Time to Try

It had been hours before the police had shown up at the door of his hotel room, Lyndon had answered quickly. Now dressed in Levi's jeans and a black t-shirt he accompanied the two officers, both confident young men, both charming and polite he noted. If he was a woman, he might just be sweating. And for that, he afforded himself a smirk. There was no accusation in their voice. They really just wanted to speak with him? He raised an eye brow in suspicion, that's how much he doubted that.

They hadn't been in the police car long when it pulled into a shabby old station, probably the work of an architect from the sixties, they worked different then.. Ugly things were beautiful. They entered the building where Lyndon saw the interior to be worse than the exterior, he had seen the inside of prison cells, inside of prisons cells in many countries. All were better than the décor here. He wondered if they had paid for the wall colour or asked one hundred drunk people to puke upon the walls simultaneously... He feared the first to be more likely, bringing on another shudder.
Lord, how could they? It was truly hideous.

The nice young officers led him to a truly familiar room, the typical grey colour which accompanied interrogation rooms He sat on probably the most uncomfortable chair he ever recalled sitting on, refused the water they offered him and sat silently as the young officers left. He stared at the one way glass, his reflection catching his attention. Slowly he took a comb from his pocket combing over his hair, ensuring a certainly attractive spikiness to his hair. He smiled, he was unsure if someone was at the other side of the glass, probably also attracted to his looks he was sure, he also didn't care, they meant so little to him. Perhaps they'd do the right thing and fall under a bus at the end of the day, they'd save him some time and effort if they'd be so kind.

It was several minutes before the door open, a woman walked in. She smiled, sweet smile. Her green eyes scanned the room, Lyndon couldn't help but notice how they worked perfectly with her light brown hair, her skin complexion was pale, her suit - cheaply made he noted - was a black colour, a complete contrast to her skin which blended quite nicely with her white shirt. She was what many that Lyndon would describe as naive men would have thought of as attractive. Of course he realised, they weren't him and didn't have his intelligence.

Bexii....

He audibly sighed at the thought of her, god... She was beautiful, his mind returned to the night before, the night they'd shared, the contact, the rush. His heart skipped a little and he smiled, his hand now comfortably sat upon his lap. The woman brought him out of his trance. His eyes now fixed on her, holding eye contact perfectly. One of his many talents.

"Mr Kaller-"

"Lyndon, please." He offered a smile, his darling smile. One which she was somehow, quite miraculously he thought, able to resist. How often that one had worked, he was mildly disappointed.

"Okay, Lyndon. I'm DI-" She spoke with a strong London accent, one which contrasted the tender, gentle tone of her light voice. Her voice defied her position, this woman of authority seemed weak, vulnerable.

"I never get what that means." He steepled his fingers, placing his hands upon the desk. He was buying time, stalling her so that he could asses. Asses her, assess the situation. He had not even thought how obvious his act may be, how obvious it was that he was trying to play dumb, putting on the complete American side of his accent - the cheap American side he knew was closer to Texan than his ;true' Pennsylvania-cross-English accent.

"Detective Inspector" she waited for some recognition, he simply nodded and waved his right hand slightly, an indication he was ready for her to continue "Im Detective Inspector Leanne Peters."

"Pretty name." A distraction technique. She didn't take it, she simply nodded and took a seat before clicking the record button on a tape recorder, something he note she should have done when she entered the room, before she even opened her mouth. So she was a newbee?

Bad newbee.

In his line of work he thought, she'd be dead already. She repeated her name and started with the typical introduction informing him he was not under arrest and could leave whenever he wished, she started that a lawyer could be present if he so wished. He simply nodded, he'd not need one and didn't plan to stick around in this horrible building long enough for the call to be worth it. He never was...

"Lyndon, tell me, why are you in London?"

"A holiday." He sounded bored, as though that answer had been obvious.

"Oh?" Perhaps too obvious, silently he cursed himself, wishing he could take back words. Eat them whole.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me what relation Miss Stephanie Kaller was to you?" She looked at him with something that appeared to expectation, he knew what she wanted him to say, the poor girl would find herself disappointed.

"Mrs." He corrected. "Mrs Kaller, it was Miss Rogers. She's my step mother." The lady detective looked up, shifted back in her chair and raised an eyebrow, she clearly didn't like his answer, she was suggesting he was lying he could tell. He shrugged in reply then in monotone to his other responses he simply commented. "My father, he likes em young."

She shuddered and smiled, trying to rub off his honesty. She tapped her pen gently on the table, damnit she thought, she'd hoped he would say she was his wife. It had all fit, she'd have had a motive, it could have been case closed. She quickly looked through a file as a young uniformed officer handed it to her. She glanced over the paper, looking at the man before her, his cold tone, his eyes barely sane, no emotion visible yet that damn smile, he smiled like an angel and blinked slowly. It seemed he was looking right through her, she shivered again before reading further into the papers. They'd got all the information they could dig on him, psych records, criminal records. Nothing criminal, he'd been sectioned for a month in his teen years, a psychotic episode or two but nothing serious, he'd seemed to recover. This was getting her nowhere, she put down the folder, his eyes hit it for a moment then back to looking through her.

