MARLENE PACED BACK AND FORTH IN THE INTERVIEW ROOM of the Westchester County Detention Facility as she waited for Warren Bennett to arrive. Her mind was racing ahead. The case she’d taken on the spur of the moment to help a casual friend who needed her help to protect his rights had changed dramatically with her visit to his apartment.
No longer was it just a case of “Did he do it, or did he not?” and making sure he had effective counsel. She was now convinced not only that someone else had killed Michelle Oakley, which is what she believed all along, but that the killer was actively trying to make Warren take the fall. And that’s a whole new ball of wax, she thought. Frame jobs take planning.
She reviewed what she knew, looking for the key to the puzzle. Somebody had tossed Warren’s walk-up, which meant they were willing to take a chance that some detective like her cousin would notice and jump to the same conclusion she had. If the murder wasn’t somehow connected to Warren, the killer would not have ransacked the apartment.
So, why? . . . Come on, it’s obvious, Marlene. The killer thinks Warren knows something . . . No, that’s not it, or not all of it . . . They went to his apartment . . . they think he has something they want . . . but what? . . . Something that got Michelle killed and worth going through the trouble, and risk, of framing Warren . . . if he’s innocent . . . God damn it, listen to your gut, of course he is!
On the drive over to Westchester County from Manhattan, she’d reminded herself again and again to keep an open mind about Warren’s possible involvement in Oakley’s murder. It was possible that he had killed her, or maybe he let someone into the house who then killed her. It was also possible that the mess in the apartment was caused by a neighborhood thief who’d heard he’d been arrested and took advantage of the situation. Maybe the burglar got frightened off before he could grab the DVD player and television.
She had to admit to herself that she didn’t know much about Warren Bennett, though he’d been part of her family’s crazy life for years. But up to this point, he’d mostly existed as one of the many colorful characters who made up New York City’s street life—a character in a real play being acted out on the sidewalks, alleys, and thoroughfares of big, indifferent Gotham. She’d talked to him from time to time but always in passing, and neither had delved into the other’s personal life beyond “How are you?”
Butch knew him better. It was one of the things she loved about her husband. He was often portrayed by the defense bar, and the bar’s friends in the liberal press, as the hard-hearted, by-the-book prosecutor, but she knew differently. A person’s wealth or station wasn’t as important to him as what that person said and did. He would treat the lowliest street person with respect and courtesy, stopping to talk to those who were ignored by the rest of society or to buy a man a hot cup of cocoa from a street vendor on a cold day. And she knew he genuinely enjoyed chatting with Warren and playing their movie-trivia game.
Still, he’d conceded that morning that what he really knew about “Dirty Warren” wasn’t much other than that he liked movies, was very bright, lived somewhere in the East Village, was mysteriously connected to David Grale and the city’s underground Mole People, and worked hard to make a living.
Butch was also an excellent judge of character. “And it’s going to take hard, irrefutable evidence—hell, maybe even a confession—to convince me that he’s guilty,” he’d said that morning when he called after he got to the office. “But I guess we’ll have to let justice take its course.”
With maybe just a little push from me, Marlene thought when she arrived at the Westchester detention center in Valhalla.
But she was learning more about Warren, starting when she announced herself to the desk sergeant in the jail lobby. A young woman who’d been standing nearby walked up and introduced herself as Warren’s sister, Shannon Bennett. “Are you his lawyer?”
“If he wants me to be,” Marlene had replied. “I was trying to protect his rights when he was arrested, so I identified myself as such, but I’ll leave the decision up to him when I see him. Has the family retained someone else?”
“No, no,” Shannon had replied quickly. “We . . . I appreciate that you are helping him. I wanted you to know that I will pay your fees.”
Marlene had smiled. She already liked the pretty young woman with the high patrician forehead, red hair, sea-foam green eyes, and porcelain complexion. “That won’t be necessary. If he wants me to stay on, I’m doing it pro bono.”
“Pro bono?”
“Latin. Means ‘for the good,’ which is a fancy way of saying no charge.” Marlene had looked around the lobby. “Are your parents here? I’d like to talk to them about Warren.”
Shannon had bit her lip and shaken her head. “No. They’re . . . well, not here. They love Warren, but I’m afraid they’ve never handled his Tourette’s very well, and his offbeat sense of humor doesn’t help. It makes them uncomfortable to be around him, though they ask me about him if they know I’ve gone to see him in the city. But now this—it’s sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy for them; they told him that if he moved to New York City, no good would come of it. Of course, he ignored them.” Shannon had stopped and then laughed bitterly. “Sort of ironic, don’t you think? He was fine in Manhattan and got into this mess by coming back to Purchase.”
