First Offense (10 page)

He crossed his arms over his chest, guarded now. “If I ain’t gonna get probation again, why’d they send you?”

“Good question,” Ann said, wondering how many times she’d explained this to inmates facing a prison term. “Even though I’m a probation officer and you may not be eligible for probation on these rapes, the law states that in all felony convictions, an investigating probation officer must prepare a report. In legal terminology, they call this a mandated report, meaning something that has to be done by law. It’s just something probation officers do, another part of our job. Next week you go back for sentencing for the violation of probation. I’m the one who will write a report and make a recommendation to the judge. Then if you’re convicted on the rapes, I’ll be recommending how much time you should actually serve in prison for those crimes.”

Delvecchio was suspicious. “Why would you tell them how much time I should do in the joint? Don’t the judge do that?”

“He does, but he uses our report to make his decision. Maybe they enacted this law because they thought probation officers understood people like you, people who commit crimes. Does that make sense to you?”

“How do I fucking know?”

Ann leaned forward over the table. “See, the judge doesn’t have time to come and talk to you like this, so I’m doing it for him. Basically, this is your chance to tell your side of the story, Randy, tell the court what your life has been like up until this happened. Things like that. The only thing I don’t want you to talk about today is anything pertaining to the ongoing trial. We can’t do that just yet, see. Not until the verdict is in.”

“Whose side you on?” Delvecchio said, peering up menacingly.

“Yours, of course,” Ann lied. A few lies with people like Delvecchio didn’t cause her to lose any sleep. She had reconciled herself to the fact that they might never find Hank’s killer, but there were plenty of men like Delvecchio. As she saw it, someone had to pay.

Seeing the dark look in Delvecchio’s eyes, Ann tried to empty all negative thoughts from her mind. She gave Randy another warm, friendly smile. Sure, Randy, she said to herself, I’m your best buddy. “First, I’d like to start by asking you some routine questions. Is that okay, Randy?”

He nodded. His head slumped toward his chest, his eyes even more hooded and wary. Pretty blond ladies didn’t talk to him with sugar-coated voices like this one. He wasn’t a fool.

Ann got him off and running, though, by distracting him with a barrage of insignificant questions: questions about his various jobs, his friends, his hobbies. After fifteen minutes of this, she told him a joke, something to get him to laugh. After another interval she dropped in a funny story. Several times she reached out and lightly touched his hand. Each time she was rewarded with a sinister smile, but it was a smile. After an hour of softening him up, she sensed she was about to make a breakthrough. Just a few steps more, Ann told herself, and the door to Rancho Delvecchio would be standing wide open.

“Boy, Randy, I’m thirsty. How about you? Want a cold drink?”

Delvecchio cackled. “Yeah, get me a Bud.”

Ann tossed her head back and laughed with him, as if he had said something hilarious. Pleased with himself, Delvecchio laughed even harder, slapping his thighs. “Being a probation officer has its merits,” Ann told him, smiling, then walked over and hit the buzzer. When the guard unlocked the door and looked inside, Ann announced, “We need a couple cold drinks in here.” She glanced over at Delvecchio. “Want a Coke or a 7UP?”

Swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, Delvecchio said, “Coke, man.”

The guard sneered, but he didn’t protest. “And make sure there’s some ice in there,” Ann added. “It’s ninety degrees in this room.”

As soon as the guard returned with their sodas, Ann took a few sips of hers and quickly glanced at her watch. How long had it taken this time? Over an hour. Longer than normal, but Delvecchio was a tough case.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Guess,” Ann said playfully.

“I don’t know. Maybe thirty or something.”

“Nope,” Ann lied, “I’m forty-three. I look pretty good, don’t I?”

“Shit, really? You really forty-three? I think my mom’s only forty-three.”

“Sure am. Randy,” she said, her tone serious. “Now, let’s go back to what we were talking about, this business with your mother, since you mentioned it again. You said you’re close to your mother, but not that close to your father. My mother died when I was young. Randy, so I didn’t get a chance to be close to her. Sad, huh?” Ann said, looking down. A little sympathy right now could go a long way, get her even closer to that door.

“Oh, yeah?” Delvecchio responded, unfazed by Ann’s display of emotion, suddenly agitated over something else.

