The Dunkin’ Donuts coffee spilled across the Formica table as Shibilsky gestured wildly. Annie jumped up to keep the brew from dripping onto her lap. Shibilsky got the deputy to wait in the conference room with Harry while he asked Annie to step out into the hall.
“Look, MacPherson, I agreed to let you sit in because, and only because, the old guy insisted on it before he’d make a statement. I don’t remember giving you permission to butt in. I saw the crime scene with my own eyes, and this guy’s description is dead on. Now, unless some damn fool gave him a complete rundown on what the scene looked like—and I know none of my people would’ve done that—then we got a valid confession here. So, what are you doing messin’ with my case, huh?”
Annie waited a beat, then asked, “Are you through?”
Shibilsky was still red in the face and bouncing from foot to foot, but his breathing had started to slow. Annie was slightly taller than Shibilsky, and she knew it aggravated him to have to look up at her. “Yeah, I’m damn well through.”
“Good. Because it’s important to me that you thank Professor Braithwaite for his time in coming down here, and send him home. The man is innocent. I don’t know why he’s doing this, but if you accept his confession, you’ll be suborning perjury and destroying an innocent man’s life. I’m fully aware that this does not help my client, but I can’t let you arrest Harry.”
Shibilsky punched a balled-up fist into his hand. “I presume you’re going to tell me why?”
“Harry Braithwaite has just described the crime scene in extremely accurate detail, even down to the color of Steven Vick’s socks. You remember that I saw the crime scene as well, when Taylor’s brother and I went out there before your deputy arrived. Because of the amount of detail Harry was giving in answer to your questions, I think it’s highly unlikely that anyone described the scene to Harry. I’d be willing to bet that he saw it with his own eyes.”
“There, now you’re admitting what I just—”
“But he’s not describing the crime scene at the time of the murder.”
Shibilsky leveled his gaze at Annie. “And I presume you’re—”
“Going to tell you why. I am. Gerald North and I were the only ones that night to see the body before the sheriffs, department arrived. It was so dark, we could barely see the path to walk on, much less the color of Steve’s socks. Even with Gerald North’s cigarette lighter, I barely saw the blood on Vick’s face. The kind of detail that Harry was describing was only visible after the lights were turned on. The crime scene wasn’t visible from the main floor of the house, but it could be seen clearly from the second story, as you know.”
“But I had my men watching the stairs. Braithwaite never came to the second floor.”
“And were your men guarding the stairs to the Widow’s Perch?”
Shibilsky looked like he didn’t want to ask. “The widow’s what?”
“There’s a circular staircase with an exterior door at the northwest comer of the house. It goes up four flights to a small observation room. Harry was the one who told me about it, when I spoke to him earlier in the evening before Steven Vick arrived. After Steve threw the glass at me, I went to the ladies’ room to clean up. When I returned to the party, I looked for Harry but I couldn’t find him anywhere. That surprised me, because with his height, he shouldn’t be a difficult person to find in a crowd.”
“So, you’re saying he could have seen everything from up in the tower?”
“He probably had a much better view than from the second floor. But only after the garden was illuminated. Before that, you might have been able to see movement and shadows, but not much more. Certainly not color.”
Without another word, Shibilsky returned to the conference room. “All right, Professor Braithwaite. You’re free to go.”
“But you can’t let me go. I killed a man in cold blood. You… you have to lock me up.”
“No can do. Now it’s late, we all need to get home.”
Annie walked Harry to where his car was parked in front of the building. His shoulders were slumped in resignation. Looking down at the car, he said, “When I drove down here, I wasn’t sure what to do with this old beater, because I assumed I would not be going home again. So, I had the brilliant idea of parking it at a meter. The city would then have to impound it, and eventually sell it at auction. Brilliant, eh?”
“Harry, tell me what was going on in there? Does Taylor mean that much to you that you would go to prison yourself to protect her?”
“Does she mean that much to me?” He sighed, and leaned against the car. “Yes, I have to say she does. In the last few years, I’ve pictured myself as something of a King Lear type, with these three young women, Taylor, Mimi, and Violetta, as my surrogate daughters. And, like Lear, two of them—the ones I had the misfortune of being biologically related to—have been as unfeeling and selfish as Regan and Goneril ever dreamed of being. And then there was Taylor, as sweet and kind as Cordelia, as loving as any natural daughter. How could I refuse anything she needed?”
“But this, Harry? Confessing to a murder you didn’t commit?”
“I’m not a young man, Annie. I’ve had a varied and interesting life, but I’m not sure how many good years I have left. My ancestors haven’t been a particularly long-lived bunch. My father had a heart attack at sixty-eight, my mother succumbed to lung cancer at seventy-one.” He placed his hand at the base of his rib cage. “I’ve been having a terrible pain here the last two to three weeks. I haven’t been to a doctor, so I don’t know what it means. Frankly, I don’t want to know. But if it is the first sign of a debilitating illness, then I figured that I might as well spend my last years in prison as anywhere else. I’ve heard the health care benefits are superb. But for Taylor, it would be so different, you see.”
Annie took hold of the hand he held out. “Don’t give up too soon, Harry.”