Marlene had nodded. “I’m sure this came as a shock to the family. But I’d be interested in anything at all that helps me defend him.”
“Well, I probably know him better than anyone,” Shannon had replied. “So, why don’t you ask me your questions, and I’ll see if I can answer them?”
“Let’s start with a tough one. Have you ever known him to react violently if he gets angry?”
Shannon had tensed and frowned. “I see you think he could have done this. I—”
Marlene had interrupted. “No, I’m just trying to cover all the bases. If he tells me he’s innocent, and that’s what he said last night, then that’s how we’ll go forward, and we’ll make the prosecutor prove that he’s guilty. But if he tells me that he accidentally, or in a fit of rage, struck Michelle, killing her, then the defense strategy changes. I do have to worry about what the prosecution might try to bring up regarding his past behavior. If there are any issues we need to address . . . ?”
Shannon’s shoulders had sagged, and she’d nodded as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I guess I was being a bit defensive. But no, I’ve never seen Warren violent. In fact, he’s the gentlest person I’ve ever known. I’ve often wished he would fight back more, but it’s just not his nature.”
“What was his relationship with Michelle Oakley?”
Shannon had brightened back up. “He’s had a crush on her since junior high school. I think they were pretty good friends for a while. I was quite a bit younger, and, as the snot-nosed kid sister, I wasn’t allowed to tag along, but this one summer, they were together all the time. She was one of the most popular girls in the high school, and he was, well, he was Warren. He never felt he could compete with the other boys, and at that age, he probably couldn’t have. Michelle was just a teenager, too, and she enjoyed her popularity.”
Shannon had paused and looked as if she was going to say one thing but then changed her mind.
“I’m six years or so younger than Michelle, so I didn’t really get to know her until this past year when I moved back home after my divorce. I still can’t say I know her that well, but I’d see her, and we’d talk at the club or parties in the old neighborhood. She’s really nice but struck me as sad. Her parents lost a lot of their money, and her dad was convicted for fraud of some sort; then her mother committed suicide, and her dad died in prison. On top of that, she had several failed marriages. Really just a sad, sad story. I know she was having a hard time making ends meet, though I have to say she seemed to have been doing better lately.”
“She get a new job?” Marlene had asked. She’d noticed Shannon’s initial change of mind and saw her hesitate again now.
“Not that I’m aware of. We didn’t talk about that kind of thing much.”
“So, you were telling me about their relationship.”
“Yes, of course. There’s not much to tell,” Shannon had said. “I know she had good memories of Warren and asked about him whenever I saw her. But he’s one step away from living on the streets and is pretty much a loner with his Tourette’s. Meanwhile, she is . . . was . . . a Westchester County socialite, even if she’d fallen on hard times.”
“Did he tell you that he was going to see her on Saturday night?”
Shannon had laughed. “It was all he could talk about after my birthday party. That she had asked him over for dinner. I think he took two showers that day and made me help him with his hair and clothes. I don’t think I’ve seen him that excited ever. Of course, his Tourette’s was acting up from the stress; he was cursing a mile a minute and hopping around like the Energizer Bunny. But I wasn’t worried about it. The funny thing is, Michelle always had a calming effect on him when they were younger—more so even than me, and I was pretty much his best friend. I was sure he would be okay once he got over the initial butterflies.”
Marlene had reached out and touched the younger woman’s arm. “I know you’ve answered a similar question from me. But could it be possible that Warren hoped that something might happen between himself and Michelle, and if rejected instead, he lashed out?”
Shannon had paused to consider the question but again shook her head. “He’s been rejected all of his life—by his friends, by his family, by employers, and, especially, by women—and he’s always just swallowed his disappointments and gone on with his life. Why would that change now?” The young woman had held Marlene’s gaze. “No, even if he hoped for something more, if Michelle wasn’t interested—and I know she would have been nice about it—he would have pretended it didn’t matter and then crawled back to New York City with his tail between his legs.”
Suddenly, Shannon’s eyes had blazed with anger.
“He would not have hurt her and especially wouldn’t have done what the newspaper said.”
“The alleged sexual assault?” Marlene had asked.
The young woman had nodded but couldn’t speak.
