and here . . . and over here . . . and down there."
"You went down the canal between Royal Palm and Palm Sunrise?"
That was the canal where Natalie McCullen lived with her parents, in the house owned by her father's employer.
"Uh-huh."
"What time were you there?"
"About midnight."
It was five minutes to midnight when Mrs. Marjorie Noble called 911 to report seeing the black-and-white checked cab on her canal, the same canal where the McCullens were living.
"You admit you were there at midnight?"
"Uh-huh."
"How much time did you spend on that canal, Ray?"
"I just went up and came back down."
"Did you stop at any of the docks on that canal?"
"Yeah."
"Which one, Ray? Show us on the map."
"This one." A grimy, stubby finger pointed at the McMullens' dock.
"What did you do while you were stopped at that dock, Ray?"
"I saw a little girl."
When Robyn heard him admit that, she could only think, Oh, my God.
"What happened then, Ray?"
"She got in my boat."
"How'd you get her in the boat?"
"Popcorn."
There'd been a popcorn bag on the floor of the boat.
"She got in with you to get some popcorn?"
"Uh-huh."
"Did you kill her?"
"No, I didn't do that."
This was said with complete impassivity. The questions seemed neither to surprise him, or upset him.
"Do you know she's dead, Ray?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you kill her?"
"Huh-uh." (No, said as a little boy might say it, defensively, turning the "uh" into two syllables: "Huh uh-uh.")
"Who killed her, Ray?"
"I don't know." (Again, said as a child might say it.)
"Did anybody else get into the boat with you and the girl?"
"Huh-uh." (No.)
"It was always just the two of you, you and her?"
'Yeah."
"Did she get out of the boat and go off with somebody else, Ray?"
"Nope."
"So she was only with you?"
"Uh-huh." (Yes.)
"But you didn't kill her?"
"Huh-uh." (No.)
'You admit she got into the boat with you and there was nobody else with you, so tell us the rest of it, Ray."
The answer to that was silence.
"Where did you take her?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Show us on the map."
"I can't. I don't know."
Mrs. Noble had seen him on her canal at midnight. The helicopter pilot spotted him at the bridge at 2:30 A.M.
"Where were you for those two and a half hours, Ray?"
"I don't know."
"The last time you saw her, Ray, was she alive?"
"Uh-huh."
"She was alive? You mean . . . she was still breathing?"
Ray shook his head: No.
"What? But she wasn't dead? What are you saying?"
Again, a head shake for an answer.
"What the hell does that mean, Ray?"
Suddenly, Ray began to shout passionately, "She wasn't dead, she wasn't dead!"
That first time, they calmed him down by putting him in handcuffs and shackles. Both detectives felt relief when that was done, the kind of relief that comes from safely bagging a poisonous snake, or tranquilizing a rabid animal.
At that point, Robyn's worst fear was that this creepy guy who had done everything but admit outright that he'd killed the child, was smarter than he looked. She had an awful feeling that he, already knowing he was trapped by evidence, was from the start building up his own insanity defense, based on the idea that he was so nutty he didn't know right from wrong. In short, Robyn was afraid that she and Paul were dealing with a homicide suspect who only looked dull-witted, but who might be a hell of a lot smarter than they were, and several steps ahead of them already. It was one of the fears and ambiguities that many people after them would also struggle over, and few would resolve to their own satisfaction.
Holding Raymond Raintree in handcuffs, the detectives—Robyn specifically—summed up his own words for him.
"So, you admit you saw her, she rode in the boat with you, she wasn't breathing at the end, but yet you also claim she wasn't dead, and you didn't kill her?"
Their suspect was panting, his head was down, he was staring at the floor, and he didn't say a thing.
"That defies sense, Ray."
Silence from
"You went down the canal between Royal Palm and Palm Sunrise?"
That was the canal where Natalie McCullen lived with her parents, in the house owned by her father's employer.
"Uh-huh."
"What time were you there?"
"About midnight."
It was five minutes to midnight when Mrs. Marjorie Noble called 911 to report seeing the black-and-white checked cab on her canal, the same canal where the McCullens were living.
"You admit you were there at midnight?"
"Uh-huh."
"How much time did you spend on that canal, Ray?"
"I just went up and came back down."
"Did you stop at any of the docks on that canal?"
"Yeah."
"Which one, Ray? Show us on the map."
"This one." A grimy, stubby finger pointed at the McMullens' dock.
"What did you do while you were stopped at that dock, Ray?"
"I saw a little girl."
When Robyn heard him admit that, she could only think, Oh, my God.
"What happened then, Ray?"
"She got in my boat."
"How'd you get her in the boat?"
"Popcorn."
There'd been a popcorn bag on the floor of the boat.
"She got in with you to get some popcorn?"
"Uh-huh."
"Did you kill her?"
"No, I didn't do that."
This was said with complete impassivity. The questions seemed neither to surprise him, or upset him.
"Do you know she's dead, Ray?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you kill her?"
"Huh-uh." (No, said as a little boy might say it, defensively, turning the "uh" into two syllables: "Huh uh-uh.")
"Who killed her, Ray?"
"I don't know." (Again, said as a child might say it.)
"Did anybody else get into the boat with you and the girl?"
"Huh-uh." (No.)
"It was always just the two of you, you and her?"
'Yeah."
"Did she get out of the boat and go off with somebody else, Ray?"
"Nope."
"So she was only with you?"
"Uh-huh." (Yes.)
"But you didn't kill her?"
"Huh-uh." (No.)
'You admit she got into the boat with you and there was nobody else with you, so tell us the rest of it, Ray."
The answer to that was silence.
"Where did you take her?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Show us on the map."
"I can't. I don't know."
Mrs. Noble had seen him on her canal at midnight. The helicopter pilot spotted him at the bridge at 2:30 A.M.
"Where were you for those two and a half hours, Ray?"
"I don't know."
"The last time you saw her, Ray, was she alive?"
"Uh-huh."
"She was alive? You mean . . . she was still breathing?"
Ray shook his head: No.
"What? But she wasn't dead? What are you saying?"
Again, a head shake for an answer.
"What the hell does that mean, Ray?"
Suddenly, Ray began to shout passionately, "She wasn't dead, she wasn't dead!"
That first time, they calmed him down by putting him in handcuffs and shackles. Both detectives felt relief when that was done, the kind of relief that comes from safely bagging a poisonous snake, or tranquilizing a rabid animal.
At that point, Robyn's worst fear was that this creepy guy who had done everything but admit outright that he'd killed the child, was smarter than he looked. She had an awful feeling that he, already knowing he was trapped by evidence, was from the start building up his own insanity defense, based on the idea that he was so nutty he didn't know right from wrong. In short, Robyn was afraid that she and Paul were dealing with a homicide suspect who only looked dull-witted, but who might be a hell of a lot smarter than they were, and several steps ahead of them already. It was one of the fears and ambiguities that many people after them would also struggle over, and few would resolve to their own satisfaction.
Holding Raymond Raintree in handcuffs, the detectives—Robyn specifically—summed up his own words for him.
"So, you admit you saw her, she rode in the boat with you, she wasn't breathing at the end, but yet you also claim she wasn't dead, and you didn't kill her?"
Their suspect was panting, his head was down, he was staring at the floor, and he didn't say a thing.
"That defies sense, Ray."
Silence from
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