CHAPTER 28

The state police headquarters was state-of-the-art. The black-and-white-tiled floors of the hallways I was led down were polished and buffed to such a degree that I could look down and practically see my reflection. Every orderly desk in the large office space I passed through, relatively empty in the early morning hours, held large, sleek computer screens, clean white keyboards, and shiny and efficient looking telephones. Black, ergonomic desk chairs were pushed beneath the desks. Every aspect of the place screamed efficiency, organization, and professionalism--except, of course, for the interrogation room. It was almost as sparse and claustrophobic as the one in East Hastings, although the coffee I was offered tasted a little better.

I guess, much like every golfer had a unique golf swing or people brushed their teeth differently, when it came to interrogation techniques, everyone in law enforcement had their own method. Captain Winters preferred silence. For what must have been fifteen minutes, he had been sitting across a sturdy, laminated wood-topped utility table from me, leafing through a rather substantial file folder, occasionally moistening his fingertips to help him turn through the sheets of paper it contained. A few times, he paused to look at me, not moving his head, but only raising his eyes without changing his expression.

Chief Roark sat to his right, hands folded and resting on the table in front of her. She hadn’t taken her eyes off me the entire time we’d sat in the room, her face expressionless. She might have been studying me for some clue in my posture, reading my body language like an opposing poker player. Or she might have been thinking about what she was going to have for breakfast. I couldn’t really tell.

I was sick of the silence.

“I’d like to know why I am here,” I said, “and I mean here as at the state police headquarters and not at the East Hastings PD and here as in what could I possibly tell you that I couldn’t tell you at Stevie’s place?”

Captain Winters did not raise his gaze from the file when he answered me flatly. “The murder happened in West Caulfield Township and the state police share jurisdiction with the East Hastings Police Department in West Caulfield Township.” He closed the file folder and looked up at me. “Why were you meeting Puddy Salvatore at Steve Darby’s place?”

“What?” I answered. His sudden directness took me by surprise.

The captain smiled at me. I wouldn’t necessarily have called it a sinister smile, but it did nothing to put me at ease. “I just find it to be quite a coincidence that this guy beats you up one night, and then the very next night you show up at a place and find him dead.”

“Listen, Captain. That guy threatened to kill me the next time he saw me. Why would I ever want to give him the chance?” I answered.

“But what if--just play along with me here--what if you had arranged to meet this Salvatore there and, considering the beating he’d given you the night before, you thought it’d be better if you snuck up on him. You even brought a little backup just in case things got rough.”

“Backup? My friends? C’mon, you’ve met them. They couldn’t back up a karaoke band,” I answered. “You do realize the guy had left me wrapped up in duct tape last time I saw him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that was because you didn’t pay up for his part in committing a crime, say stealing your car, maybe you and this Stewart woman had double-crossed him and maybe that was just him sending a message to keep your end of the deal. Or maybe he had some information he was going to sell you, something to help with the story you’re writing about the Steve Darby murder,” he answered.

I looked at him, then at the chief. Now a small smile had formed on her face. Was I the only one not getting the joke?

“How many times do I have to say it? There is no story, no reason to buy information, and, besides, what was I going to use for money? I’m broke,” I said, leaning back against my seat. “It’s like I said, I just wanted to see Stevie’s place is all, like my friends said.”

The captain took a deep breath. His gaze grew stern, and he tapped his left pinky on the tabletop three times. “Mr. Byrne, please don’t lie to us.”

“I’m not lying. There is no story,” I answered.

“You know what I’ve got here?” he said, holding up the file he’d been looking through. “I’ve got statements from your three friends, and they are all alike--too alike. How do you explain that?”

“Well, maybe it’s because they’re all telling the truth,” I answered.

“You say you’re not writing a story. That’s not exactly true, is it?”

It was Chief Roark speaking up for the very first time. Winters showed a little annoyance at having his party crashed, but he let her continue.

“When we contacted Mrs. Stewart’s sister after you were found in that apartment, she said she agreed to let you stay there because you were going to get an article about Mrs. Stewart into the Chronicle,” she continued.

Damn, she was good. I had two choices. I could deny that I intended to write a story about Tina and look like a complete heel for making promises to and taking advantage of a grieving sister to get access to Tina’s apartment. That would confirm to them that I was after information for some other reason, no doubt the story they seemed to believe I was writing. Or I could fess up that, yes, indeed I did make that promise to Terri and was writing a story, which I had been denying this whole time. That would indicate that I’m liar and therefore give them reason to question anything I told them, especially that I wasn’t working on the story they seemed to believe I was writing. I decided to go with liar.

“Okay, yeah. I did promise Terri I would get something nice about Tina into the Chronicle. But that’s all it was, one article. It seems one of your police officers--” I said, looking at Roark, “--implied that the reason Tina was murdered was because she was a prostitute. Terri didn’t want her sister remembered that way. I agreed with her. That’s all there is to it. And, for your knowledge, and Tina’s sister will confirm this, the only reason I was in Tina’s apartment that night was because of the cats.”

“The cats? What cats?” Winter asked.

“Tina’s cats. Terri couldn’t take them home with her because one of her kids is allergic. I agreed to watch them until she could find them a home.”