“First off, we don’t know if that report is even true,” Marlene had said.
“Then how can they print something like that?”
Marlene had shrugged. “Because the press—or at least a significant percentage of them—are no longer accountable for what they print and broadcast. They hide behind anonymous sources or no sources at all and simply state their guesswork as fact. They are not their own masters anymore but are the tools of people with hidden agendas. Or they have their own hidden agendas and pretend the opinions, rumors, and stuff they just plain make up are from off-the-record conversations with sources they claim are ‘close to the investigation.’ But the important thing is how we deal with that information, if it is true that she was sexually assaulted.”
Marlene had fished in her purse and found a package of tissues, which she handed to Shannon.
“If it makes you feel any better, my husband doesn’t believe Warren did it, and neither do I. We think we know him better than that. I don’t know if he’s ever said anything about it to you, but he’s acted courageously in a couple of incidents that he’ll never get credit for, but he actually saved many lives.”
Shannon had stopped wiping at her nose and given Marlene an incredulous look. “Really? Warren? Superhero stuff? He never said anything about it.”
Marlene had looked at her watch and then at the desk sergeant, who motioned her over. “I guess he’s the strong, silent type. Anyway, I’ve got to go see him now, and I’m sure you know the grand jury is meeting this afternoon. I expect they’ll indict him, simply because it’s all about what the prosecutor says, and I won’t be able to be there to give another perspective.” She’d reached back into her purse and produced a business card. “This is my private cell number. Call anytime. And nothing, no detail, is too small to tell me. You never know what piece of a puzzle completes the picture. Then someday, when this is all over, we’ll all sit down for a few adult drinks, and I’ll tell you about your heroic big brother. Deal?”
Shannon had sniffed and smiled. “Deal.”
Marlene stopped pacing when the door to the interview room clicked open and Warren stepped in. He looked surprised, and she could tell that he’d been crying, but when he saw her, he smiled.
“Hi, Marlene! Are you going to . . . oh boy ohhhh boy tits and ass . . . going to be my lawyer?” he asked.
“Hi, Warren. I’d be honored if you’d like me to represent you.”
Warren’s smile faded a little. “I can’t afford much,” he said. “I can sell my newsstand, but I don’t know what . . . whoop oh boy . . . I’ll get for it or how fast I can do it.”
Marlene waved dismissively. “That won’t be necessary. I’m doing this as a friend.”
“I don’t . . . whoop ass . . . like taking handouts.”
“Well, then, think of it as payback for all that you’ve done to help my family,” Marlene replied. “Especially Butch. Please, we can’t repay the debt we owe you, but this would be a token of appreciation.”
Warren’s smile returned. “I don’t know . . . oh boy oh boy fucker . . . about all that, but I’m glad you’re here. How’s my cat?”
“Brando is fine,” Marlene replied. “Which brings me to my first question. This might seem like an odd one, and I don’t want you to be embarrassed, but I need you to be as honest as you can. Would you describe how you keep your apartment as neat or messy?”
Puzzled, Warren shrugged. “Well, I’m a little on the obsessive-compulsive side,” he replied. “I like everything to be in its . . . my my my balls . . . place. My life is such a mess otherwise because of Tourette’s that I probably go a bit overboard with the things I can control.”
“Would it surprise you that when the police showed up this morning to search your apartment, your clothes were scattered all over the place, as was your collection of DVDs?”
“I was . . . whoop whoop suck me . . . robbed?” Warren cried out. The muscles around his right eye began twitching violently, making it appear that he was winking rapid-fire at her.
Marlene gestured toward the stool on the opposite side of the table and took a seat herself. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “But if you were, they weren’t after any of your personal possessions—the DVD player, the television, your movies, nothing appeared to be missing. Did you have any other valuables? Jewelry? Cash? Art?”
Warren snorted, and his head jerked violently to the side so that he was looking at her sideways. “Valuables? I can barely afford kitty litter for Brando.” He laughed, then looked worried. “The robber didn’t hurt my cat, did he?”
“He’s fine. But we did find him outside the apartment. Are you sure you left him inside?”
Warren’s shoulders shrugged violently. “Positive. Like I said, I’m pretty compulsive. I always check to make sure . . . oh boy whoop . . . Brando is inside, and I always lock up. I have a pretty heavy-duty dead bolt on that door. Did they kick it in?”
