Caper (24 page)

“They don't have a zapper. They can't open the door.”

“And no one could steal a zapper,” I said. “It's a crime. Of course, so is murder.”

“You can see the drivers' faces going in. No one's letting in a strange car with a strange driver.”

“Of course not,” I said. “The system's infallible. Never mind. How about having him look for someone he knew.”

“Like who?”

“I don't know. Like the congressman's wife? Surely he'd have recognized her.”

“Surely he'd have mentioned it.”

“Would he? Why would he even notice? He didn't know there was going to be a murder. I'm sure keeping track of the tenants' comings and goings is not a high priority.”

“I'd have noticed,” the doorman said angrily.

“How about someone on foot?” I said. “Let's see if there's anyone walking out.”

“No one goes out through the garage.”

“They might if they just killed a congressman. That garage door open from the inside? Or would the killer have to wait until a car drove in to slip out before the door closed? Whoever came in the congressman's car sure didn't leave in it. They'd have to find another way to go.”

We watched the video. It was unrewarding. No one on foot, no cars the doorman didn't know.

“Are you satisfied?” he said. “Can I go now?”

“Yes,” I said.

Just a little too quickly.

Damn.

I'd been so careful, played it so well. And then, inches from victory, I pull a bonehead mistake like that.

“Hold on,” ADA Reynolds said, and I knew I was in the soup. He spoke to the doorman, but looked at me. “You're not going anywhere until you tell me what this guy doesn't want you to.” He pointed his finger in my face. “Now you shut up and I'll ask the questions. And you, look at me. Don't look at him. I'm suddenly more interested in this guy's visit to your building. What can you tell me about that?”

“Well, actually, he came twice.”

Shit.

“Twice? Are you sure?”

“Sure. Because the second time he was asking me all about the murder.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I told him about the murder, and he decided not to go up.”

“You told him about the murder?”

“Yes.”

“The second time he came to the building?”

“Right.”

“Why didn't you tell him about the murder the first time he came to the building?”

The doorman frowned. “I guess it hadn't happened yet.”

52

“O
KAY,
I
ADMIT IT LOOKS BAD
.”

“Looks bad? It doesn't just
look
bad. You're one step away from needing an attorney. I can't wait to hear your explanation. It seems to me there are two possibilities. Either you killed the congressman, or …” He paused, frowned, considered. “Maybe there's only
one
possibility.”

“Then you haven't been paying attention. Studying the videotape was not just an exercise in misdirection. It's a legitimate way the murderer could have gotten in and out.”

“I don't care how many ways the murderer could have gotten in. The fact is, you
did
. Now, you want to tell me about it?”

I certainly didn't. The doorman, under a grueling interrogation, to which I was not privy, had either remembered, or been led to believe he remembered, that my visit to his building had happened on the very day the congressman was killed. Odds were he was probably pretty clear on the point, because I seemed to remember discussing that very fact with him during that second visit.

Making matters worse was the fact that I had no idea what the doorman had actually said, so discussing it was like walking through a minefield. All in all, I was royally screwed.

“Care to explain what you were doing in the congressman's apartment building on the day of the murder
before
the murder?”

“See, this is why I need a lawyer. If my lawyer were here, I'm sure he would point out that question assumes facts not in evidence. How do you know I went there before the murder? Have you established the time of the murder? If so,
I
wasn't notified, and I bet the doorman wasn't either. If he says I was there before the murder, I would like to know how the hell he knows.”

ADA Reynolds started to get up, but his girlfriend pulled him back down.

“I don't think you understand what's happening here,” she said. “You want to spout legal mumbo jumbo, you're only making it harder on yourself.”

I was grateful for her help, but not that grateful. “That's nice of you. But I'm not splitting hairs. Whether I went there before or after the murder is hardly a minor point.”

“The why don't you clear it up for us?”

“There's nothing to clear up. I went there after the murder. That's what I said then, and that's what I say now. I don't care what your witness says. I've already demonstrated what his testimony is worth.”

“You've shown he might be mistaken. There's no indication he was lying.”

“Then he might be mistaken about me.”

“But he's not. As far as he's concerned, you went in there before the murder. I don't know if that's true, but the fact is he believes it. Which establishes on thing. You went in before
he
knew there was a murder. In other words, before the cops arrived and arrested Mr. Hanson. You were there before Mr. Hanson. Would you care to explain how that happened?”

“Not really.”

“I wasn't offering you an option.”

“You gonna insist on an answer?”

“Yes, I am.”

“To bad. That will involve a formal charge, a Miranda warning, and lawyers. Just when we were doing so well.”

ADA Fairfield was getting exasperated too. “Damn it. We're trying to give you a break.”

If they were, I wouldn't have known it. I was fucked, and fucked bad. It was time to give Alice's theory a try. Not that I believed in it for a moment, but I didn't have anything else.

I took a breath. “You wanna give me a break? Let's make a deal.”

ADA Reynolds smelled a rat. “Deal? What deal?”

“I still think the doorman's off base. I'll answer questions about the time I went upstairs posing as a flower delivery man, if the doorman can substantiate his claim.”

“Substantiate it how?”

“Pick me out of a lineup.”

Reynolds gawked. “A lineup?”

“Yeah. A police lineup. But not with usual clerks and detectives you throw together. I'd like the congressman's widow. I'd like the jock and his wife. I'd like Mr. and Mrs. Weldon.”

“Who?”

“That's more in her ballpark. The parents of the congressman's son's girlfriend.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“You think he can't pick you out of that lineup.”

“I'd like to see him try.”

53

I
T WAS A ZOO.

