Night Work (17 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Let me read what you wrote, Mr. Trumbull. ‘We went upstairs to her apartment. She played some music on her keyboard for me. We became intimate at that point, and then sometime later, I left. I walked back down Wall Street to my car and drove home.’”

“That’s what happened,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

“We’re trained to find the telltale signs of deception when we read statements like this. They really do stand out, once you know what to look for.”

I just shook my head. I didn’t know what to say.

“Some liars are better than others,” he said. “But you know what? Turns out not even the best liar in the world can make himself slow down when he gets to
the lying part. It’s just human nature, Mr. Trumbull. You don’t dwell on a lie. You get it out there, and then you move on.”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this, but—”

“It’s a well-established psychological technique,” he said. “Tried and tested over thousands of written statements. A liar gives himself away every time, and you …”

“I was not lying, Detective. I don’t know what else to say to you.”

“It
looks
like you’re lying here,” he said, holding the pages up to me. “That’s all I’m saying. From our point of view, you have to admit, it looks like you’re lying.”

“Did it ever occur to you,” I said, “that I rushed through the last few sentences because I was getting tired of writing down every little thing? Or that maybe I was feeling a little self-conscious about what happened in her apartment?”

“Why would you feel self-conscious, Mr. Trumbull? What happened up there?”

“Exactly what I wrote down. We became intimate.”

“Intimate in what way?”

“How many ways are there, Detective? We kissed and then we went into her bedroom.”

“What happened there?”

“What do you
think
happened there? I’m supposed to write that all down, minute for minute?”

“That’s what you were asked to do, yes.”

“I didn’t figure it was anybody’s business,” I said. “And I didn’t think it would help you or anybody else figure out who killed her.”

Rhinehart put the pages back in the folder. He carefully lined up the edges.

“Is this why you had me do this little exercise?” I said to Shea. “So you could find something to trap me?”

“No, Joe,” Shea said. “Come on, just bear with us here.”

“There’s something else,” Rhinehart said. “Something else you left out.”

“What’s that?”

“What were you wearing on Saturday night?”

“I was supposed to write down what I was wearing?”

“Yes.” He picked up the first page again. “It says right here, ‘She was wearing a blue dress.’ But you never wrote down what
you
were wearing.”

“Weren’t you just standing in my apartment while I showed you exactly what I was wearing that night?”

“I saw the shirt and the pants, yes.”

“So you want me to write that down now? Give me the page, I’ll add it. I was wearing a shirt and pants.”

“And the tie?”

“I was wearing a tie, yes.”

“A tie you couldn’t seem to find today.”

I threw up my hands. “I can’t find my tie. I confess.”

“What color was it, again?”

“It was red, Detective. I was wearing a red tie.”

“You did get undressed, right? When you became intimate, as you called it? I mean, you did take your tie off at that point?”

“Yes,” I said, slowly. “I took my tie off.”

“Could you have left the tie in Miss Frost’s apartment? Or are you sure you wore it home?”

“Yes, I’m sure I wore it home. Now will you please tell me why you’re so hung up on what color tie I was wearing?”

Rhinehart went back to his notebook. He opened it and passed me a large photograph, one of the three he had shown me the day before. It was the picture of Marlene lying in the weeds.

“You recognize this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Please take another good look at it.”

It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I picked up the photograph.

“Please tell me what you see around Miss Frost’s neck.”

“I was there in person, remember?”

“Your friend took you there. Detective Borello.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so tell me … What color was the object wrapped around Miss Frost’s neck?”

“It was black.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Look at the photograph,” he said. “Look carefully.”

I held up the photo. “It’s black.”

“Closer, Mr. Trumbull.”

I held it up a few inches from my face. It didn’t look so much like a pitch black now. I was picking up a hint of color … “I guess it looks a little more red here. Maybe.”

“I’m sure it was hard to see in the darkness, but the flashbulb picks up the color. I can assure you, the object around her neck was a man’s red necktie. We have it in evidence now, of course. I can show it to you if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary. It can’t be mine.”

“You keep insisting there’s no way you could have left the tie in her apartment. Do you want to reconsider that possibility?”

I put the photograph down. I played the whole night back in my head one more time. Leaving her apartment, going down the back steps. I had my tie on. I know it. I was wearing my tie, draped around my neck.

“I left with it on,” I said. “I got back in my car … Could it have fallen off then? I suppose it’s possible. It seems unlikely.”

Rhinehart took the photograph back. He put it in the folder with my statement. Detective Shea sat still in his chair, looking down at his folded hands.

“So about those shoes,” Rhinehart finally said. I had a feeling I knew exactly what he was going to do next. He took out another photograph, another of the
three I had seen the day before. Sandra lying in her living room, shoelaces around her neck.

“Okay, look,” I said. “Those shoes are a couple years old. I think they were the first pair I bought, back when I started training. Anderson took one look at them and told me they were cheap pieces of crap and that they’d probably give me blisters. He was right. So I went out and bought a better pair.”

“You didn’t throw the old ones away?”

“Obviously I didn’t. I put them in the back of the closet. You saw my apartment. I don’t throw many things away.”

“And the laces?”

“I must have taken them out at some point. I must have broken a lace in another pair … Hell, I don’t know.”

“You don’t specifically remember doing that?”

“If I wanted to lie to you, I’d say yes, I remember exactly when I took them out. But I honestly don’t remember.”

“Well, okay then. A couple of things … First of all, the shoelace we found around Mrs. Barron’s neck was very long. Again, we have it in evidence if you’d like to see it. It’s the kind of shoelace that you wouldn’t use in just any shoe. You’d need a shoe with a lot of holes to go through. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, but—”

“You ever notice that when you lace up a shoe, you
get those little markings on the lace where the holes are? I keep calling them holes … but I think there’s a better word, isn’t there?”

