Friday 12 October 2012
Missy Fairmont displayed no emotion while Detective Sue Lennard recounted everything they had learned about her.
‘But what I really want to know to start with, Missy,’ Lennard said, ‘is how you met Cody Seaborn? I mean, he’s nineteen and you’re . . . not.’
Missy grinned but did not answer. Lennard waited, refusing to tear her gaze away from the woman.
‘You think you know it all, don’t you, Detective Lennard?’ Missy oozed arrogance.
‘On the contrary, Missy, I don’t and that’s why I want you to tell me all about it.’
‘Did he tell you that it was completely coincidental that his uncle was the detective that this charming officer approached to handle the case?’ Missy pointed at Ricketsen as she spoke of him. Lennard refrained from replying. She didn’t want Missy to have access to any information that would allow her to pass the responsibility of the murders on to Cody Seaborn. Lennard’s silence was clearly frustrating Missy. She slammed her hand down on the metal table. Both Lennard and Ricketsen jumped in surprise.
‘TELL ME,’ Missy yelled.
‘TELL ME. TELL ME. TELL ME,’ screamed Missy, her face painted with rage. Lennard regained her composure and smiled as arrogantly as Missy previously had. She and Ricketsen continued to sit in silence whilst Missy became more and more agitated. Their refusal to speak had been carefully planned by Brian Hunt, the detective who had inherited the stalking case when the original investigating detective had been murdered.
Hunt had employed the services of a criminal psychologist who scoured all of the information that the police could dig up about Missy Fairmont. He had provided Hunt with a description of the type of personality that she would likely have in order to have cultivated the stalking plan, and play out the helpless victim of first the stalking, and then the murder of her husband. From what Hunt had seen so far in Lennard’s interview of Missy Fairmont, the psychologist had been eerily correct. And if the psychologist was as accurate as Hunt hoped, Missy was just about at breaking point.
Hours of waiting alone in the interview room had served to increase Missy’s frustration. Unable to control what her accomplice, Cody Seaborn, was saying and doing, the tension was bubbling away under Missy’s surface like a volcano prior to an enormous eruption. If Lennard and Ricketsen prodded her in the right way, she would likely confess to everything. Hunt’s grand plan to gain a confession then simply became a game. Ricketsen and Lennard would start by proffering Missy some information then cut it off before what Hunt described as “the good bits”. Missy’s level of ego and arrogance would mean that she was almost desperate to hear more of what the police had uncovered, and the silence of Hunt’s team would serve as the catalyst for her confession.
Missy suddenly calmed, her agitation still palpable but her outward demeanour settling. With eyes closed and an expression of concentration on her face, she appeared to be focussing on controlling her breathing.
‘Meditation,’ she said, ‘has helped me since I was a little girl. I remember having the most awful temper tantrums. My poor parents would be beside themselves when I flew off into a rage. Seems nothing has changed with me.’
Lennard nodded once in reply.
Missy turned her attention to Officer Ricketsen. She looked him up and down and tried on her politest smile.
‘Andy. May I call you Andy?’ she enquired. Andy returned the smile and nodded, not wishing to contradict Hunt’s order to remain as silent as possible during the interview.
‘Well, Andy, you are my hero. If it wasn’t for you finally seeing the merit in my being pursued by a stalker, I doubt that my plan would have fallen so nicely in to place. You are my hero . . . and my pawn.’ She paused, hoping for a reaction from Andy but got nothing. This seemed to frustrate her as much as their silence.
Lennard, who had been personally briefed by the criminal psychologist, tilted her head towards her right shoulder. As with the manufactured silence, all of Lennard’s gestures had been choreographed for maximum effect. Missy grimaced slightly, her petulance rising to the top of Volcano Missy.
‘You all played right into my hands. All of you. Every single one of you. And I’m not sorry that the stupid little boy killed his stupid little detective uncle. Nor am I sorry that he’s going to spend the rest of his life in jail. And as for that stupid husband of mine –’
The words were rushing to free themselves from her mind and mouth, but Lennard interrupted.
‘Yes? That stupid husband of yours. Do, please, go on. Andy and I would simply love to hear about him.’
The interruption threw Missy off guard. She struggled to reorder her thoughts, to continue from where she had been cut off.
‘My husband . . . I . . . it was his fault. After five years of marriage to that man, five years of hell, of having someone old enough to be my father touch me . . . and . . .’ She stopped short of finishing the explanation.
‘Oh, who am I kidding?’ Missy Fairmont genuinely smiled. She was about to give the police exactly what they wanted to hear. ‘I just got sick of William and I wanted him dead, so I conned the kid into doing it for me. It’s that simple.’
. . . The end . . .