"Lyndon-"

"Did you enjoy reading my life?" He was cold. Suddenly it seemed that barriers had closed, his eyes seemed hardened, somewhat more determined. Chilling, she shuddered against control.

So he'd done this before, clearly. Or watched one too many cop shows. They made this too easy for perps, suspects, even for witnesses. Damn the media. She took a gulp of tea. "Mr Kaller were you offered a drink?"

"They offered me water, I refused."

Of course you did. She sighed.

"Would you prefer a hot drink?" She noted him looking at her cup. He nodded.

"You Brits do make great tea." A typical tourist smile, playing the darling card once again.

"I can have one made for you."

"If you'd not mind, that would be truly lovely of you." So she regarded as she stood, psychopaths can be nice. He sure did fit the profile for one. She left the room calling to a young officer asking him to make a tea before drawing her bosses attention, he approached.

"Leanne."

"The psych records, did you find anymore?"

"He has some personality disorder, it was in there wasn-"

"Yes, yes, Borderline something yes." Borderline personality disorder she thought, thinking back to her time studying mental health before she'd given up on the idea of being a cop with a degree, a cluster B disorder causing severe emotional reactions, reactions invisible in him. It was frustrating. "I'm talking along the lines of Psychopathy?"

The man just gave her a blank look followed by a shrug, he spoke once again in a heavy London accent. "Not really no. You're worried about the guy? I can take over if you-"

"No, its probably better I take it." She was about to make a point about him likely responding better to women, then she recalled, if he was a psychopath that would make little difference. The uniform came back, a steaming cup in his hand. She thanked him and took the cup retreating back into the interview room handing it to the man across from her, he thanked her and smiled. Angelic.
He took a gulp of the hot liquid, she couldn't help but watch. He did it with surprising elligence, how? Everything he did seemed so innocent, so charming. He was sociable yet she felt he didn't socialise much. Did he not enjoy it? She gave him a moment to relax.

"You were staying at the Park Lane?"

"Yes."

"How long had you been there before Stephanie was killed?" She saw a change in his eyes, in his body language. An emotional reaction? She thought so.

"A few nights."

"Were you sharing a bed?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mr Kaller, Lyndon sorry. The question was simple were you sharing a bed?"

"No. I slept on the chair most of the nights."

"Most nights? What about the one she was killed? Where did you sleep then?"

A coy smile. "The bath."

"Pardon?" She seemed shocked. He smiled, nodded and repeated."You slept in the bath?"

"Indeed I did, I wouldn't have said it otherwise." If she'd offended him in suggesting he'd been deceitful, his tone let nothing out. His words were completely monotone, non committal. She had no way to tell if he was lying.

"Okay. Why did you sleep in the bath?"

"She had a friend over. I thought I'd leave her to her thing. I had no grounds to prevent it."

"She was your fathers wife."

"Exactly, my fathers wife, not my own, not my mother, and I'm not hers. Her choices were her own. I had no place to interfere." He believed his answers, she could tell.

"Did you lock the door?"

"No. Why would I have?"

She shrugged, the question purely had been interest.

"So when you woke up, was she alive?"

"No. Though I am sure the coroners report would tell you that."

"We call it autopsy."

She received another smile, this time cold, sly. "Aren't we being truly British, lawyer and autopsy. Do you have unnecessary 'u's in words, simply to make them longer?"

She shook off the comment, assuming it was designed as an insult. She recalled from the folder he had been educated in England, specifically Eton, one of their golden boys, top achiever. Then a masters at Oxford, he couldn't pretend he knew nothing of the linguistics, no he this was deliberate.
"Tell me Lyndon, you made any friends here?" He shrugged in response. "Yes, I don't see why you'd be here now if you hadn't."

"Perhaps I like it."

"Perhaps."

"Yes, I've made friends, who hasn't?"

True.

"Ms Peters, may I ask where you're taking this? If you want to know if I killed her the answers no, if you want to know if my friend killed her, the answers no, If you want to know why I'm here still, because I thought it would look pretty damn suspicious to just leave when I'd not answered you questions. Most of which I already answered when the police showed up at the hotel."

"You left pretty quickly."

"Ah yes, that." a smile, playful, toyed with his lips. "I was hardly going to hang around after my step mother was killed now was I?"

She sighed and nodded, watching as he quickly drunk the rest of the hot liquid. "I'll give you a description of the man she was with at the hotel. Then I'm leaving, unless you're pressing charges?"
She smiled and nodded taking a pad and writing down the description of the man he described. Lyndon left quickly after that, the wall colouring finally making him lose his breakfast when he got outside.