CHAPTER TWENTY
Currently, Walsh sat in the metal chair with his hands cuffed behind him, rocking slightly back and forth.
His greasy hair hung in his face, and he kept muttering under his breath about molecular contamination and spiritual cleansing.
The confined space seemed to amplify his agitation.
He was sweating despite his lack of movement, and he had started blinking profusely.
“Jeremy,” Vic said, activating the digital recorder on the table. “We need you to walk us through what you did to Sarah Morrison.”
Walsh looked up, his eyes bright with fanatic enthusiasm. “The teacher was the worst case I'd ever documented. Her chemical aura was so intense it was visible even without spectrographic equipment. She was poisoning those children every day with her toxic emanations.”
“So you decided to cleanse her,” Miles said.
“I had to. The contamination was spreading through the entire school system. Every child she touched was being poisoned with fluoride, heavy metals, synthetic chemical residues.” Walsh's voice grew more animated and the words came fast, nearly blending together.
“I was saving those innocent souls from molecular corruption.”
Vic leaned forward. “How did you get the fluorine gas into her classroom?”
Miles knew this was sort of a trick question. They already knew. He supposed it might be the first step in figuring out how many of the devices were scattered all over the city.
“Through the ventilation system. It's the only way to ensure proper distribution of the cleansing agent. You have to calculate the airflow dynamics, the gas mixing ratios, the exposure duration.” He spoke with the confidence of someone reciting well-rehearsed facts.
But something in his explanation bothered Miles. Walsh was describing the general method accurately, but he wasn't providing the specific details someone would know if they'd actually created the delivery system.
“What kind of remote did you use?” Miles asked.
Walsh hesitated for a fraction of a second. “A standard electronic remote. Set for… for maximum cleansing exposure.”
“Was there a delay?”
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
“How long?”
“Long enough to ensure I was safely away from the contamination zone.”
Miles felt his first serious doubt about Walsh's confession. The actual device had used a sophisticated remote activation system, not a simple timer. If Walsh had built and installed it himself, he would know that detail and be proud of his achievement, proud enough that he’d want them to know.
“Tell us about Janet Reilly,” Vic said. “The florist.”
Walsh's eyes lit up again. “Another severe case. Her work environment was saturated with pesticides, preservatives, synthetic fragrances. She was a walking chemical weapon, contaminating everyone who came near her flower arrangements.”
“How did you access her shop?”
“I studied her routine for weeks. Documented her contamination levels, planned the optimal cleansing approach.” Walsh was back to rocking in his chair. “The fluorine exposure neutralized all the toxic compounds she'd been carrying.”
“But how did you physically get into the building?” Miles pressed.
“I... I found a way in. Through the ventilation access.”
Miles reached out to one of the folders on the table and pointed out photos of the crime scene. “Show me exactly where you installed the delivery system.”
Walsh stared at the photos, his confidence wavering. He almost looked sacred now. “It was... in the back area. Near the cooling systems.”
“Which cooling systems?”
“The ones that... that circulate the air through the building.”
Miles exchanged a glance with Vic. Walsh was guessing, describing generic HVAC components rather than the specific installation points they'd documented at each scene.
“Jeremy, let's talk about Robert Hahn,” Vic said. “The bus driver.”
Walsh's agitation increased. “He was the most dangerous of all. Every day he transported dozens of innocent people while exhaling contaminated air from vehicle emissions. He was spreading chemical warfare through the entire public transportation system.”
“How did you get access to his bus?”
“I waited until he was conducting his pre-trip inspection. Then I activated the cleansing protocol.”
Miles felt his skepticism growing. “You activated it how?”
“Remote activation,” he said with a shaky smiled. From a safe distance.”
“What kind of remote device for that one?”
Walsh's eyes darted between Miles and Vic. “A standard... a radio frequency transmitter.”
“What frequency?”
“The optimal frequency for... for ensuring proper molecular cleansing.”
Miles stood up abruptly. Walsh was improvising, making up technical details that sounded plausible but were completely wrong.
The actual delivery systems had used technology far more sophisticated than Walsh was describing.
He was telling lies and making guesses. Yet oddly enough, none of these lies would be sufficient to nail the bastard.
Quite the opposite, actually. They exonerated him.
“Jeremy, I need you to be very specific about something.” Miles sat back down and looked directly into Walsh's eyes. “How exactly did you get into the elementary school to install your device?”
Walsh's confidence crumbled. “I told you, through the ventilation system.”
“But the school's HVAC system is completely inaccessible from outside the building. The only way to reach the installation point would have been through the school's interior.”
“I... I found a way.”
“What way?”
Walsh's rocking became more violent. “I waited until after hours and...”
“The school has motion sensors throughout the building. Any movement after hours would have triggered the security system.”
“I disabled the sensors.”
“How?”
Walsh stared at him, his mouth opening and closing without sound. Finally, he slumped in his chair. “I don't know. I just... I wish I had the courage to do what needed to be done.”
