Extenuating Circumstances (7 page)

We went upstairs, to the fourth floor of the old Court House. The main hall was filled with cops from various jurisdictions, lounging against the walls, smoking, talking to each other. The place smelled like cops -a stink of wet serge, muddy shoes, cigarettes, nervous sweat. I couldn't tell from the talk if any of the cops had heard about the homosexual business. But from the number of them standing around, I guessed they knew something was up.

The interrogation rooms were located midway down the hall. A group of beat cops stood outside one of the paneled doors, laughing raucously. Finch walked up to them and signaled to a tall sergeant. The cop came over to him.

"He's inside?" Finch said.

The cop nodded.

"Is he talking?" Finch asked.

"Like it's a game show."

"Get us a stenographer, will you. Tell him to wait outside until I'm ready." The cop started off and Finch pulled him back by the sleeve. "Who's in there with him now?"

"Lennart and Tom Gerard."

"What about a PD?"

"He don't want one."

Finch gave the sergeant a look. "I don't want this queer to get off on some fucking Miranda shit."

"I'm telling you he refused counsel. Gerard read him his rights twice. The little bastard doesn't give a damn."

"What about the girlfriend?"

"We got her downstairs. You want her up here?"

Finch thought it over. "Yeah, bring her up with the stenographer."

The cop walked off. Finch glanced at me. "You know the routine, Stoner. Just keep out of the way. And keep your mouth shut."

Art walked over to the door of the interrogation room and opened it. Carnova was inside, sitting on one side of a rectangular table -his arms cuffed in front of him. Two sweaty shirt-sleeved cops were sitting opposite him. A pack of cigarettes and several Styrofoam cups of coffee sat on the table between them. There were cigarette butts all over the floor and clouds of stale smoke hanging loosely in the air.

Carnova looked up as Finch and I came into the room. He was short, shorter than I expected from the picture, and muscular in the arms and chest. He wore patched jeans, a studded belt, and a fur-lined leather vest open to the waist. No shirt, no shoes. Although his dirty angel's face was dry, you could tell that it had been wet with rain from the way the hair was plastered down on his forehead and cheeks. I took a good look at his darting blue eyes. I couldn't see any fear in them, certainly no remorse. Just the excitement of the moment, a kid's excitement at being the center of attention.

As he entered the room Finch took a Miranda card from his coat pocket and started to read the boy his rights. Before Art had finished Carnova was shaking his head and grinning.

"I ain't gonna get no lawyer," he said in a loud Appalachian kid's voice. "They just fuck you over, lawyers. That's something I learned from my dad."

Finch glanced at the other cops, then at the kid. "Okay." He pocketed the Miranda card. "You feel like talking about the murder, Terry?"

"I done it, and I'm ready to pay." The boy's eyes gleamed wildly. "Think I'll get the chair?"

"You might," Gerard said.

The kid lifted his chin dramatically, as if to say he could take it, and I suddenly realized that this was the biggest moment in his life -high drama. Like TV. Like Perry Mason or People's Court. It depressed me to think about the vicious, banal history that had led up to it.

"Unlock him," Finch said to Lennart.

The cop took off Carnova's handcuffs and snapped them on his own belt. Carnova rubbed his wrists.

"Thanks," he said to Finch, as if he'd done him a personal favor.

Finch grunted. "Don't mention it."

"I ain't gonna say nothing for the record, though," he said, with a cagey look on his face. "You got me fair and square. But I ain't gonna say nothing for the papers."

"Why, Terry?" Finch said.

"I got my reputation to think of." The kid reached out and pulled a cigarette from the pack on the table, screwing it in his mouth. "And I don't want my family to get involved."

"Family? You mean your girlfriend?" Finch said slyly.

"What about her?"

"She's already involved, Terry. She's right outside the door."

"Bullshit, she is. Kitty wouldn't come here. She's not that stupid."

One of the cops, Lennart, started to laugh. "She's the one who turned you in, Terry. She told us where to find you -and Lessing."

The kid gave Lennart an icy look. "You're lying. Kitty wouldn't turn on me."

"But she did, Terry," Finch said.

"Fuck you," the kid said. "I don't believe it."

Finch opened the door and waved to someone out in the hall. A moment later a skinny redheaded teenage girl with a pale, freckled face came to the door. She stared at Carnova for a second, and her lower lip began to tremble violently. The kid eyed her with astonishment.

"You done it to me, didn't you?" he said, as if he couldn't believe it. "You give me up."

"I done it for your own good," the girl said tragically, and started to cry.

"Oh, shit." The kid collapsed in his chair, the unlit cigarette dropping from his mouth to the floor.

"Wha'd you tell them, Kitty? Wha'd've you done to us?"

The girl let out a squeal of anguish, and Finch signaled someone to take her away. He closed the door again.

Carnova sat bent over for a long time, the very image of pained betrayal. But I had the feeling that, like all of his behavior, this was borrowed too -from some movie or TV show. The tough kid betrayed. After a time he looked up balefully.

"You can't believe everything that girl says. She ain't right in the head."

"She's right enough to hang you, Terry," Finch said coldly.

He ducked his chin again. "She told you all of it, did she?"

"She told us you killed Lessing, and she told us where you hid the body."

"No more'n that?" he said curiously.

"It's more than enough, Terry," Lennart said.

Finch said, "Your reputation's shot, son. And your girlfriend doesn't want you anymore. You ready to make a statement now?"

The kid sat in silence for a moment, his brow working furiously, as if he was sizing up his situation. "Why not? You might as well get the story straight, long as Kitty done opened her mouth."
 
 

11

Once the stenographer came into the room, Carnova brightened up, as if he felt the spotlight on him once again.

