I pulled out my notebook and my tape recorder.
There was also an old-style two-way mirror. We couldn’t see anything in the outer room, but I could imagine how many people were crammed in there to hear this interview of a killer who had bested law enforcement for nearly a year, though his streak could’ve been even longer.
I had already gotten a few calls, with increasing frequency, from Emily Parker at the FBI. She probably wanted to tip me off that the FBI was about to horn in. Typical. She’d been too busy to access FBI resources when I needed them, and now that I’d found our suspect without her help, I was too busy to talk.
It’s unusual to interview a suspect solo. Partners practice the substance and order of their questions, who will do the asking and who will take notes. This was not a usual situation. Thank God I had a boss who had faith in me. He realized I’d be better off on my own.
I read Ott his rights and made sure he understood each of them. I asked him the usual questions, like name, age, and marital status. He didn’t seem to hold back any information. He told me about his wife and two daughters in Omaha. Then he surprised me by saying, “I read that you have ten kids. How does that work?”
This guy was a level beyond most criminals. He was the first suspect ever to confess that he’d researched me, and I was completely thrown when he started questioning me in the middle of a police interview. Usually the person whose hands aren’t cuffed is the one asking the questions.
I decided to answer him, thought it was a step in the right direction for building rapport. “It usually works pretty well,” I said, “but organizing ten kids can be a challenge.”
There was nothing threatening about his physical appearance. He was a pleasant-looking, clean, reasonably well-dressed man. Most people wouldn’t have a problem talking to him.
I did. I was the father of six daughters, and he’d killed more women than I had in my entire family.
He seemed so normal, or The man I knew could never murder people, I could already imagine Ott’s neighbors saying when the media descended upon them.
I asked, “You need anything? Something to eat? A drink?” Suspects were quick to claim mistreatment, and I wasn’t about to lose this crucial statement on that account.
Ott looked me right in the eye and said, “I’m not hungry. And your process is inefficient. I can save us all some time.”
“How’s that? From the moment you committed your first murder you were on stolen time. You stole years of your victims’ lives that they and their loved ones will never get back.”
“That’s one way of looking at my actions, Detective Bennett,” Ott said. “I see them differently.”
We were approaching a stalemate, so I changed tack.
“How do you choose your victims?” I asked.
“American women with their attitudes and smart mouths set me off,” he said. “I heard an intern at an insurance office brag that she was studying communications in college so she’d never have to be a lonely telephone tech. Can you believe that? I am a grown man who provides for his family and that little bitch was looking down her nose at me.”
He was talking about Elaine Anastas.
“That’s why you killed her, and then wrote that threatening letter, ‘To the Women of New York’?”
“I was teaching them a lesson. I wrote that I would kill the ones who didn’t respect me, and I always do exactly what I say,” Ott sneered. “I’ve been killing women for ten years, Detective Bennett, longer than that partner of yours has been on the force. A significant portion of your own career.”
I can sit quietly through the most horrifying stories, nodding along with what feels like perverse encouragement. Lots of I see or Wow as a suspect continues detailing incriminating actions, when all along I really want to scream You sick asshole.
But in all my years interviewing suspects, this was the first time I had ever been left absolutely speechless.
I forced myself to continue the interview.
“Do I understand you correctly?” I said. “Are you making a confession?”
“I confess to committing the capital offense of first-degree murder. Many times over.”
“Mr. Ott, I’ve advised you of your rights,” I said. “Are you sure you want to continue?”
“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Ott said. “You have no idea what I’ve done, what I planned to be doing for the rest of my life, until you came along. You, who didn’t even understand the messages I left.”
I ignored his taunt. “Why don’t you start by telling me about the homicides here in New York. Then we’ll review Atlanta and San Francisco, where your presence was verified during all of the related murders in those cities.”
“That’s how you found me, isn’t it?” Ott asked. “Timed the murders to the schedule of my contract work?”
I knew better than to confirm any information. “There were a lot of factors that went into your arrest.”
Ott ignored my non-answer to his question and continued. “And then you saw me at the library. That was my big mistake. I got so used to most people looking right through me that at a crucial time I forgot a detective might be watching. You got my attention that day as a worthy opponent,” Ott said. “I tried and failed to derail your investigation. You won. And now I won’t hold anything back. I promise.”
I sat there, astonished, as Daniel Ott began listing the murders he’d committed in New York City.
“When I first arrived in New York,” he said, “I went exploring, looking for interesting neighborhoods and people I wanted to spend time with.”
“That’s your way of saying you wanted to kill them, isn’t it?” I asked.
He nodded, then said, “I found a woman in the Bronx, and one in Brooklyn. I don’t even know their names, only that they had loud American mouths on them.”
Ott made no effort to hide his obsession with forcing women to obey rules and show respect. I shuddered to think how he treated his wife and daughters.
“It was easier to get to know the women in Manhattan,” Ott said. “I met them on the job. One was a law student moonlighting in a medical supply office. And I told you about that disrespectful intern already.”
“She had a name,” I said. “Elaine. Her mother and friends called her Laney.”
Chapter 95
Tactically, it wasn’t the smartest idea to loosen Daniel Ott’s handcuffs and move them to the front, but I had to reward him for being so forthright.
Though Ott, by his own admission, had made some mistakes, I knew he was skilled and he was smart. Scary smart. He’d evaded us a number of times. I didn’t want to find out he was some kind of martial arts genius or an assassin who could take a straw and cram it up your nose into your brain. Or maybe I’d just watched too many Jason Bourne movies.
“Tell me about the librarian,” I said, focusing on one of the recent murders I was not absolutely sure he’d committed. I wanted confirmation one way or the other. “That’s where your pattern seems to have suddenly shifted.”
“I didn’t want to kill the librarian,” Ott said, “and I didn’t enjoy it the way I did spending time with the others. When she confronted me in the computer room, she saw my face, and I couldn’t risk her recognizing me.”