There it was, Ann thought, snapping to attention. Right before her eyes his entire personality was changing. It was like a mask sliding off his face, revealing another person inside. Ann had purposely increased her age, assuming he had a thing for older women. Was this what had set him off, or the questions about his mother? She felt the fine hairs on her arms stand up, but she kept a smile plastered on her face.

Randy leaned down low over the table, his arms folded, his head tilted to one side. “You’re really pretty, you know?” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “Got a husband?”

“No,” Ann answered under his hot stare. She moved her neck slightly to release the tension, praying he didn’t spot the fear. His eyes, she kept thinking. It was all in the eyes. Right behind those dark eyes with the long lashes, rage was just simmering. “I live alone. Just me and my dog. Do you like dogs. Randy?”

“Sure,” he said, thrown off balance by this change in direction, “everybody likes dogs.”

Ann beamed innocently. “I have a German shepherd. You know, a big dog. They say you can tell a person’s personality by the kind of dogs they like.” Placing her hands on the table, Ann said, “Let’s play a game just for fun. If you had a dog, what kind of dog would it be?”

Delvecchio became wary all over again. “Is this some kind of test or something? I don’t like tests.”

“No,” Ann said quickly. “We’ve been at this for quite a while now. Randy. I thought we’d take a little break. You know, like recess at school.”

“I didn’t get to go to school much,” he said, his gaze drifting toward a far comer of the room.

“Oh, no,” Ann said. “You mean you dropped out?”

“No,” he said, a glint of moisture in his eyes. “I didn’t have no shoes, see, and they wouldn’t let me go to school with no shoes.”

“I’m sorry,” Ann said, truly compassionate, watching as he blinked back the tears. Sometimes even with the worst offender, she caught a glimpse of the child he had once been and was saddened. Would Delvecchio be here today, she wondered, if someone had provided him with a pair of shoes? “Look,” she told him, “let’s play our game. Forget about the past right now. If you had a dog, Randy, what kind of dog would it be?”

Delvecchio narrowed his eyes, but a moment later he relaxed once more. “I know it wouldn’t be one of those little mutts with the bows in their hair. They bite. Those dogs are fucking vicious, man.” He turned his head to the side, and with his other hand he cracked his neck.

“Oh, really?” Ann said, her expression frozen in place, only her eyes expanding. She was getting close, very close. “A dog bit me one time. Want me to show you?”

“Yeah,” he said, curious, getting into it.

Ann shoved the chair back a few feet from the table and pulled her skirt up above her knees. “See, right there,” she said, pointing at a nonexistent mark on her thigh. “A little toy poodle sank his teeth in me. Can you see the scar? Boy, I almost killed him. I kicked the shit out of that damn dog.” Before he could get a good look at what Ann was pointing at, she quickly repositioned her legs under the table and pulled her skirt back down. Delvecchio had been trying to see something, but not what Ann was showing him. Scars were evidently not as interesting as her long legs and the place between them.

Allowed this intimacy, Randy grew animated in a childish way, smiling, moving his shoulders around. He rolled up the sleeves on his jumpsuit and purposely flexed his biceps, showing off for her. He was aroused, Ann could tell. Sitting right there a few feet away from her, he was probably thinking how much fun it would be to place his big hands around her neck and strangle her. A little cheesecake might get him going, but Ann knew it wasn’t sex that excited him. Randy Delvecchio was a rapist and a murderer. What turned him on, excited him past the point of no return, was cruelty and intimidation. For Randy Delvecchio, there was no such thing as sex.

“A fucking poodle bit me too,” Delvecchio volunteered, again chuckling and making eyes at Ann. “Right here by my ankle.” While Ann leaned over to look, he pulled up the baggy pants of his jumpsuit and exposed his muscular calf. “Hurt like a bitch. I hate those stupid dogs.”

“Was it a white poodle or a black one? I’ve heard the white ones are the meanest. The one that got me was a white one.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Delvecchio said, smiling so broadly that his crooked teeth were fully exposed. “They’re the meanest. It was a white one, and I think it had a red bow in its hair. Maybe the same dog that bit you bit me.”

