Behind The Lies by Mark Beckner (the chimp paradox .txt) 📗

I will go with Juan to bring Mike to one of the interview rooms. I need to hear what he has to say, if anything. Let’s get moving.”

Fifteen minutes later, Detective Mike Ricci is sitting in interview room number three with Commander Marshall, Sgt. Pennington, and Detective Juan Garcia. The Commander has Ricci leave his service weapon and backup weapon in his desk drawer. Ricci knows something is up.

“What’s this all about?” asks Ricci.

Sgt. Pennington begins, “Mike, we have reason to believe you may be involved in the homicide of Dylan Rogers last week.”

“Now why would you think that?” he responds.

“Let me read you your rights first. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say…”

“Stop!” interrupts Ricci. “I know my rights. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay Mike, we have a DNA test that has matched your DNA to that found at the crime scene last week,” responds Pennington.

“And just where did you get my DNA?”

“I got it,” interrupts Garcia, “off your Dunkin Donuts coffee cup from yesterday.”

“You, my partner?”

“Yes Mike, just too many coincidences, especially the cut on your hand. I did it hoping to clear you of my suspicions.”

Ricci stares at Garcia without saying anything more.

“Mike,” continues Pennington, “we need to swab your mouth for a DNA sample to confirm or not confirm the results of the test from the coffee cup. As you well know, you can voluntarily give us a sample, or we can get a court order. Either way, we will get a swab.”

Ricci stares down at the table with his head in his right hand. His injured left hand sits in his lap.

“Mike, we have also impounded your vehicle and sent officers to secure your home. We will be applying for search warrants later today.”

Ricci finally speaks again, “that won’t be necessary.”

Commander Marshall then interjects, “why not Mike, what do you mean?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” says Ricci. “If you promise you will give me one hour in an interview room with my son Chris before taking me to jail, I will give you enough to make your case. I just want some time to explain to Chris why I did what I did. I will also give you consent for my DNA and to search both my car and home. That should save your detectives a lot of time”

“Deal,” says Marshall, “Now tell us what you did.”

“I’m not going to go through each of the murders, as I don’t want to relive them,” says Ricci. “However, I admit that yes, I committed all eleven homicides attributed to the Candy Man Killer. My motive was to avenge the death of my daughter and wife, as well as to save more young people from being ravaged by drugs. The knives were my calling card, a warning to all drug dealers; this could happen to you if you don’t change your ways. Remember what I told you Juan? No one wants to be stopped with a bloody knife on them. The last two stabbings did not go as smoothly as previous ones. My cancer is back, and I found as I grew weaker, it was more difficult for me to quickly overcome any resistance. That’s how I got cut in the last one. Had I not gotten cut, you still wouldn’t know who the Candy Man is. I know you won’t agree with me, but I believe by eliminating eleven dealers, I have saved dozens of young people. Is it morally wrong to save people?”

Ricci continues, “You will find what you are looking for in my garage. There is a metal cabinet along the back wall. It will have the clothing and disguise I wore. You will probably find blood spatter in the creases of the shoes in that cabinet. The clothes were always washed, but you may find something there as well. I used a beard and sometimes fake glasses to hide my identity should anyone see me. I also faked a limp if I thought I might be seen to further confuse investigators. That should give you enough to convict me on anything you want.”

“Mike,” asked Garcia, “how did you get into people’s homes?”

“That was rather easy. I would usually spend some time learning about my target's habits and never approached a residence if someone else was in the home. I would simply knock, show them my police identification, and tell them there had been an assault or homicide, or whatever down the street and I was just checking with neighbors. Some I would tell I was there to remove them from being under suspicion. No one wants to be under suspicion.”

“And what about the ones in the alleys?”

“Most of those dealers had late night jobs or did their dealing at night. I would just wait to find them on their way home. I researched my victims. I didn’t just go out and cruise the streets. Much of what I got came from narcotics detectives.”

“You seemed to focus on African Americans until the last two murders. What changed?”

“Nothing. This was never about race. It was only about going after predatory drug dealers. The neighborhoods we worked in simply happened to be populated by mostly black residents. I started to expand outside this area once everyone was on high alert. My last dealer happened to be white. From what I had gathered from Narcotics, he was an active dealer in the Hermosa neighborhood and someone who needed to be eliminated.”

Everyone in the room is astounded at how easily Ricci can describe what he had done. He does not appear to have any remorse.

“Mike,” Garcia says softly, “you do know you are going to spend the rest of your life in prison, right?”

“Well, it won’t be for long Juan. My cancer has returned with a vengeance. It’s in my pancreas and liver, and now that my secret is out, I will be forgoing all treatment. I should be dead in 8 months or so.”

“Knowing that makes things a little clearer,” says Garcia. “I’m sorry