The gossip columnist had been found murdered outside his garage.
Noreen had tried to phone me as soon as she got word, but the call didn’t go through because of the cell signal block. Later the cops arrived and asked that the station not inform me about the homicide.
Since everyone knew about my confrontation with Sam, homicide investigators were waiting to question me. When they got to the part about me having a right to have an attorney present, I called Benny Walsh. This time he answered his line, and this time me bringing in the state’s top homicide defense attorney didn’t feel so much like overkill.
He told the police he wanted to speak to his client—me—alone first. Then he and I went into my office and shut the door. My desk was a mess, but at the moment, it matched my life.
“What have you got to tell me?” Benny grabbed a chair and motioned for me to also sit.
“Nothing. I haven’t a clue what’s going on.”
“Yet you left a message for me midmorning, saying we needed to talk. And you sounded a bit agitated.”
Benny looked as serious as I’d ever seen him.
“You don’t think I killed him, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t care whether or not you killed him. All I care about is what you’re going to say when the cops question you. But it did cross my mind on the way over here that maybe your earlier message had something to do with seeking the advice of counsel in regard to this homicide.”
“I didn’t kill him. I had questions about the fairness of the protective order, Benny. That’s why I called you.”
“Well, the order for protection is irrelevant now,” he said. “And if you violated that in the course of killing Mr. Pierce, that’s the least of your troubles.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Our immediate decision is whether to allow police to question you.” Benny’s face tensed, like he was weighing the pros and cons of that predicament.
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Where were you last night? Unless you can assure me you were at a party with lots of people and went home with one of them, and stayed until daybreak, I’m not sure we want you talking to the authorities.”
“I was home alone.”
He sighed deeply, stared at the floor, then back at me.
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“No.”
“Did anyone come to the door? A salesperson perhaps?”
“No.”
“Can you see now why I’m reluctant to have you interviewed by the detectives? You tell them you’ve got no alibi, and you’re going to make my job harder.”
“Benny, after that fiasco in court, I just wanted to be alone last night. And I’m not afraid to say that, because I know I didn’t do it. Sam had a lot of enemies. I need to talk to the cops, so they can eliminate me as a suspect.”
“It doesn’t always work that way,” he insisted.
“This won’t be the first time cops have looked at me funny in a murder investigation. I just want to get it done with.”
Even though his legal advice was that I stick with my right to remain silent, I told police I was happy to answer any questions they might have. They asked us to follow them back to the cop shop, where I suspected they wanted to have a videotape rolling during my interview.
“How was he killed?” I asked the detectives once we were all seated in a tiny interrogation room.
“We’re asking the questions here, Ms. Spartz,” Detective Delmonico said.
“Sorry, I forgot my role. I’m used to asking questions. You know, reporter’s curiosity.”
“Well, we’re not prepared to release any details to you about this homicide just now,” he said.
“Well, unless the murder weapon was a glass of wine,” Benny interrupted, “I don’t think you have anything on my client.”
“We’ll see,” the other detective said. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
The tone of the actual interview was softer than with Benny back at the station. They wanted to hear firsthand about my altercation with Sam at the bar and seemed to accept that it was one of those regrettable, out-of-character incidents that sometimes happens when we’re unfairly provoked. They didn’t act much at all like they thought I was guilty. Mostly, they did a lot of nodding. Never once reaching for the handcuffs. Or their guns.
I felt okay afterward.
Sure, I didn’t have an alibi. But I also knew they didn’t have any evidence. And there had to be other suspects with better motives. After all, the murder victim was Sam Pierce.
“See, Benny, that wasn’t so bad.”
He didn’t answer.
But when we walked down the stairs outside city hall, cameras swarmed. And not just television crews. Print reporters and photographers pushed and pressed, much more aggressively than normal. The broadcasters were definitely more objective, yelling, “Did you do it?” While the print journalists yelled, “Why did you do it?”
Understandably, the newspaper staff were angry. Their hero with the highest web hits was dead.
They wanted justice.
But all they got was a brisk “no comment” from my attorney.