We’re talking about the bombing thing?” Gaffney asked as his secretary closed the door.
“Yes, but that’s confidential, as is my visit,” I explained, sitting up in my folding chair. “The press is already dogging us on this. I’d hate to sell more papers for them than I have to. What should I expect from Berkowitz?”
“Don’t worry. We don’t have to put him in a hockey mask or anything,” Gaffney said with a small grin. “In the six years I’ve been here, he’s been nothing but a model prisoner. Runs a prayer group now. He even helps blind inmates back to their cells.”
“I heard about his religious conversion. Do you believe it?” I said.
“I limit my belief to things outside these walls, Mike, but who knows?” he said, lifting a radio out of the charger behind him. “If you’re ready, I’ll walk you over.”
Chapter 38
I MET BERKOWITZ IN A BRIGHT and airy secure visitors’ room in a cell block across the concrete yard behind Gaffney’s office.
What struck me first was how surprisingly unthreatening he was. Short, paunchy, and middle-aged, with white hair, he reminded me of the singer Paul Simon. He was clean-shaven and his hair was freshly cut. Even his green prison clothes seemed excessively neat, as if he had had them dry-cleaned. He bore little resemblance to the wild-eyed sloppy young man on the front cover of all the newspapers when he had been apprehended in 1977.
He actually smiled and made eye contact as he sat on the opposite side of the room’s worn linoleum table.
“Hi, David. My name’s Detective Bennett from the NYPD,” I said, smiling back. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me this morning.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, taking a small Bible fromhis pocket. He placed it directly on the table before him. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Well, I was wondering if you might be able to give me a little insight into a case I’m investigating right now,” I said.
Berkowitz’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head.
“It must be some case for you to come all the way up here from the city.”
“It is, David. It seems a person is committing crimes similar to the ones you were involved with back in the seventies.”
I reluctantly used the term “involved with” instead of “viciously and cowardly committed” because I needed his cooperation.
“A girl in Co-op City was stabbed, and two people were shot in a lover’s lane in Queens with a forty-four-caliber weapon,” I continued. “We even received a letter from someone claiming to be you.”
Berkowitz stared at me wide-eyed. He looked genuinely shaken.
“That’s terrible,” he said.
“Do you know anyone who might want to do these things?”
“Not a soul,” he said immediately.
“C’mon, David. I know in the past you’ve made reference to other people who might have been involved in your case. Other satanic cult members, wasn’t it? Have you had any contact with any of those people lately?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Detective, I don’t know howhelpful I can be in that area,” he said, staring at the Bible. “You see, what I remember of that tragic time is really all a blur now.”
How convenient for you, I thought.
He began to fan the Bible pages with his thumb as he continued.
“I was deep into the occult back then and not really in my right mind. In fact, ever since giving myself over to Jesus Christ, more and more of those memories seem to fade every day, thankfully. That’s the incredible power of Jesus. His forgiveness can cleanse even a man like me.”
I looked across the table for a beat. Berkowitz had his eyes closed and hands clasped in silent prayer. He seemed pretty convinced that Jesus Christ was now his personal savior.
I wasn’t so sure. I knew that one of the things serial killers tended to crave was manipulation. They exulted in their superiority over people and liked to lie for the sheer pleasure of it.
“You said you weren’t in your right mind,”
“Yes, but that’s confidential, as is my visit,” I explained, sitting up in my folding chair. “The press is already dogging us on this. I’d hate to sell more papers for them than I have to. What should I expect from Berkowitz?”
“Don’t worry. We don’t have to put him in a hockey mask or anything,” Gaffney said with a small grin. “In the six years I’ve been here, he’s been nothing but a model prisoner. Runs a prayer group now. He even helps blind inmates back to their cells.”
“I heard about his religious conversion. Do you believe it?” I said.
“I limit my belief to things outside these walls, Mike, but who knows?” he said, lifting a radio out of the charger behind him. “If you’re ready, I’ll walk you over.”
Chapter 38
I MET BERKOWITZ IN A BRIGHT and airy secure visitors’ room in a cell block across the concrete yard behind Gaffney’s office.
What struck me first was how surprisingly unthreatening he was. Short, paunchy, and middle-aged, with white hair, he reminded me of the singer Paul Simon. He was clean-shaven and his hair was freshly cut. Even his green prison clothes seemed excessively neat, as if he had had them dry-cleaned. He bore little resemblance to the wild-eyed sloppy young man on the front cover of all the newspapers when he had been apprehended in 1977.
He actually smiled and made eye contact as he sat on the opposite side of the room’s worn linoleum table.
“Hi, David. My name’s Detective Bennett from the NYPD,” I said, smiling back. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me this morning.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, taking a small Bible fromhis pocket. He placed it directly on the table before him. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Well, I was wondering if you might be able to give me a little insight into a case I’m investigating right now,” I said.
Berkowitz’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head.
“It must be some case for you to come all the way up here from the city.”
“It is, David. It seems a person is committing crimes similar to the ones you were involved with back in the seventies.”
I reluctantly used the term “involved with” instead of “viciously and cowardly committed” because I needed his cooperation.
“A girl in Co-op City was stabbed, and two people were shot in a lover’s lane in Queens with a forty-four-caliber weapon,” I continued. “We even received a letter from someone claiming to be you.”
Berkowitz stared at me wide-eyed. He looked genuinely shaken.
“That’s terrible,” he said.
“Do you know anyone who might want to do these things?”
“Not a soul,” he said immediately.
“C’mon, David. I know in the past you’ve made reference to other people who might have been involved in your case. Other satanic cult members, wasn’t it? Have you had any contact with any of those people lately?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Detective, I don’t know howhelpful I can be in that area,” he said, staring at the Bible. “You see, what I remember of that tragic time is really all a blur now.”
How convenient for you, I thought.
He began to fan the Bible pages with his thumb as he continued.
“I was deep into the occult back then and not really in my right mind. In fact, ever since giving myself over to Jesus Christ, more and more of those memories seem to fade every day, thankfully. That’s the incredible power of Jesus. His forgiveness can cleanse even a man like me.”
I looked across the table for a beat. Berkowitz had his eyes closed and hands clasped in silent prayer. He seemed pretty convinced that Jesus Christ was now his personal savior.
I wasn’t so sure. I knew that one of the things serial killers tended to crave was manipulation. They exulted in their superiority over people and liked to lie for the sheer pleasure of it.
“You said you weren’t in your right mind,”
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