Miles felt a defeat wash over him. He was both furious and sickeningly disappointed at the same time. “You didn't kill anyone, did you, Jeremy?”
“I wanted to!” Walsh's voice became small and defeated. “I’ve wanted to for a while now. It’s the only way to… to cleanse this world! And so many people are just so… they don’t care what they’re doing to others! To the whole world!”
“So you made up the confessions,” Vic said, folding her arms together. Miles wasn’t positive, but he thought she might be taking such a stance to keep herself from pummeling Walsh.
“When I saw the news reports about the fluorine deaths, I knew someone else had found the courage to act,” he said, near tears now.
Someone with the proper equipment and expertise.
” Walsh looked up at Miles with something approaching admiration.
“Whoever did this understood the truth about chemical contamination. They had the strength to perform the necessary cleansings.”
Vic leaned back in her chair. “You're confessing to murders you didn't commit because you wish you had.”
“Those people needed to die.” Walsh's voice carried no emotion, no empathy for the victims. “They were spreading molecular corruption throughout the city. Whoever killed them was performing a sacred service. And if I can help them in some way… even if it’s doing nothing more than wasting your time…”
Miles felt nauseated by Walsh's complete lack of human feeling. The man was discussing three innocent deaths as if they were pest control measures. His apparent breakdown or mental illness couldn't excuse the callousness with which he celebrated the murders.
“Jeremy, you need to understand that three innocent people died,” Miles said. “A kindergarten teacher, a florist, a bus driver. They had families, friends, people who loved them.”
Walsh shrugged. “They were chemically corrupt. Their deaths freed their souls from molecular bondage.”
Miles couldn't listen to anymore. He stood up and headed for the door, his stomach churning with disgust. Walsh's casual dismissal of human life was more disturbing than his delusional theories about chemical contamination.
“Dr. Sterling?” Vic called after him.
“I need some air,” Miles said, stepping into the hallway.
The corridor outside the interrogation room was empty and quiet.
Miles leaned against the wall and tried to process what had just happened.
They'd arrested someone who desperately wanted to be their killer but lacked the competence actually to have committed the crimes.
Walsh's mental breakdown had revealed the real killer's reach, into the paranoid corners of social media, inspiring copycats and admirers.
After a few minutes, during which he simply stood frozen in the hallway, Vic emerged from the interrogation room.
“He's sticking to his story about wanting to commit the murders,” she said. “But he's clearly not our guy.”
“How could I have missed it?” Miles asked. “All the signs were there. His videos, his access to chemistry labs, his paranoid theories. It seemed so obvious. At the risk of sounding uncaring… he’s not all there, is he?”
“No, it doesn’t seem like it. And you know, sometimes what seems obvious is wrong. That's part of investigative work.” Vic leaned against the wall beside him. “You encounter setbacks like this, and you just have to roll with them.”
Miles felt a crushing sense of failure. “I'm starting to think I really am better off in a lab setting. Field work seems to be kicking my ass. I’ve basically been wrong about every lead we've followed.”
“You're wrong about being wrong. Your periodic table theory led us to Diana Hartwell in San Francisco. Your insights about the fluorine murders got us this far. And what was, less than a month ago, just a theory you were hesitant to share, is slowly becoming our blueprint.”
He shrugged. She was right, and he appreciated the encouragement, but this level of failure was worlds. Beyond anything he’d ever experienced in the lab, even on his worst day.
Vic was quiet for a moment, as if she was letting him adjust and adapt, not wanting to force him out of his discomfort.
After a while, though, she said, “Miles, the real killer is still out there.
Walsh's confession proves that whoever's doing this has inspired other people with similar delusions. That's significant information.”
“How do you figure?”
“It shows that people can be swayed when pushed too hard. If you ask me, it gives us even firmer proof to your idea that there’s some grand master at the center of all this. Walsh represents the kind of person who gets drawn into that ideology and can begin to develop extreme thoughts.”
Miles pushed away from the wall. “We're going to have to face the media and explain that we arrested the wrong person.”
“That's Hayes's problem, not ours. He might not be too happy about it, sure, but that’s not what you need to worry about right now.”
“But the real killer knows we're getting close. Three victims in three days, and now they'll know we're actively hunting them.”
“Which might force them to make mistakes.”
Miles wasn't convinced. The fluorine killer had demonstrated sophisticated planning and technical expertise. Being hunted by the FBI might make them more careful, not less. If they’d put so much planning into these attacks, he couldn’t help but feel they wouldn’t make silly, careless mistakes.
He shook his head and gave her a look that he hoped didn’t look as defeated and as broken as it felt. “I… look, please forgive me; I know this is unprofessional, but I just need a moment to myself.”
Without waiting for her response, Miles walked away.
Yes, it made him feel like he had his tail tucked between his legs, but he didn’t trust himself to stay cool and collected in front of Vic.
He felt something similar to a panic attack coming on and he did his best to hold it down as he walked further away from the interrogation room.
No… this case was proving only one thing. Field work wasn’t where he was supposed to be.