BLUE MERCY (15 page)

“Still, you’ve taken more than most. From what I read, Bernard almost killed you.”

“I’m still here.” Kay couldn’t tell if it was something in Arsenault’s tone then, or in his eyes, but she sensed a genuineness in his words.

He studied her for a long moment, then sat back in his chair. “So Finnerty, he’s your new partner now?”

“We’re working this case together, yes.”

“He really does like me for this, doesn’t he?” Arsenault asked, and Kay suspected he used the cop lingo to align himself with her.

“Well, you gotta admit, Scott, you’ve given him good reason.” Kay opened Valley’s case file then. Reports, evidence logs, Jonesy’s protocol. As she flipped the pages, she was aware of Arsenault leaning into the table for a closer look.

She stopped when she came to one of the pages she’d printed off his website and added to the file: a detailed documentation of the case, the investigation, and a summary of the evidence, as well as a chronicle of Bernard Eales’s insipid life. “These lists of yours,” she pointed out, “they’re very precise.”

“I do my research. Like I said, it’s an interest. There’s no crime in that, is there?”

“No. But come on, Scott, be honest. You don’t actually believe these guys you’ve got websites for are innocent, do you?”

“In a couple of the cases, after going through court documents, statements, testimony, I did question some aspects of the investigations and trials. Clarence Gossard, for one. And Eddie McCleester. I’m not sure how familiar you are with the cases, but in both of them their lawyers really mangled their defense.”

“So they’re innocent because they didn’t get a fair trial?”

“No. In McCleester’s case, sure, the evidence is circumstantial. Still, I’m sure he did it. Gossard too.”

Kay wondered if Arsenault was merely indulging her.

“And what about Eales?”

He shrugged casually, but she could tell he chose his words carefully now. “From everything I’ve heard, the evidence is strong. And you can’t argue evidence, can you?”

“Well, there’s evidence. And then there’s intuition.”

“And what’s your intuition tell you, Kay?”

She shrugged. “I have my own theories.”

He seemed to recognize he wasn’t going to get more from her. “Well, I think if there’s any doubt in Bernard’s guilt, it lies in his character. I mean, he’s not some mastermind serial killer. The way I see Bernard, he’s more of an opportunist. Sees something he wants and simply takes it. He’s not a planner, so one has to wonder, how
could
he have pulled off those murders? At the same time, maybe there’s more to Bernard than meets the eye. I’m sure people underestimate him all the time. Even you did.”

She tried not to flinch, and she caught a glimpse of sympathy in his eyes then. Regret that he’d brought up the memory for her.

“But you’ve probably talked to Bernard yourself,” Arsenault said. “What do you think?”

When she held his stare for a moment too long, a nervous smile twitched at the corners of Arsenault’s lips. He knew he’d pushed the boundary.

“Look, Scott”—she drew his website pages from the file and slid them over to him—“we’ve got a big problem here.”

The smile fell.

“It’s about some of this content. You know you’ve got certain details here, details that were never made public, were never in the media. In fact, they were our hold-back. Can you explain that?”

The wheels turned behind Arsenault’s quick eyes.

“You gotta come clean, Scott. You keep silent on this and life’s gonna get real messy real fast for you.”

When he dropped his gaze to the pages, he appeared to scan them, but she knew he wasn’t. Scott Arsenault knew exactly what detail she was referring to.

“It’s the cuts to the victims’ chests, isn’t it?” he asked finally.

“Bingo.”

“Oh, Christ.” He pushed away from the table. Stood, and paced the back wall of the room like a lab animal in its cage.

“Listen to me, Scott, you’re not in trouble if you’ve got a source. Just tell us who it is. Tell us how you knew about those injuries, especially since you say you’ve never spoken with Eales.”

He wouldn’t look at her, and Kay worried she’d lost him.

“Scott?”

But then he stopped, his expression drawn taut when he turned on her. “Wait a second. These are old cases. If this is about those cuts to Eales’s victims’ …Did Valerie Regester have the same marks on her chest?”

Her lack of response gave him the answer.

“Oh, man.”

