Annie made it back to Yakima in record time. As she sped along, pushing the Fiat to its maximum speed of almost eighty, she hoped that this stretch of highway was part of Seth Longacre’s jurisdiction. Fortunately, the need to fix a traffic ticket didn’t arise.
The Yakima County Sheriff’s Department was in an ugly chrome and sandstone building on North Second. If the county had any extra money in the budget, it obviously didn’t go to giving its employees an attractive work environment. She gave her name to the deputy manning the switchboard, and was quickly ushered into a conference room near the back. There was a tape recorder on the table, as well as a video camera set up in the corner. Detective Shibilsky was already seated at the green metal table reading the sports section from USA Today, the last remnants of a powdered sugar donut clinging to his mustache, and a 24-ounce Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup by his side. Annie knew she drank a lot of coffee, but the thought of a tumbler full of tepid, weak coffee from a donut shop made her stomach churn.
“You know, I’m starting to think there aren’t any other lawyers in this town, MacPherson. If you stick around, all our local shysters are gonna end up on unemployment.” The detective’s oily smirk made Annie want to slap him.
“You know perfectly well I’m here as Mr. Braithwaite’s friend, not his attorney. Not that there’s any reason why he should need one.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“After I got off the phone with you, and knew you had to come all the way from friggin’ Ellensburg, I went back to try and find out what this jackass wanted to talk to us about, ’cause very frankly, I didn’t want to wait around for you to get your fanny down here if this character was just going to regale us with some charming story about how he knew Taylor North when she was a sweet little girl. If that was the case, I was going to tell him to go on home, and we’d catch up with him later. That’s when he told me what was goin’ down here.”
Annie was extremely tired, which only made Detective Shibilsky seem more tedious. “And what is that?”
He chuckled, though it sounded more like a hiccup. “He says he’s going to confess to the murder of Steven Vick.”
Annie was shocked. “And you believed him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I haven’t heard what the old guy has to say yet.”
“I think I had better speak to Mr. Braithwaite now.”
“That’s what we been waitin’ on you for.” He turned the page of his paper. “Take all the time you want. This confession’s gonna save me and the county a few weeks’ work, so I guess I can sit here for another few minutes.” He bellowed into the hall for a deputy. A female officer who was no more than five foot two but looked as solid as a freight train showed Annie to another small conference room where Harry was sitting, engrossed in a back issue of National Geographic. The large man looked a little tired, but otherwise not too bad. His bristly salt-and-pepper hair was no more unruly than when she’d spoken to him that morning. He reached across the table and wrapped Annie’s hands in his. “Thank you for coming, my dear. It means an awful lot to me to have you here. I would have preferred Taylor to be here as well, but her doctors wouldn’t permit it. She’s still under strict observation, from what I understand. Although they said her liver and kidney function studies were looking better.”
Annie rubbed her eyes. “Harry, Taylor’s doing as well as can be expected, but I’m not here to talk about her. The detective just told me you wanted to confess to Steve’s murder? Would you tell me, please, what’s going on here? You didn’t have anything to do with Steve’s death!”
“Oh, but I did, you see. I was lying to you when we discussed it this morning. I finally realized that trying to save myself was futile. It was time to do the right thing and turn myself in.”
“Now, wait a minute.” Annie tried another tack. “You’ve got responsibilities, Harry. What about Mimi? Without you there to exert some control, anything could—”
He shook his head. “Mimi’s gone. She told me this afternoon that she’s quitting school and going to L.A. to be with her boyfriend and his rock band. She insisted that I drive her to the bus station.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it just yesterday at the Wine Gala that she was bemoaning the fact that she didn’t have the money to get out there?”
Sighing, he said, “She’s been harping about wanting this money for three months, and suddenly, she’s gotten it from somewhere. A thousand dollars. She even showed it to me, in hundred dollar bills. I have no doubt she obtained it illegally, but I’m afraid I no longer have the energy to fight with her.”
“And your daughter?”
“Violetta sent her love in a wedding announcement from Mazatlan. Silly me, and I thought she was still in Europe. This makes husband number five, if I’m counting correctly. He’s a waiter in one of the hotels. Twenty-eight years old and quite dashing, by her account. She hopes he learns English soon.”
Annie reached across the table and took his hand. “Is that why you’re doing this, Harry? Because of your daughter and granddaughter? Are you trying to get back at them?”
He pulled his hand away, and sat up straight. “I’m doing this because I’m guilty. I killed Steven Vick. It was right after he had his argument with you at the Gala. Galen took Taylor upstairs, you and Celia went to the ladies’ room, and I followed Steven Vick and Martin Grubenmacher out to the garden. They spoke for a few moments, a bit hostilely, then Grubenmacher left. Vick was pacing, seemed to be waiting for someone. That’s when I did it. Popped him over the head with a bottle.”
“Why, Harry?”
“Because the man was an insufferable bastard, that’s why.” His voice softened. “And because I didn’t want him hurting Taylor anymore.”