Ann leaned back and smiled at Randy Delvecchio, her first genuine smile since walking in the room. She might have wasted an hour in a stifling room with a dangerous animal, but she had what she wanted. The rest of the interview was insignificant. She’d finish it later. Standing, she pushed her chair back to the table and faced him. “That’s it for now. Randy. See, that was painless. You’ll be hearing from me in the next couple of days.”

“Wait,” he said, his expression changing to desperation. “I didn’t tell you the most important thing.”

“What’s that?” Ann said, hitting the buzzer for the jailer, wanting to get as far away from this creep right now as she could.

He looked Ann right in the eye. “I’m innocent. I didn’t rape no women. I never raped anyone in my life. I don’t got to rape ‘em. Women love me. I got all the women I need.”

Sure, Ann said to herself, deciding his proclamation of innocence was unworthy of even a response. Everyone in the jail was innocent. As soon as the jailer came, Ann took off down the hall.

When Ann got back to her office, she placed a call to Tommy Reed. After being informed that he was in the field, she asked the dispatcher to call him on the radio and have him meet her at her house.

Only a few blocks away when he got the call, the detective was pulling up to the curb by the time Ann got home. Ann leaped out of her car and rushed to the driver’s window, her face flushed with excitement. “I got him, Tommy.”

“Who?”

“Delvecchio.”

“How?”

“The dog bite. He admitted it.”

The detective’s eyes lit up. “No shit?”

“No shit, and I’ll testify. I’m certainly a credible witness. He showed it to me, even told me it was a toy poodle…a white toy poodle with a red bow in its hair. Sound familiar? It’s on his ankle.”

“There’s a lot of white toy poodles with red bows, Ann,” Reed said skeptically. “And I’ll tell you something else. When he was arrested, they went over every square inch of his body. He swore that injury on his ankle was from falling off his motorcycle. His mother even verified his story.” Reed got out of the car and slammed the door, leaning back against it. “Besides, these homicides occurred over a year ago. Unless it was deep enough to leave a scar, a bite like that would have already healed.” Reed made a little smacking noise with his mouth. Even if he had his doubts, he obviously wanted it to be true. “He really told you it was a damn poodle?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?” Ann was soaring on adrenaline. “He admitted the scar on his ankle was a dog bite.” One of the victims in the homicides, a grandmother of six, had owned a small toy poodle. The dog had been strangled at the time of the victim’s death. Ann had been studying the reports and had come up with the idea that the little dog had probably attacked the killer, and he had choked it in a fit of rage. Reed and some of the other detectives working the case, though, had thought differently. Their assumption was that the dog had been purposely strangled so it wouldn’t bark and draw the police. But Ann knew dogs and poodles, particularly ones that lived pampered lives with long-term owners like the victim. They sometimes developed nasty temperaments, started nipping at strangers. And if the dog had left a permanent scar, as this one evidently had, the lab could still verify that it was made by canine teeth. All they needed was one solid piece of evidence connecting him to the homicides and they would be able to prosecute.

“Look, Tommy, I know you think I’m pissing in the wind, but please, just write it up and shoot it to Glen. He wants Delvecchio bad. You may not know it, but Estelle Summer died this morning. I’m not certain how much her testimony means to the overall case, but if we lose that rape count, Delvecchio will be back on the streets in no time.”

“She died, huh?” Reed said, rubbing his chin. “Bad break for the prosecution. Has she testified yet?”

“I don’t know,” Ann said. “Listen, get someone from the lab to go over to the jail and take impressions of that bite Delvecchio has and see if we can verify it’s from a dog. But don’t do it before you tell me. I’ve got to go back and complete the interview. Once he realizes I set him up, he won’t talk and might even attack me.” Ann looked toward the front of her house and saw David opening the front door. He’d probably been watching from the window and wanted to know what was going on.

“What happened to the dog?” she asked Reed.

“How the hell do I know? The animal control people probably picked up the carcass and burned it.”

Ann was irritated, but kept it in check. She waited until David had walked to the curb where they were standing. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, pulling him into her arms. “Hey, why don’t you let Tommy and me have a few more minutes alone here and then I’ll come inside?”

“Why can’t I listen?” he protested, his eyes darting from Ann’s face to the detective’s. “What are you talking about, anyway?”