I suddenly felt goose bumps when he said that. It was like some other presence in the room was trying to tell me to believe him.
"So, this is not just a hoax?" I asked him.
"No! Why would I do something like that?" he asked me, looking dead serious.
"Well, other people have done this sort of thing in the past, mainly for media attention. Do you get noticed, John?" I said, getting rather excited.
"I am not making this up!" he yelled, becoming more and more furious.
"Alright, calm down. You just have to understand our point of view. You see, we are not sure you are the killer yet, because we have no evidence either way, other than your confession. So,