“Give up. Ha!” His laugh was a cross between a bellow and a bark. “I wouldn’t be giving up. I think prison would be a fascinating place to spend a few years. Think of the stories I’d hear. But you were too quick for me. You caught me in my little white lie.”
“A confession to murder is hardly a little white lie, Harry. You know I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself for the real killer. Even if it is Taylor.”
“Ah, but that’s the rub, you see. I was protecting Taylor from prosecution, because I believe the state will eventually come up with a strong case against her. But she’s not guilty!” Harry’s eyes were twinkling with excitement.
Annie remembered the tower. “Did you see something you haven’t told me, Harry?” she asked skeptically.
He glanced from one side to the other. “I would have told you sooner, but I was afraid that my testimony would hurt Taylor’s case more than it helped it. I did go up to the tower that night, as you suspected.” He paused dramatically.
“And?”
“It was dark, to be sure, but I could see shapes and movement.”
“But it was pitch-black, Harry.”
“Trust me on this, Annie. I could see what was happening. And more than that. Voices carried. I could hear a little of what was being said. I saw Steven Vick and Martin Grubenmacher go out to the garden and talk for a few moments. Steve was arguing with him, couldn’t understand what they were doing out there. He wanted to go back inside and talk to Taylor. Grubenmacher said he’d send her out. He insisted that Steve wait right where he was.
Grubenmacher went in, and a few minutes later, Taylor came out. All I could see was the glint of her white blouse. She stumbled a bit on the path, looked like she might be slightly inebriated, but maybe she just couldn’t see the path. She went up to Vick, said something like, ‘I got your message that you wanted to talk to me.’ He said something about ‘knowing,’ he knew something, and I got the impression he was asking her for money. She was crying, or angry, I couldn’t tell. Said she didn’t understand. It was a very fragmented conversation.
“Then before I knew it, they were struggling. It’s hard to say who started it, but my guess would have been Taylor. She was beating on his chest with both hands.”
“Both hands?” Annie asked.
“Yes. No wine bottle. She was barehanded. He was trying to hold her back. The next part happened so fast, it was hard to tell what was happening. She swung at him, and Steve pushed Taylor away, hard enough that she fell to the ground. That’s probably where she cut and bruised her face. But before she could get up, something moved in the bushes behind Steve, it must have been a person dressed in dark clothes, but I couldn’t really see anything. I saw a glint, perhaps a reflection from a bottle, and then Steve went down to his knees, and fell over, much like I described it in there.”
“And Taylor?”
“She was on the ground the entire time. Only after Steve was down did she get up and go over to him. I heard her cry out when she realized he was dead. She bent down, and it was hard to see, but I suspect that’s when she picked up the wine bottle.”
“And the other figure?”
“I saw motion in the direction of the parking lot. And then it was as if it were a spirit disappearing into thin air. Nothing.” Annie was dumbfounded. “You’re telling me you witnessed Steve’s murder, and you haven’t told anyone?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“But Harry—”
He shrugged. “It sounds so preposterous, who would have believed me? They’d say I was just making up a story to save Taylor. But unless I could name the person who really swung that bottle, they’d still go after Taylor. Frankly, I thought my confession would be far more effective. I think it would have worked too, if I’d kept it simpler, and hadn’t gotten so carried away with details.’’
Annie closed her eyes. “Harry, are you telling the truth now?”
“See, see what I mean? Even you don’t believe me. Do you think I could march back into that conference room and persuade that detective I was telling the truth?”
Annie sincerely doubted it. For that matter, she sincerely doubted the whole story. Harry had already demonstrated that he would do anything to protect Taylor. And if she encouraged him to tell Shibilsky what he had just told her, it would sound even more trumped-up. All of a sudden, Annie felt very tired.
“Harry, I can’t advise you on this. You saw what you saw, and you’ll have to do what you think is right about coming forward.” And please let it be the truth, she thought to herself. “But it’s getting late. Why don’t you go on home tonight?”
He sighed, and had to agree she was right. Annie watched as his car pulled away, then walked back to the parking lot where she had parked her car. As she was putting her key in the door, she heard footsteps behind her and turned around.
“MacPherson, you still here?”
Annie was not thrilled to see it was Detective Shibilsky. He was grinning. “Quite an interesting scene in there, wasn’t it?”
“You don’t seem as upset as you were a few minutes ago.”
“Upset? Now why should I be upset? Those crime lab results I was telling you about? They came in while we were wasting our precious time with that Braithwaite character.” He snickered. “Do you want the bad news now, or should I wait till morning?” Annie had a hunch he wasn’t about to wait. She was right. “The fingerprint analysis showed a match to your client’s right hand—three fingers and a thumb print. And guess what else?” Annie was quiet. She was in no mood for guessing games. Shibilsky could barely contain his glee. “I got the autopsy results, too. Microfibers—I love this shit. You want to hear it?”
“I’m waiting.”
“They found microfibers of paper and ink embedded in the head wound—an exact match for the label on that North Faire bottle we took from your client’s lap.”
Annie took a deep breath. She knew what was coming. “Go on.”
“Nah, you’re ahead of me already, I can tell. I don’t really need to tell you I’m ready to charge Taylor North with the murder of her husband, Steven Vick. I’ll have the warrant issued in the morning, just as soon as I clear it with the prosecutor.”