Lennart and Finch sat down at the table. Gerard and I leaned against the walls.

"All right, Terry," Finch said. "Tell us about Lessing."

Carnova curled his lip in disgust. "He deserved killing -that faggot."

"I thought that's how you made your living," Lennart said. "Selling yourself to fags?"

Carnova looked deeply insulted. "It's just a gig, man. It's just a way of turning a dollar." He smiled a tough smile that made him look his age. "I ain't no fag myself. I hate 'em, man. I hate queers. I use 'em, that's all."

Gerard said, "You don't go down on them, Terry? You don't suck cock?"

"Hell, no! I let them go down on me. I make 'em pay to do it. Fucking fags."

"How about Lessing? Did he go down on you?"

"Sometimes," he said. "Yeah, sometimes I'd let him do me, if he paid good enough. But that really wasn't his bag, man. He liked . . . other things."

"How long have you known him, Terry?" Finch said.

"Since I was sixteen. We got together pretty regular since I was sixteen."

"How regular?"

"He'd cruise Monmouth in Covington 'bout once every two or three weeks, at the start. Last couple of years, I'd see him once a week over there, or over on Plum Street in Cincy down by Fourth. The johns have a signal worked out with the car lights. Everybody knows it. You flash four times, then turn off the lights if you're looking to catch. Five times if you're pitching. Ira'd come by, give the signal, and I'd hop in on the driver's side and drive us down by the river. He didn't want to go to any of the clubs. Only this year, sometimes, he'd go to the clubs."

"What clubs?"

"The Ramrod. The Underground. Like that." Carnova looked off into space. "He changed this year, some."

"How?"

"It ain't important," Carnova said, looking back at Finch.

"What about the night of the Fourth?"

"He picked me up on Plum Street. I got in the driver's side and he scooted over, like he usually did. He wanted to go to the riverfront, but I told him I needed some money."

"For what?"

"I wanted to cop some T's and B's. It was my birthday, and I wanted to get real high. So I said, 'Gimme your bread.' But all he had on him was a twenty-dollar bill. I said, 'Shit, you can do better than that.' And he says, 'I can give you a check.' " Carnova hooted with laughter. "I can't take no checks. So I drove down to the bank, there on Fifth, and I says, 'Gimme your damn bank card and I'll get some money.' And he says he don't have no bank card, when I know damn well he does. So I smack him with the back of my hand." He slashed the air with his hand. "I said, 'Gimme that bank card.' But he won't. So I pull over and hit him again. He starts crying and says now he don't use no bank card. And I start waling on him ..."

Carnova's voice died off.

"Why didn't he try to get away?" Lennart said.

"He was strapped in with the seat belt." He started to say something else, then swallowed it.

Finch stared at him for a long moment. "You're lying about this, aren't you, Terry? About Lessing being queer."

"No, I ain't lying," the kid said defiantly. "I'm telling you the truth."

Art slapped the kid -hard enough to knock him off his chair. The other cops didn't move a muscle. Carnova sat on the floor for a second, looking stunned.

"What'd you hit me for, man?" the kid said with the true innocence of stupidity.

"I felt like it," Finch said between his teeth. "I may feel like it again."

Carnova began to smile. "Sure. You wale on me as much as you want. My old man used to wale on me. See what it gets you."

He got to his feet, brushed off the seat of his pants, and sat down again at the table. "See what it gets you," he said, giving Finch a fierce look.

Finch leaned back in his chair. "So you beat him up because he wouldn't give you money."

"That's what I told you," Carnova said sullenly.

"According to the coroner, his skull was fractured twenty-eight times, Terry. Six of his ribs were broken. Both collarbones. The hyoid bone in his neck. His right arm." Finch stared at the kid coldly. "Why'd you, do that, Terry?"

The kid ducked his head. "I don't know why," he whispered.

Finch reached out and grabbed Carnova by his hair, jerking his head up violently. "You don't know why!" he shouted, looking directly into the kid's eyes.

The boy tried to pull away, but Finch had a good grip. After a time the kid stopped struggling and sat there, staring at Finch. A blush filled both of Carnova's cheeks, and his eyes teared up with pain and indignation.

Finch gave the kid's head a good yank, then let go, flinging his hand away as if it was contaminated. The kid kept staring at him, tears running down both cheeks, almost as if he was sorry for what he had done.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said angrily. "He was good to me, most of the time. He gave me things."

For a second I thought Finch was going to hit him again. But Art held back.

"So you killed him for being good to you?" he said dully.

"No, man!" Carnova said in an anguished voice. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with both hands. "I didn't mean to kill him. He just . . . he kept provoking me. He wouldn't give me the money."

Carnova sobbed suddenly. It was startling, coming from a kid like him -like hearing an animal make a human sound.

"I drove from one bank to another, all over the fucking town," he said, beginning to cry in earnest. "I kept giving him chances, man. But he wouldn't come across. It was my birthday, man, and he wouldn't come across!"

Carnova sobbed again. "I was real high, from celebrating. High on T's and B's. All I wanted was a few more dollars so's I could score again. I didn't want to come down, you know . . . I just wanted to stay up there for the whole day. But Lessing, man, he wouldn't give me the number."

"What number?"

"For the bank card, man. The password number. He just . . . wouldn't. So I got mad. I says to him, 'I'm going to show you, man. I ain't some little prick you can jerk around. I'm a man."'

"What did he say?"

"He was kinda messed up. His face, I mean. He just kinda grinned at me like he was daring me on, you know. Like he didn't have no respect for me at all. Like he didn't care."

Carnova took a deep breath and wiped his face again. His nose was dripping snot and he wiped it, too, with the back of his hand. He sat there for a moment, breathing hard.