part0025

Hopkins dug into his desk drawer and pulled out a pad of paper with a spiral binding across the top. He tucked it under his arm and headed into the hallway. Turning into the only other corridor, Hopkins saw Fuller standing outside the door to the Department’s single interrogation room.

Equipped with video and audio recording equipment, the room was the standard location for all criminal interviews.

Hopkins approached. “Excellent work, Charlie. Where’d ya end up finding him?”

“On his boat.” Fuller said. “I took Alvarez out this morning, just to check it out one more time. Wouldn’t ya know, there he was.”

“Did he say anything? How was he acting?”

“He’s pretty much playin’ dumb,” Fuller said. “He was below deck when we boarded. Working on his motor. That’s why his hands are dirty.”

“Did you look at them closely?” Hopkins asked. “His hands? Arms? Any defensive wounds?”

“He does have a few scrapes. Maybe a minor laceration. But he was elbow deep in that V8.”

“Very good. Do we have anyone sitting on the boat?”

“I left Alvarez there. Had the Harbor Master bring me, Walton, and Walton’s buddy to shore.”

“His buddy?” Hopkins said.

“Walton had a friend helping him out. John something. Strange guy. Not much of a talker.”

“Don’t know. Home, I guess. You said you wanted Walton, I didn’t think—”

“Did you at least get his information?” Hopkins asked. “Did we positively ID him?”

“Sure. Alvarez has the info. He ran him for warrants. No hits.”

“Okay.” Hopkins said. “That’s fine. I’m going to sit down with Walton myself. Has anyone given Miranda yet?”

“No,” Fuller said, “but I left the forms in there.”

“Thanks. Do me a favor? Stay close. In case I need you to do some digging.”

“I’ll watch from my office,” Fuller said.

Hopkins straightened his uniform and opened the door.

Doctor Edward Walton, born November 18, 1970, sat with his hands folded on the stainless-steel table. He had a neatly parted head of thick brown hair and a square jaw. His body language was relaxed. Too relaxed.

“Doctor Walton.” Hopkins offered his hand, “I’m Chief Hopkins.”

“I recognize you,” Walton said. “Do you mind if I ask you what I’m doing here?”

“We’ll get to that,” Hopkins said. “Just have to take care of a few housekeeping items.”

“Not a problem,” Walton said. “I was just kind of in the middle of something. Not to be a pest, but if we could hurry this along.”

“I’ll do my best, Doctor,” Hopkins said. “Or should I call you Edward? Ed? What do you prefer?”

“Okay, Ed.” Hopkins picked up the Miranda Rights form and set it down in front of Walton. “I know you’re anxious to get on with your day, but before I can ask you any questions, I have to go over your rights with you? It’ll only take a minute.”

“My rights? Am I being arrested?”

“No, you’re not under arrest. It’s just standard procedure. What I’m going to do is read each line aloud. You can read along if you’d like.” He handed Walton his pen. “I’ll have you initial each line as we go over it. Then I’ll have you sign, confirming that you’ve been advised of these rights and you wish to talk to me, okay?”

Walton paused. His face flushed. “Am I a suspect in something? Should I have a lawyer?”

“That’s up to you, Ed. If you’ve done something wrong and you think you should have a lawyer, by all means, you’re certainly entitled to call one. But I can’t say more until we go over these, okay?”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”

“Okay, initial here.”

Hopkins read through each line. He watched Walton to gauge his reaction. Walton initialed every line without hesitation.

“Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

“I do,” Walton said.

Walton signed and dated. Hopkins flipped the document over and pushed it aside. There was no need to continually remind Walton of his right to stop talking.

“Look,” Hopkins said, “I’m going to be straight with you, okay? I’m not here to trick you or put words in your mouth. I’m here to listen. To understand. The only thing I ask of you is honesty. I’ll be honest with you, and I expect the same respect in return. Deal?”

“And I want to assure you that in my decades of experience as an investigator in Providence, I’ve seen and heard everything. I say that because I want you to know there’s nothing you can say that will shock me. I’m not one of those guys who judges. We all make mistakes, right? We’re all human.”

“I guess so,” Walton said.

It was a good sign. The ability to admit fallibility.

Touting his credentials wasn’t a narcissistic trait, it was a tactic. Primacy, as it’s called in Law Enforcement circles. The establishment of one’s preeminent skill goes a long way in dissuading a suspect from attempting to match wits. Or, at least, that’s the theory.

“Misty Brighton,” Hopkins threw the words out there and then sat back in his chair. He watched Walton’s eyes, his hands, his legs. Looking for any sign of tension.

“Misty,” Walton said. “Yes. She was a patient of mine. What about her?”

While the news of Misty’s death was widespread, her identity hadn’t been released. Yet Walton referred to her in the past tense. The subconscious slip was an important verbal cue, and it boosted Hopkins’s confidence that he was on the right track.

“Was a patient?” Hopkins asked. “Did she go somewhere?”

“No,” Walton said. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“It’s my understanding that she’s a current patient of yours.” Even for Hopkins, it took a concerted effort to use the present tense.

“Unfortunately, no. A couple of weeks ago, during our session, Misty informed me it would be her last. She said her parents were sending her to a different doctor.”

“Did you confirm with her parents? I think that’d be news to them.”

“I didn’t. At first, I wondered if Misty was making it up. Trying to goad me, like they do. But when she didn’t show up the next week, I assumed she was telling the truth.”

“And Zoe Morris?” Hopkins said.

“Zoe? What about Zoe?”

“Is she a former patient as well?”

“She’s a current patient. Funny kid, tough as nails. I have a session with her on Thursday.”