“But she was going to divorce him, Harry. She was going to get a restraining order—”
“You, of all people, should know that the courts offer an inadequate measure of protection against such violence. Steve’s type always comes back. No piece of paper can prevent that. Come on, I don’t want to argue about this. Let’s go put it on candid camera.”
Annie stopped Harry again, and insisted that he at least discuss the case with another attorney. “You know I can’t represent you, Harry. I’m Taylor’s attorney. It would be a conflict of interest.”
“And I’m not asking you to. I fully understand my right to see an attorney, and have waived that right. I just wanted you here as a friend, and as Taylor’s proxy. As I told you, I would have wanted her to be here.”
Back in the main conference room, Annie stated for the record that she was not acting as Professor Braithwaite’s attorney, but had strongly urged him to retain counsel. Detective Shibilsky reiterated Harry’s rights, and they began, both tape recorder and video camera recording Harry’s confession.
Shibilsky asked Harry about the incident, and initially obtained the same brief account that Harry had given Annie a few minutes earlier. Harry had followed Vick out to the garden, waited until Martin Grubenmacher left, then struck him on the head with a bottle. His reason: he didn’t want Vick to do any further harm to Taylor.
“Was Taylor North there when you struck the blow?”
“No, she arrived after Vick was on the ground. She was quite upset, very shaken, and pulled the bottle from my hands. She then sat down on the ground, cross-legged-style, with the bottle in her lap. She was moaning slightly.”
Annie cringed at the description. She, herself, had inadvertently divulged that information to Harry.
“And then what did you do?”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I heard someone coming, learning later that it was Gerald North, Taylor’s brother, who had arrived at the party late. But because it was quite dark, I was able to slip unobtrusively into the shadows, and make my way back to the house. It was a selfish and heartless thing to do, leaving poor Taylor there like that.”
Shibilsky slurped his coffee, unmoved by Harry’s story. “I need a little more detail about Vick. Tell me everything you can. How you hit him, where you were standing, where he was standing, how he fell, all that stuff.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. For a long moment he paused, holding his fingers to his temples like a charlatan psychic in a sideshow.
“After Martin Grubenmacher left, Vick was standing and looking out in the direction of the parking lot. As I said, I thought he was waiting for someone. He wasn’t moving, just standing, feet slightly apart. I crept up behind him, a little to the left because I’m right-handed. Now, I’m quite a bit taller than Vick, and because I wanted the blow to hit the base of the skull, not the top, I didn’t raise my arm too high. I took the bottle in both hands, and swung it like a baseball bat. Wham, leading with my left hand. I describe this in detail, you see, because from the angle of the blow, you might have assumed that a much shorter person was responsible.” He paused, looking pleased with his description. “And of course, I was wearing gloves, so you will not find my fingerprints on the bottle.”
“Gloves, huh. What kind of gloves?”
“Leather driving gloves. I had them in the pocket of my jacket, you see.”
“Right. Okay. So, you hit him. How did he fall? Quick, slow?”
“There was a slight pause, like the blow was registering, then he fell to his knees, and rolled backwards and onto his side. The position, viewed from the side would be almost like that of a man praying. And I could see at that point a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.”
“Which corner?”
“Er, the left.”
“Yeah?” Shibilsky sat up, no longer as uninterested, and Annie knew why. Having been one of the few people to see the body that night, she knew his description of the position and the blood was accurate. The deputy who had arrived shortly thereafter had kept the rest of the party guests away from the scene. In describing what had happened, Annie knew that she had not told Harry about the appearance of the body.
“How much blood?” the detective asked.
“Just a thin line, as I said, running from the left corner of his mouth over his chin. And his head was in an awkward position, making me wonder if I’d broken his neck.”
His description so far was completely accurate, making Annie sure that Harry must have, indeed, seen Steven Vick’s body. He would not have been able to guess with such unerring detail. And since the scene was well controlled after Gerald, Annie, and Taylor had left it, the only time he could have seen it was before Gerald discovered the body.
“What about hands and legs?”
Harry closed his eyes in concentration. “The hands were forward of the body, together, as I said, almost in a prayer position; the hips were bent at a slight angle, but the knees were closer to ninety degrees. The right foot, which was the side closest to the ground, was just slightly behind the left, or top, foot.”
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“I want everything you can think of. Any detail, no matter how small. What was Vick wearing?”
“What was he wearing? Let me think… a suit, navy blue, I believe. White shirt. Can’t recall his tie.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. I don’t know why I noticed this, but Vick’s socks were the most unpleasant shade of mustard-yellow.”
Annie couldn’t listen to any more. Before Shibilsky could ask another question, she interrupted the interview and requested that the tapes be stopped.
Shibilsky sputtered, his face beet-red, and turned off both tapes. “What the hell is this all about? We’re almost through here, and from what I’ve heard, this case is wrapped up. You got a problem with that? They must do things differently on the other side of the mountains if you’re upset that your client’s name is getting cleared.”
“I’m sorry, Detective. I’m obligated to act in the best interests of my client, but that does not include letting an innocent man commit perjury. Based upon what I’ve just heard, there is absolutely no way that Professor Braithwaite could be telling the truth.”