The One a Month Man Read Online Free Page B

reaction:
How could such an insignificant little runt be such a monster?
Monster! Oh, yes, that was such a turn-on word for them. The worse the label, the bigger the gratification. But Bundy defied the rule. So, apparently, did Pope, who was a gregarious young man, confident, talented, successful, gifted with a high IQ, a sporting talisman, fit and healthy, and not a hint of mental abnormality. And that would be the moment when the prosecuting counsel needed Ted Bundy as an antidote, the ace in their hole, the definitive proof that generalizations about criminal stereotyping were flawed. He would be our courtroom match-winner; back from the grave to do a good deed, something he never did while among the living. Good ghosts could come from bad lives.
    If there is such a phenomenon as reincarnation, then Ted Bundy could have come back as Richard Pope, I’d already decided, even though I was only a half-day into the case and I’d only Sharkey’s word for the DNA clincher.
    Theodore Pope’s statement said more about himself than anything else. He was fifty-three years old and had been a Democrat senator for ten years. Although he lived in Washington DC, he also owned a ranch in Texas, his home state and where Richard had spent his early years. Richard was their only child and sole heir to the Pope estate, which, all-told, was worth in the region of a billion dollars. As for the Friday evening in question, Theodore merely corroborated his son’s account.
    I cannot be exact about times, but the three of us were pretty tired when we finally migrated from the restaurant and headed wearily to our rooms. Any big city takes its toll when you’re Christmas shopping and I’d spent most of the day trudging around London with my wife, Grace. Richard was also very sleepy. When you’re training for the University
Boat Race – even in the initial stages – you have to be early to bed and early to rise. He wasn’t used to being up and awake after ten p.m. Neither was he accustomed to drinking alcohol, but it was a special occasion – only my second trip ever to the UK and first visit to Oxford, so we had something to celebrate. However, the wine did make Richard very drowsy and he was struggling to stay awake. Very soon after we got upstairs and after watching a bit of soccer, he had to get to bed because he was fighting to keep open his eyes. I also noticed that he was somewhat unsteady on his feet
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    Grace Pope’s statement was more interesting, particularly the last paragraph.
    About half an hour after Richard had gone to his own room, I tapped on the adjoining door because I’d remembered something of such riveting importance I wanted to ask him that I’ve completely forgotten what it was! Anyhow, there was no reply, so he must have been sleeping. I didn’t attempt to go into his room because I didn’t want to disturb him. I had no idea whether he had locked the door, though I see no reason why he should have
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    So she hadn’t tried the door. I flicked through the old paperwork ; there was no indication that she’d been asked this question. Did either of them hear any noise from Richard’s room, such as snoring, heavy breathing or footsteps? Was there a bandage or a plaster on one of his hands at breakfast? From a superficial examination of the dossier, it didn’t appear that these obvious and very pertinent questions had been put to the parents. If they were covering for their son, they would have lied, of course. But at least their lies would have been on record. Neither did it seem that any of the staff on breakfast duty had been quizzed about noticing an injury on Saturday morning to Richard Pope. Already I was beginning to share Sharkey’s view of shoddy procedural corner-cutting. Not that it mattered toomuch now. DNA was a noose that never failed to tighten as soon as the right neck was identified.
    After lunch, I returned to the police station, where Sharkey had given me exclusive use of a room that hilariously