But he said, “OK. Just promise to do your best.”
“I promise,” I said, and that was all Hubbell needed. He was eager to talk about his attenuated five-year killing spree, and I’ve got to give it to Joe. He had been right from the beginning. Clement Hubbell killed on the anniversary of his conviction for rape. He called it a celebration of the start of his wonderful life in prison.
As for the murders themselves, with the exception of Tina Strichler, Hubbell said they were killings of opportunity.
“It was a test of my skill,” he told me, leaning over the table, really wanting me to understand.
“I selected a knife from my collection. I looked for a woman who was in a good place to be killed. Sometimes they were alone. Sometimes I’d see one in the thick of a crowd. Like the one I killed at the race last year. I gave myself twelve hours to do the job and earn another star for my map. And then, once I was back home, I would wait for news of my perfect crime.” He grinned. “And I’d think about it for another year.”
“But you couldn’t tell anyone? That must’ve hurt,” I said.
“Sure. That’s true,” Hubbell said. “I missed having a cell mate.”
“So Tina Strichler was the only victim you knew?” I asked.
“Bettina Monroe. The only girl I ever loved. Raping her, well, she was my first. I held a knife on her, but it was just a turn-on. I wasn’t going to kill her. I didn’t even think of killing her. I thought she might be willing to date me. I know you want to laugh, Sergeant—”
“No, no. I’m just surprised that you cared for her.”
“Yes. Until I raped her, she didn’t know I was alive.”
“And so why did you kill her?”
“I was leaving the police a clue,” he said.
“Because?”
“It was time.”
At the end of an hour, Clement Hubbell had told us in great detail about each of the murders he had committed. He never asked for a lawyer. After a while, he put his head down on the table and nodded off. Wang woke him up, and Michaels charged him with five homicides. Before he was take
n out of the room, Hubbell thanked me. That was a first.
“You’re very welcome,” I told him.
I left the box and found Joe and Brady waiting for me.
“Good job, the two of you,” Brady said. “All is forgiven. Don’t ever put me in this position again.”
He shook Joe’s hand. He shook mine. He squeezed my arm.
All in all, it was a good day to be a cop.
CHAPTER 89
YUKI WAS HIGH from the thrill of it.
She had just faced off with Red Dog Parisi across his leather-topped desk and negotiated a three-point-five-million-dollar settlement and a public apology for the Kordell family, which, during two intense phone calls, they had accepted.
She texted Brady before she left the Hall, again from the street, and another time from the parking lot at Whole Foods on Fourth Street. No reply.
During her drive home to Telegraph Hill, she revisited highlights of her meeting with Parisi, especially the part when he’d said, “I think two million is the right number.” And she had said, “No, it’s not, Len. No freaking way.”
Yuki hardly remembered arriving home, but after putting away the groceries, she checked her landline and saw that Brady still hadn’t called. And now she was getting annoyed about that.
She took a bottle of coconut water from the fridge, got into her comfy chair, and was opening her e-mail when the doorbell rang. She bounced up, looked through the peephole, and saw a teenager standing in the hallway with a clipboard and a gigantic bouquet of flowers.
This was more like it.