“Come on, Scott, talk to me. No one knew that detail except the investigating detectives and the ME who did the autopsies. And, of course, the killer. So unless—”

“No. There
is
someone else who knew.” He’d started pacing again, shaking his head. “Christ.”

“Who is it, Scott? We need a name.”

Kay watched him pace, his hands clenching into fists, his knuckles white.

“Andy Reaume,” he said finally.

“And who’s he?”

“She’s
a friend.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. It’s not like that.”

“So she’s a source. What is she? Is she on the job? A crime-scene technician?”

More hesitation. Then: “She’s with the medical examiner’s office.”

Of course
.

“She cleans up after the autopsies,” he explained. “Preps the bodies for viewing, organizes personal belongings, that sort of thing. She told me about the cuts to the victims’ chests.”

“Working at the ME’s, she’d have signed a confidentiality waiver.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to say anything when you came to my place Friday. I really don’t want to get Andy in trouble.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that.”

When Finn came through the door, Arsenault stiffened visibly. “Have a seat, Scotty.” Finn kicked out a chair and motioned for him to sit, then tossed the business cards back onto the table. “ ’Fraid your alibi doesn’t check out.”

“What do you mean?” Arsenault’s voice was thin as he sat.

“I mean, your story doesn’t wash. You weren’t at any bar Wednesday night.”

“You talked to my friends?”

“Oh, sure. They said you were at The Cosmo with them down in Fells Point from nine till one a.m. Lied just like you asked ’em to.”

A muscle along Arsenault’s jaw went crazy.

“You forgot about your doorman, Scotty.” Finn planted one hand on the table and leaned across it into Arsenault’s personal space. “I did some checking. Guess you figured
the doorman didn’t notice you when you snuck out at nine thirty. And he says he never saw you come back in.”

“I
did
come back. He mustn’t have been at his station when I did.”

“So you
did
lie.”

Arsenault snatched up his friends’ business cards and worried them between his fingers. Kay saw the sheen of sweat along his forehead.

“Okay, look, I was home that night,” he said. “But I was alone, so what the hell kind of alibi is that, you know? I
did
go out at nine thirty for some takeout. That’s all. A half hour. I was back by ten.”

But Arsenault must have seen that Finn wasn’t buying it.

“Look, I was supposed to meet up with the guys at the bar that night anyway, but I wasn’t feeling well.”

“So you figured you’d lie.”

“Hey, is it my fault the doorman wasn’t at his post when I came back?”

Finn shook his head. “Doesn’t look good when you lie, Scotty.”

Arsenault’s chair scraped back against the linoleum as he stood. He turned to Kay. “Look, I’ve told you everything I know.” He reached for his jacket. “Unless there’s something else Detective Finnerty wants to harass me about, I think I’ll be going.”

“Well, actually …” Finn stepped back from the table and opened the Interview Room door. “Before you go, Scotty, there’s someone here wants to say hi.”

“Who?” Tension flared.

“Maureen Greer. You remember her, don’t you? From the Rape Unit?”

And Scott Arsenault’s face blanched.

MO GREER HAD BEEN WORKING
Rape for ten years and somewhere along the way had acquired the not-so-flattering nickname Bulldog. Kay never knew if it came from Mo’s stout figure or because once she got her teeth into someone she didn’t let go.

When Mo stepped into the Interview Room, Arsenault remained standing. His face tight, his back straight.

“Hey, Mr. Kelly.” Mo swung her stockiness around with the same ease she did her confidence. She pulled out the last free chair, slapped her own file onto the table, and sat. “Or wait. Detective Finnerty tells me it’s Arsenault now? How you been doin’? Why don’t you pull up a chair and take a load off, huh?”

Kay watched the Web designer. He didn’t move.

“How long’s it been?” Mo asked. “Six years, right? I thought I recognized you when you came off the elevator. You had me a little confused though with the name change. No wonder Detective Finnerty couldn’t find anything on you. Arsenault. That’s your mother’s maiden name, isn’t it?”

“You have a good memory, Detective Greer,” he said stiffly.

“So why the change?”

“My mother passed. I took her name out of respect. Is that a problem?”

Mo shook her head. “Only if you did it to escape this rape charge.” She slid the dog-eared folder to Kay.