“Can I ask,” Hopkins said, “what type of treatment were you providing Misty and Zoe?”

“You know I can’t talk about my patients. That’s privileged. I can tell you, in general, there are many reasons why families turn to therapy. I specialize in working with teenagers and young adults. Sometimes parents are concerned about destructive behavior. Other times, the kids just need someone to talk to who won’t judge. I’ve heard it all as well, and judging isn’t a part of the job description.”

Hopkins scribbled in his notepad. He hadn’t heard anything particularly noteworthy, but Walton didn’t know that.

“Why are you asking about my patients?” Walton asked. “Have they said something? Accused me of something?”

“Would that surprise you?” Hopkins said.

“Of, course. I mean, Zoe can be manipulative, but I don’t see her going so far as to make up lies about me. Misty… no, she would never.”

“Do you have children, Ed?”

“No. We… My wife probably wouldn’t like me saying this, but she can’t have children. Not that we wouldn’t have liked to.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Hopkins said, “How long have you been married?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Congratulations, that’s quite a feat,” Hopkins said.

“It has its moments. How about you, married?”

“I was. She passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” Walton said. “I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine.” Hopkins hated the idea of revealing information about his own life. But it would go a long way into establishing rapport. They were just two men, having a conversation. For the moment, anyway. “Tell me about your practice. I’m told you have an office in Newport as well as Jamestown.”

“Technically, yes. My partner Doctor Grenier and I started our practice in Newport. When we added the second office in Jamestown, I moved over. John stayed there. Even though we’re equal partners in both, we pretty much run it like two separate practices. It wasn’t the plan, but that’s how it worked out. Turned out to be a good arrangement. He has his patients, I have mine. We share the bills and the profits. Actually, your people met John this morning. He was giving me a hand with the motor.”

“They mentioned it.” Hopkins said. “Do you ever see each other’s patients?”

“Only in an emergency, if one of us is unreachable. Our records are intertwined, so if there’s a crisis, like a committal for a suicide attempt or something like that, the other can easily bring themselves up to speed and step in. But that rarely happens.”

“What’s your schedule? Do you keep normal office hours? Nine to Five? How about weekends? Do you ever see patients on weekends?”

“Again, only in emergencies.” Walton sighed and slid his chair back from the table. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in my work, but if you’re not going to tell me why I’m here, I don’t know how I can be of any help. I should be getting back to the boat.”

“You’re here because of Misty’s murder, Ed.” He paused. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

It took a moment for the words to register on Walton’s face. Before Hopkins’s eyes, the hue of Walton’s skin turned a pale white, as if all the blood had drained away from his face. “Hold on. You’re saying Misty’s dead? That she was murdered?”

“You can drop the shocked routine. We’re well past that, don’t you think?”

Hopkins tried his best to emit confidence. To show Walton that denying his involvement would be futile because he had already figured it all out. But the truth was, he hadn’t figured anything out. If Walton was guilty, he wasn’t acting it.

“You think I had something to do with it?” Walton said.

“No, Ed. I know you did.”

Walton stood up and backed away from the table. He pointed at Hopkins. “No. No. No,” he repeated. “Don’t you try to pin this on me. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Sit down,” Hopkins bellowed. “We’re not done talking.”

Walton looked Hopkins in the eye and then slinked back into his chair.

“I’m going to need to know where you were last weekend. Everywhere you went. Everything you did. Everyone you saw.”

“I wasn’t even here last weekend. I left last Wednesday and didn’t get back until last night. I’m telling you I didn’t do what you think I did.”

“Where did you go?” Hopkins asked.

“I was…” Walton hesitated. “I was at a conference. In Toronto. You can ask my wife.”

“Where did you stay?”

“What street was it on?”

Walton closed his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t. But it’s not a problem. I’ll just give a call to Homeland Security. Have them verify when you crossed. Ask them to send the video. Then I’ll call every Marriott in the area so I can confirm when you checked in and out. How does that sound?”

Walton’s eyes shifted toward the table. His confident veneer showed signs of cracking. Hopkins had him in his clutches.

“Okay,” Walton said. “I wasn’t in Toronto.”

“I know,” Hopkins said. He softened his voice and rolled his chair closer to Walton. “This is your chance, Ed. Your one opportunity to tell your side of the story. You made a mistake, people will understand that. But you have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s not like that,” Walton said. “I wasn’t in Toronto, but I was away. I was… meeting someone.”

“Samantha. A psychologist I met at the PSA conference in Fort Lauderdale last year. I told my wife I was going to Toronto, but I went to Niagara Falls.” Walton covered his face with his hands and then slid them toward his ears. He tugged on his earlobes. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

“That depends,” Hopkins said. “Where did you stay?”

“The Red Coach Inn. It’s on Buffalo Ave. I have the receipts. I can give you my credit card statements. I’ll give you Samantha’s number. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just don’t tell my wife, please, it would kill her.”

If this was true, it meant Hopkins had been barking up the wrong tree the entire time. It had been so promising. Such an unlikely coincidence. But if Walton had been gone for the week, he couldn’t have been Misty’s killer. Back to square one.

“Sit tight,” Hopkins said. He stood up and opened the door. “I’ll be right back.”

“You believe me, right?” Walton asked. “I might be a horrible husband, but I didn’t kill anyone.”

Hopkins didn’t answer. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Walton was telling the truth.

Hopkins walked to Fuller’s office. “I need you to call the Red Coach Inn, in Niagara Falls—”

“Already done,” Fuller said. “Walton checked in on Wednesday afternoon. One room, two occupants. He was with a Samantha Reed. Checked out Sunday.”