The widow was understandably upset. Sharon's parents were irate, but then, they hated me anyway. And the jock and his wife seemed confused. None of them had any idea what was going on. Since I was the only one who did, I had to explain.

“It's very simple.” I addressed the widow. “The doorman of your building has identified me as going up to your apartment the day your husband was killed. I dispute his version of the events, and I've challenged him to pick me out of a lineup. You're the lineup.”

“You're out of your mind,” Sharon's father said. “We don't have to put up with this.”

“No, you don't. But if you refuse, your refusal becomes a matter of record. And then the police will take an interest in you when they find they have nowhere else to go.”

He turned angrily on the attractive ADA. “You said we were finished with this.”

“That was before there was a murder. Obviously, things are different now.”

“Not to us. We have nothing to do with it. Why are we here?”

“He asked for you.”

“And he gets whatever he wants?”

ADA Fairfield smiled, placatingly. She had a nice smile. “He's become a suspect in a murder. We tend to humor suspects, on the theory if you give them enough rope, they'll hang themselves.”

It was a good argument. Not that it satisfied him, but at least it shut him up.

With only moderate bitching and moaning, the six of us were herded down the hall to the shadow box. It was your typical lineup box, long and narrow, with one-way glass in front, and a white wall with black height marks in back.

“All right,” ADA Reynolds said. “If you've never been in a lineup before, I'm sure you've seen one on TV. You go in, stand on the number I give you, face the mirror. When I tell you to, step forward. If I ask you to speak, repeat what I tell you to say.” He surveyed the group. “Okay, wise guy. You got five spaces, and six people. How you wanna handle that?”

The jock's wife begged off. She tended to defer to her husband, was probably used to being excluded.

“We're not so formal,” I said. “Stand with your husband. We'll make room.”

The jock wasn't going to hear it from me. He put his arm around his wife protectively, looked to ADA Reynolds for confirmation.

“Yeah, whatever,” ADA Reynolds said. “Okay, take the positions I give you.”

He put Sharon's father on space one, his wife on space two, me on space three, the jock and his wife on space four, and the congressman's widow on space five.

“Okay. We're going out front. Just stay on your spot until I call you on the microphone.”

He and ADA Fairfield left us there. Everyone was glaring at me. I had a feeling if nothing happened soon, they would tear me to shreds.

The light came on and the microphone crackled.

“Can you hear me?” ADA Reynolds said. “All right, when I call your number, take one step forward.”

We could hear the voice of the doorman in the background. “Why? It's the one in the middle.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is stupid. Of course it's the one in the middle.”

“It's
always
the one in the middle,” I said. “The guy's not identifying a person, he's identifying a number. Turn out the lights, let me mix 'em up, and we'll do it again.”

“I don't think so.”

“Why not? You afraid he can't do it?”

“Of course he can do it.”

“I bet he can't. Turn out the lights, we'll put the people where
I
want 'em, and see what he says then.”

It was hard getting him to go along, considering how stupid it actually was, but he finally gave in with the air of an indulgent parent humoring a stubborn child.

“All right,” I said, “let's mix 'em up. First off, I'm out of the middle. So who shall we put there? How about you?” I said to the jock.

He stuck his chin out at me. “Why?”

“Someone has to. Let's put your wife on one side. Here, you be number two.” I pointed to Sharon's mother. “And we'll put
his
wife on the other side. You be number four, Mrs. Weldon. Now, then, I don't want to be number one.” I pointed at Sharon's father. “So that's you. Then I'm number five.” I made a face. “That's no good either.” I pointed to the jock's wife. “You, change places with me. Now I'm number two, and you're number five. Perfect.”

I looked the lineup over, feigned surprise. “Now there's no room for the congressman's wife. How about right in the middle with you?” I said to the jock. “I'm sure your wife won't mind.”

The voice of ADA Reynolds crackled over the speaker. “How you coming in there?”

“Almost ready. Everyone all set? No, we're not. Mrs. Blake, if you would please stand in the middle.”

The congressman's widow reluctantly joined the jock on number three.

“Okay,” I said.

The lights came on.

The voice of the doorman said, “Number two.”

I made a face. “Did anyone ask you? This guy's jumping the gun. He's answering before he's asked.”

The doorman was totally exasperated. “What
possible
difference could
that
make?”

“More than you think,” I said. “Now, before you say anything else, would you let me do this my way, or do we have to mix 'em up and start again?”

“Oh, for God's sakes!”

“Hang on,” ADA Reynolds said to the doorman. To me he said, “What do you want?”

I couldn't see him, but I could tell he was talking through clenched teeth.

“I want people to step forward when told to. I want them to repeat simple phrases when asked.”

“What do you want them to say?”

“I'll tell them as we go along. I'll tell them to step forward, and I'll tell them what to say.”

“And this will confuse me into not being able to identify you?” the doorman said, sarcastically.

“Hang on,” I told him. “You'll get your chance. Now then, if we may proceed. Number five. Please step forward.”

The jock's wife stepped forward.

“Good. Step back. Number one. Step forward.”

Sharon's father glared at me, but he stepped forward.

“Good. Step back. Number four. Step forward.”

Sharon's mother stepped forward.

“Good. Step back. Number three, step forward.”

The jock and the congressman's wife looked at each other.

“Good,” I said. “Hold that pose.”

They didn't, of course. They both turned to glare at me.

“What do you think you're doing?” the congressman's widow demanded.

“It's an experiment. Now, they didn't hold the pose, but tell me this. Did you ever see these two look at each other in the way they did just now?”

The jock scowled. “Hey, what the hell is this?”