“Eyelets,” Shea said.

“Thank you, Detective,” Rhinehart said. “You get those markings from the eyelets. Now, we haven’t had the chance to try it yet, but I have to wonder if the laces that killed Mrs. Barron would match up with the eyelets on your boxing shoes.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “You’re not honestly suggesting …”

“I’m not suggesting anything right now,” he said. “I’m just showing you how it all looks on paper. You’ve got to admit, Joe, it doesn’t look real good.”

“Why would I do it?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, Detective. What on earth would possess me to go out and start killing people? Have you thought about that part yet? Have you thought about how insane that sounds?”

“Like I said, Joe, I’m not accusing you of anything right now. I’m just laying out the facts. If I start thinking about a motive … I can’t even imagine why you’d do something like this. I mean, obviously I can’t imagine why
anybody
would do it, but you, in particular … You seem like a perfectly decent man to me. You work a tough job. You help people. It makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

Finally, I thought. He finally says something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m having a bad dream.

“Of course,” he said, “someone might look at your history and start to wonder a little bit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just thinking out loud, you understand.”

“And?”

“I’m just saying. Somebody might look at your circumstances … having lost someone close to you so suddenly … so violently …”

I met his eyes, stared at him without blinking. “Which would do what to me, exactly? What would that make me do?”

“People who’ve suffered serious trauma will sometimes exhibit erratic behavior,” he said. He didn’t look away from me. “It might be suppressed for a long time, years even, until something comes along to set it off.”

“Is that right?”

“Understand, Joe, we’re still talking on paper.”

“On paper.”

“Exactly.”

“Are we about done here?”

“Come on,” Shea said. “We need your help. Give us something to work with so we can clear you right now.”

“Like what? What can I give you?”

“Somebody who saw you after you left Miss Frost’s apartment on Saturday night, before the estimated time of death. Or Sunday, when Mrs. Barron was killed. Give us one solid thing we can take back to Albany to satisfy them.”

“I was alone both times,” I said. “You already know that.”

“Then let’s all try to find something else.”

“You’re wasting time, guys. He’s out there somewhere. And you’re sitting here asking me about my shoelaces.”

“We’re doing our job, Joe.”

“Fine, let me know when you get somewhere. In the meantime, I assume I’m free to go?”

“Of course you are,” Shea said. “If you want to talk a little more later …”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” I said, standing up. “I’ll see you around.”

“You’ll need a ride back to your place.”

“It’s a mile. I’ll walk.”

If Shea said anything else, I didn’t hear him. I already had the door closed and was moving down the hall. I passed the chief’s office. His door was open, but the room was empty. I kept walking.

The sun was down now, but the air was still hot. I was a hundred yards up the hill when I turned around to look behind me. Nobody was following me. At least nobody I could see. I kept walking.

I heard a car coming up behind me. It slowed down as it came beside me. For one second I was sure it was him, the man without a face, pulling up next to me so he could shoot me or grab me or God knows what else.

“JT!” a voice said. “Will you stop already?”

It was Howie, driving an unmarked police vehicle.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he said. “I’ve been yelling at you ever since you left the station.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“What happened? You look terrible.”

“I don’t even know. I think the BCI guys just arrested and booked me, except without the actual arresting and booking.”

He let out a string of profanity, reached across the seat, and swung open the passenger’s side door. “Get in here!” he said.

“They’ll have your badge for this,” I said as I did. “Aiding and abetting a suspected murderer.”

“You’re funny.” He gunned it as soon as my ass hit the leather.

“Take it easy,” I said. “What’s the hurry?”

“Okay, tell me exactly what happened.”

“Well, they searched my apartment, and then—”

“What? Are you kidding me? Did they have a warrant?”

“No. They asked me, and I let them.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I knew they wouldn’t find anything. Because I wanted them to eliminate me as a suspect and get to work on finding the real killer.”

“Okay, JT? Do me a favor. Never say ‘finding the real killer.’ It makes you sound like OJ.”

“I guess that’s not good.” I looked out the window.

“Seriously, man. Are you all right? You look like you’re in shock.”

“I’m fine.” I’m sure I didn’t sound convincing. I didn’t believe it myself.

“Did they Miranda you?”

“No. I’m telling you, they never actually accused me of anything.”

“You realize they may be using the fact that you’re in law enforcement against you.”

“How so?”

“They can push the line on reading you your rights,” he said. “Think about it. Who’s gonna believe you didn’t know them when you can recite the whole damned code yourself, word for word?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re doing exactly what they should be doing, and I’m just turning into a paranoid lunatic.”

“From the beginning,” he said. “Every word they said. Every word you said. Go.”

I tried to replay the whole conversation for him. First the part about them doing things the right way, doing me a favor even, clearing me completely so everyone would be above reproach. Then the full litany of details, all the little things that seemed to point my way, including the tie and the shoelaces.

Howie drove while he listened to me. It didn’t take long to get to the gym, so he pulled over on Broadway and kept the car running while I finished my story.

“Typical BCI,” he said when I was done. “You’ve worked with them before, haven’t you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you know how some of the New York State Troopers are real arrogant assholes?”

“Some of them.”

“Some, yes. Take one of those guys and cross him with an FBI agent. Now you’ve got a BCI investigator.”

I let out a short puff of air, as close to a laugh as anybody was going to get from me today.

“Billy the Kid,” Howie said. “And the Rhino. What a one-two punch.”

“They call him the Rhino?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No.”

“Save it for when you really need it. It’ll put him off his game.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Seriously, JT, what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to keep going through my old cases,” I said. “I’m going to keep my eyes and ears open, see if I can figure out who’s doing this.”