Marlene’s eyes narrowed. Good point, and another piece of the puzzle. “No, there was no sign of forced entry,” she said. “Which means this guy was a pro. He knew what he was doing.”
“But why?”
Marlene explained her theory that the killer, or his accomplice—“there might be more than one person involved”—was looking for something he believed Warren had and the break-in was connected to Michelle Oakley’s death. “It’s obvious you were set up,” she said. “But maybe they didn’t account for Michelle entrusting you with whatever it is they want? Any ideas?”
Warren looked thoughtful even as his head continued to jerk to the side and occasionally straight back. With an effort, he shook his head no. “I can’t think of anything.”
“She didn’t give you anything—an object or an envelope?”
“Uh-uh . . . whoop whooooop . . . nothing,” he replied. “We had a few glasses of wine and dinner, and we talked. That was . . . oh boy piss shit . . . it.”
“Did she say anything that might have indicated she felt she was in danger?”
Warren thought about it for a moment. “Well, she said a couple of things about how . . . oh boy . . . if I really knew her, I wouldn’t want anything to do with her.”
“Did she say why?”
“Not really. She told me she had made some horrible decisions because she was desperate and that . . . whoop oh boy ohhhh . . . she was going to have to pay for them. She said she had to atone. She said she was Shane.”
“Who?”
“Shane, the character in the western film by the same name,” Warren answered. “We played movie trivia, like I do with Butch.”
“Was there anybody else in the house with the two of you?”
Warren shook his head. “No one else was in the house.” He paused, then added, “But after dinner, she got a call on her cell phone. She said it was a business client with an emergency. In fact, she called it . . . whoop whoop nice tits . . . a life-and-death emergency. It was why I had to leave when I did.”
“Did she say she was meeting someone?”
“No, but that was the impression I got. I could be wrong.”
“Did she say she was having trouble with anyone in particular?”
Warren looked troubled. “Well, there were these two guys at the . . . whoop butt ass . . . birthday party my parents threw for my sister. They came up to us when we were talking, and the taller one said that he needed to speak to her. It wasn’t a request, either, it was a demand. The other guy just stood there looking at her like he wanted to wring her neck. I asked if she needed help, but she said it was just business. By the way, the other guy’s name was Jim Williams.”
“No,” Warren replied. “I was introduced to him earlier at the party; he was with some hottie . . . whoooooop . . . named Sherry. But the only reason I know his name now is because it seemed familiar at the time. Then I remembered, Jim Williams is the name of the main character in the movie Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. He’s an art collector and bon vivant in Savannah, who shoots his homosexual lover and claims it was self-defense. Kevin Spacey plays him. That’s the sort of thing I’m good at remembering.”
“And you think this wasn’t a friendly business meeting between Michelle and these men?”
“I couldn’t tell what was going on, but there was a lot of tension. I’m pretty sensitive to it . . . oh boy ohhhhh boy . . . makes me twitch, in case you haven’t noticed.” As if to prove his point, Warren’s body convulsed, after which he continued as if nothing had happened. “You think they could have had anything to do with her death? But why frame me?”
Getting up out of her seat, Marlene began to pace again. At first, she didn’t speak, then she looked at Warren and said, “Maybe you were just convenient. Who knew you were going to Michelle’s?”
“Umm, let’s see. My folks, Shannon, the cabbie . . . I guess the cook might have heard her say my name.” He shrugged and twitched slightly. “I think that’s it.”
“No one else. You didn’t call any of your buddies or say something to someone at your sister’s birthday party?”
“No . . . hey, wait a minute,” Warren said, his eyes growing wider. “At the party, those two guys heard me ask her out for a coffee. That’s when she invited me to her place for dinner.” He stopped talking and looked sadly at the floor. “I still can’t believe . . . oh boy . . . she’s dead.”
Marlene noted the hitch in Warren’s voice. “How rude of me, Warren. I’m so sorry; I know she was important to you. I met your sister out in the lobby. She’s here to visit after we’re done. She told me that Michelle was very fond of you, too. Apparently, she asked about you frequently.”
Warren’s head fell forward as a sob escaped him. Marlene quickly made her way around the table and placed her hands on his quaking shoulders. “Do you want to take a break? I only have a few more questions.”
“No, I’m okay,” he replied, pulling himself together with a sigh. “Sorry. I keep thinking, there goes your . . . oh ohhh boy piss . . . only chance at love, which is selfish. Michelle lost her life, and I’m worried about me.” He stifled another sob with his hand over his mouth. Then, slowly and deliberately, he calmed himself. “Go ahead. Let’s finish. Shannon’s waiting.”
