The Killings Read Online Free PDF Page A

doom.
    “It’s the same old, same old,” he said. “Just trying to get by one day at a time.”
    “That’s all you can do,” Carmen said. She leaned forward, already angling toward her plan of delivery. “So listen, Wayne. I want to thank you for taking time out of your schedule to talk to me. It means a lot.”
    Wayne smiled. “No problem. I wish I could do more to help you.”
    “I wish you could too.” Carmen smiled at him again. “I just have a few more questions to ask you about the area you lived in.”
    “Sure.”
    “You lived within a few miles of the Chattahoochee River, correct?”
    Wayne nodded. “That’s correct.”
    “Some of the victims were found in that river,” Carmen continued. “On the night of May 22, 1981, detectives who had the river under surveillance heard a splash. A moment later, they pulled you over. You were driving a white 1970 Chevrolet station wagon, the same vehicle a witness described as being on the bridge that spanned the river in the vicinity where the splash was heard.”
    “Uh huh,” Wayne said. He wasn’t agreeing with her. He was merely acknowledging the documented facts of the case.
    “The murders you are accused of all occurred within this general area,” Carmen said. “The area isn’t much different now. It’s still a poor section of town, largely comprised of lower-income African Americans. There’s also a sizable Hispanic and Asian population there too.”
    “Are you Hispanic, Ms. Mendoza?”
    Carmen smiled. “Yes.”
    “You told me a few days ago that you were Black.”
    “I am. My mother is of Black and Irish/Scottish descent. My dad’s of Spanish, Blackfoot, and French ancestry.”
    “You’re just all mixed up then, aren’t you?” Wayne was grinning, but it was a grin of good nature. He chuckled.
    “Yes, I’m a mutt, Wayne.”
    “You’re a pretty mutt, though.”
    “Thank you. What about you? You’ve got a light complexion too.”
    Wayne shrugged. “Who knows? Lots of Black folks are mixed. I heard my mother telling me there was some White and some Native American in our family tree, but I don’t know how far back it goes.”
    Carmen nodded. “I’m sure you know one of the theories of this case ... that some people believe you killed all those children out of a sense of self-hatred for your race.”
    “I didn’t kill those kids.”
    “I’m just telling you one of the theories.”
    “That would be a stupid thing to kill people of your own race out of a sense of self-loathing for it.”
    “I agree. Some people even say the murders were committed by members of the Ku Klux Klan. That the Klan was hoping to start a race riot and that the sheriff covered up the crimes and framed you as their scapegoat to avoid it.”
    “Maybe they did,” Wayne said. “All I’m saying is that I didn’t kill anybody.” His speech and posture were the same as they’d been over the last few days and in the few televised interviews she’d seen him give. Straight denial, completely focused on not admitting to any wrongdoing. She always got the impression that he had honed his refutations so perfectly it was second nature to him, that he had even convinced himself.
    “Did you know the murders have started again?”
    That got a reaction. He seemed to freeze momentarily, face turning toward her, eyes widening in shock. His voice quavered slightly as he spoke. “What do you mean?”
    “The murders ... they’ve started again.”
    Wayne Williams looked like he was going to faint. She could tell he was absolutely floored by the news.
    She scooted her chair closer to the glass barrier and focused directly on him. “Wayne, listen to me.”
    Wayne looked at her, mouth open in shock. His eyes were open and honest, saying please don’t lie to me.
    “The murders I’m talking about have not made the news. Fourteen women and young girls in the last year, some strangled, others mutilated. All of them African American or of mixed