That actually made Captain Winters laugh. He turned to Roark. “Do you hear that, Chief? Not only is this guy some kinda chivalrous knight protecting the honor of a wronged woman, he’s also a pet lover. Why I almost feel guilty keeping him here while he could be out saving the whales or finding a cure for cancer.” He turned back to look at me and leaned forward, his smile now sardonic. “So, it’s just a coincidence that everywhere you go, dead bodies appear.”

I remembered what Roark had said about not liking coincidences. I imagined Winters felt the same way. It was probably a cop thing.

“Okay, Byrne, let me be straight with you here, because, frankly, I feel you’re just wasting our valuable time,” Winters said, leaning back into his chair. “I read the crime report on Ms. Stewart and I saw the crime scene tonight. I don’t think you killed either one. What I do think is that you’re wrapped up in this some way, and you know who did commit these murders. And I am going to keep you here until you tell us who it was.”

I looked at Winters then Roark and then back at Winters. “This is crazy. Don’t you have some sort of list of all the bad guys that you could be dragging in here and questioning about this? People who might have had an actual reason for killing Tina and Puddy--and Stevie Darby? You know, the usual suspects.”

Captain Winters pursed his lips and tapped his left pinky on the table three times. “Usual suspects?” he answered, his voice rising slightly. “Do you know how many murders we’ve had in the past three years--and not just in East Hastings, but the entire county?” he asked.

Of course I didn’t. I’d been spending the past three years flushing my career down the toilet.

“Six--only six. A couple were domestic incidents, love gone bad, that sort of thing. The others were shootings outside bars, people getting drunk and settling things with guns or knives. We caught them all. Then you show up in town and suddenly we have two murders in just three days, and you are found at each of them,” he asked.

“What about Stevie Darby? What are you doing about that? Unless you think I had something to do with that too,” I replied, perhaps a little to sarcastically.

“Did you?” Winters answered leaning forward, and the hardness in his eyes made me think he might have been a little serious.

“Oh, man,” I said, letting out a little laugh. It wasn’t appreciated.

“Something funny?” Winters asked, his jaw tightening.

“No, no. Not at all,” I said, trying to ease the tension a bit. “It’s just that, well, it seems like you’re working awful hard trying to implicate me on all of this when, from what I understand, you’ve got bigger problems. Friend of mine mentioned the Crawfords, for instance--”

“Get this straight right now,” Winters exploded, “You are not to go poking around the Crawfords, you understand.”

Wow, so much for easing the tension. Instead, it seemed like I stepped on a raw nerve. “Me? Poke around the Crawfords? No, no way,” I said, raising my hands. “I’ve told you I’m not poking around anywhere, and the last thing I want--”

Winters emphatically closed the file that was lying on the table in front of him. “Okay, we’re done here for now. We’ll see if a few hours in a jail cell changes your mind about cooperating,” he said, rising out of his chair.

“Jail cell? Oh, c’mon. You’ve got no reason to lock me up,” I said.

“Oh really. How about breaking and entering, for starters. Then there’s failure to report a crime, maybe accessory after the fact...”

“Failure to report a crime? You’re kidding right? I mean we’d only seen the body for like a m--minute before Danny came b--busting in,” I stammered.

“I didn’t say I had to make the charges stick, I only have to come up with reasons to keep you here,” he answered.

“But--but--that’s not right. I haven’t done a--”

Winters leaned forward and placed his palms on the table across from me. “Listen, Byrne. I know you’re working on a story for Weatherly at the Chronicle. I know you know something that you’re not telling us, and I’m going to find out what it is, and when I do I will charge you with obstructing justice and any other charge I can dream up. And I know one more thing--you’re not leaving this town, not yet you’re not. Oh, no. Right now I’ve got you dead to rights on breaking and entering. That’s enough to start with, and I’m going to hold you until I get the answers I’m after, and then I’m going to either lock you up for a long time, or I’m going drive you to the county line and kick your sorry ass out of here myself,” he growled.

There was a knock on the door.

“What?” Captain Winters yelled out, his eyes fixed hard on me as he straightened up.

A young trooper entered the room and hesitated at the door.

“This better be good,” the captain said, turning as the trooper approached him warily.

“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but um...” the trooper answered as he neared the captain warily. When he reached him, he leaned in and put his mouth close to the captain’s ear, whispering something I couldn’t make out.

“You’re kidding me!” the captain snapped. “She’s on the phone?”

The trooper again put his mouth close to the captain’s ear and began whispering. I’d never actually seen smoke coming out of anyone’s ears, but if it was ever going to happen, this was that time. Winters turned a violent red, and veins on both sides of his neck bulged out.

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” he uttered, casting a quick, mean glance my way before turning to Chief Roark. “Chief, come with me. Trooper, stay here and keep an eye on Mr. Byrne,” he ordered.

The chief rose from her seat, an inquisitive look on her face as she followed the captain out of the room.

They left me in the room alone with the somber trooper for several minutes. I was just about to ask him what was going on when the door to the interrogation room opened. Captain Winters poked his head into the room, glared at me, nodded to the trooper, and then pulled his head back and closed the door.

“You’re free to go,” the trooper announced.