“The charge was dropped, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to change my name, now would I? And that file should have been expunged.”

“Aw, I know. I’m just such a pack rat though. Finnerty here says you’re helping them out on this murder case of theirs. Of course, he was pretty shocked to find out about your record.”

Kay opened the folder and perused the six-year-old aggravated-assault and rape charge. She knew Arsenault was watching.

“There
is
no record,” he said.

But Mo ignored him. “Mr. Kelly here got a little heavy with a girl in college,” she said for Kay’s benefit. “A real he-said, she-said. She claimed he raped her. Used a knife on her too, didn’t you, Mr. Kelly? Only, you said she’d done those cuts to herself after you’d left, to substantiate her story. What was it you said about the girl?” Mo reached across to flip the pages for Kay. “That’s right, ‘She liked it rough.’ You said
she
was the one who brought the knife into the sex act but you refused to use it and left.”

“That’s right.” Arsenault’s anger sharpened his words. “Besides, you have no evidence.”

“He’s right. No prints on the knife. Nothing concrete. Only Ms. Neuwelt’s statement. But then, last minute, she recants. Drops everything. Then I find out later she’s pregnant. Was it a boy or a girl, Mr. Kelly? And what
does
she get for child support from you anyway for dropping those charges?”

Mo was pushing Arsenault’s buttons like an ATM machine. Kay saw his jaw clench, and his movements were brusque as he straightened his jacket.

“I bet she’s cleaning you out, huh?” Finn asked, coming around behind Kay. When he reached over her shoulder, he flipped through several pages of the case file himself, stopping at the color photos of Missy Neuwelt. They’d been taken at the hospital: close-ups of her swelling eye and cheek, and one superficial cut to her jaw. There were more
cuts though, to her palms and wrists, red slashes across her abdomen, and finally, Finn stopped turning photos when he reached the close-up of Missy Neuwelt’s chest. Several red lines crisscrossed the pale skin between her breasts.

Finn let out a low whistle. “Wow, you sure went at this girl.”

“No, Detective, she went at herself. The girl’s certifiable, especially when she’s not on her meds.”

“So you’re saying she gave herself that shiner?”

“No. I did that, when she attacked me. The rest is her own work.”

“Sure do have a way with the ladies,” Finn added.

But Arsenault was finished. “If you have any more questions, Detective, I’d like to call my lawyer. Otherwise, I’ll be on my way.”

Kay sensed the disappointment behind Finn’s false smile as he stepped back and made a broad gesture to the door. “That’s all right,” he said. “We know where to find you.”

Arsenault’s hard-soled oxfords clicked against the linoleum as he headed out. Kay felt Finn’s hand on her shoulder, understood his nod. But she didn’t need his cue. She was off the chair and after Arsenault in a second.

She caught up with the Web designer at the elevators. “Listen, Scott, I’m sorry about my partner.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Kay punched the lobby button for him.

“I didn’t do that to Missy,” he said, staring at the doors.

“I believe you.” But she didn’t. Not entirely. Not until she’d heard both sides of the story. She waited until he turned to her, and for a second Kay felt sorry for him. If he
was
telling the truth, it wouldn’t be the first time some poor sap got framed for rape. And Arsenault had mentioned the girl had been on meds.

“We’re still going to have to talk to her.” Kay kept her voice soft, needed to remain on his good side. Needed to be trusted.

“Fine. I just don’t see how digging out an old fabricated rape charge helps to catch whoever killed Valerie Regester.”

“You’re probably right.”

When the elevator arrived, the car was empty.

Kay held the door as he stepped inside. “Listen, if you think of anything else or … if you just want to talk—” She handed him her card from her pocket. “You can call.”

Arsenault took the card with a thin smile. “Thank you. I will.”

KAY PARKED HER 4RUNNER
in the graveled lot of the Bridge Marina and sat in the dark silence of the SUV, wondering why she’d agreed to come.

A new moon hung over the water. Like a giant ball being held up by the masts, it bathed the fiberglass decks in an eerie pallor. Beyond them, the concrete vaults of the Hanover Street Bridge looked like black caverns.