Marlene looked at him for a minute, impressed by the man’s inner strength. “What time did you leave Michelle’s house?”
“Not sure,” Warren replied. “I don’t wear a watch. But I’d say not much after nine.”
“Where’d you go from there?”
“I walked home. It’s about a mile.”
“Why not take a cab?”
Warren bowed his head, and when he looked back up, his pale blue eyes were filled with tears. “It was a nice night, and I was really . . . whoop whoop ass . . . happy about the way our date went. She teased me when I left; she said we’d go out to a movie if I could get the right answer to a movie-trivia question.”
“Which was?”
“It’s the one I asked Butch about before . . . whoop . . . I was arrested: ‘The key goes where the book editor sees his wife and son off to Maine.’ That’s it.”
“Did you figure it out?”
“No. To be honest, I’ve been a little preoccupied,” Warren replied. “And I was trying not to cheat . . . oh boy . . . by looking it up online. I have a feeling I know it, but something’s just not clicking. By Monday afternoon, I was stumped, which is why I asked your husband. I would have told her that I cheated and thrown myself . . . whoop nipples oh boy . . . on her mercy.”
Warren smiled, but even at that, tears slipped from his eyes and rolled off his cheeks to splash on the table. Marlene patted his shoulders and moved back around to her side of the table to face him, though she remained standing. “I know this is hard, but keep your chin up. We’re going to figure out what’s going on and beat this rap,” she said.
Warren chuckled and wiped at his eyes. “Now you sound like James Cagney. ‘You dirty rat.’ We’re going to beat this rap, ya hear?”
Marlene laughed. “Maybe we’ve both been watching too many gangster movies.” She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to the trivia question, either, but it doesn’t seem to pertain to Michelle’s death. Do you know what time you got home that night?”
“I took my time and sat in a park for a bit. I guess around ten?”
Marlene leaned forward and placed her hands on the table. “Warren, I’m going to ask you an embarrassing question, but it’s important, so you have to tell me the truth.”
“Go ahead,” he replied, lifting his chin slightly.
“Did you have sex with Michelle that night?”
Warren’s face turned beet red, and he stammered several times before he could answer. “No. I wish . . . I wanted . . . and she said . . .” He stopped and started again. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. But the answer to your question is we hugged when I arrived, and she kissed me once when I left, but we did not . . . whoop whoop . . . have sex. Now, aren’t you going to ask me if I killed her?”
Marlene looked deep into his eyes, so large behind his smudged glasses, and shook her head. “No. I don’t need to; I already know you didn’t.”
After a few more questions, Marlene was ready to go. As she held out her hand, he asked, “What’s next?”
Marlene sighed. “Well, the grand jury meets this afternoon, and like I said, I expect you to be indicted for murder. Then there will be an arraignment, probably within a day or so, and you’ll be informed of the charges and asked to enter a plea. We will, of course, plead not guilty. Then we’ll ask for you to be allowed to get out on bail.”
“Won’t the district attorney ask for me not to get bail?”
Marlene thought about Harley Chin and his enormous ego. He was already in the newspapers promising swift justice and about to indict Warren for murder. He wasn’t about to appear soft on crime by letting a suspected murderer out on the streets.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up about bail,” she said. “With a murder charge, they usually . . .”
“. . . won’t let you . . . whoop whoop oh boy . . . out. I’m a dead man,” Warren finished glumly. Then he explained what had happened in the cafeteria. “David and Booger won’t be able to protect me for as long as it’s going to take to get me out of here.”
“I’ll demand that they keep you segregated from the rest of the inmates,” Marlene said, visibly angered.
“What reason will you give?” Warren said. “Because a couple of street people said there’s a hit out on me? I doubt the jailers will see the urgency until I’m already dead. Doesn’t matter. This is a jail, and they can’t protect me if somebody really wants me dead.” Every facial muscle seemed to be twitching now as he looked at Marlene. “I think that’s been the plan all along. Frame me and then murder me. They’ll just say my Tourette’s got me killed—that I said something bad to somebody and paid the price. They might even be right. I might get killed because of my mouth, but you and I will . . . whoop oh boy shit . . . know there’s more to it than that.”
Warren’s grip tightened, and his eyes widened with fear.
“Get me out of here, Marlene! Please!”