Читать книгу Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 31

Marge thought: It’s better than an office of bloody fetuses, but Parker Center Crime Lab is still not the bistro of choice for breakfast. Sipping coffee and wolfing down a doughnut, she scanned the rows of tables sagging under piles of clear plastic bags filled with clothing—hundreds of pieces of evidence waiting to be analyzed. It saddened her—no matter how many times she’d seen this room—to think that these garments had once been worn by living, breathing individuals. Some of the victims were alive—recipients of assaults. But for others, what remained on the table was the only part of them that had survived the crime.

She felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around. Buck Travers was well into his sixties but still had a full head of black hair. He was stoop-shouldered, potbellied, and smiling, as usual. Marge wondered what his secret was. Maybe he was genuinely happy with his work. Travers had tried retirement once but hadn’t liked it. The department, in one of its rare moments of lucidity, gave Travers back his former job. Buck was one of the best hair and fibers men around.

“Sorry I’m late,” Travers grinned. “I had a date with a bloody afghan—not the canine variety. You look tired, Detective Dunn.”

“Been up since three in the morning.”

“Same case or a different one?”

“Two cases that are probably related. We’re not sure how. We’re hoping for help.”

“Well, I might be able to give you a little. Come and I’ll show you what we got.”

Travers led Marge to his desk located between a gas chromatograph and a centrifuge lined with tubes of blood. He picked up a file and frowned. Marge caught it.

“Your expression’s hinky. What’s wrong, Buck?”

“What do you want first—the good news or the bad news?”

“I’m an optimist. Let’s hear the cheerful stuff.”

“Good news is we have a preliminary match—”

“Hallelujah!” Marge clapped her hands. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Wait a minute. You haven’t heard the bad news yet.”

“First let’s finish with the good news. Who, Buck?”

“I think you’d better hear the bad news.”

Marge bit back frustration and told herself to take her time. That’s the way it was with lots of techs. They were meticulous people. “What’s the bad news?”

Travers frowned again. “Who did the evidence collection?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“What happened? Was there a screwup?”

“Yeah, there was a screwup.”

“Damn it! It wasn’t me, Buck. I bagged each sample individually and marked them—”

“Now, hold on, I’m not saying it was you. But there was a screwup.”

“How bad?”

“Well, I found this lone bag of female hairs in your evidence collection. Lord only knows which case it belongs to. Someone’s going to charge in here demanding to know what the hell happened to their evidence and we’re not going to have the answers. Screwups are more frequent than we’d like to think. Some staffers just pass over them. Not me.” Travers pointed to his chest. “I’m not going to further the disaster and make like my results are pristine. I just want to make sure the evidence you gave me is all accounted for.”

“Fine, Buck, I’m duly warned. The results?”

“I’m not stalling for the sake of stalling, Marge. I just don’t want to name a person only to find out he’s not the one you should be after. I’d like some more time—”

“Fine. Take as much time as you want, Buck. I’m perfectly aware that you’re giving me tainted results. Who’s the prelim match?”

“Well …” Travers opened up the file again. “After careful consideration we find consistency between the hair collection taken from sheets on Case Number REb129847563 and a hair sample collected by you. We’re still waiting for DNA banding results to come in using spermatozoa as the primary marker. Banding is more conclusive but the tests take a while. So you gotta take this with a grain of salt, Margie—”

“A whole shaker full! Buck, who is it?”

“Carl Totes.”

The stable hand was as out of place as a cow chip on china, eyes darting from one wall of the interview room to the other. Decker figured it was claustrophobia that was giving Totes the shakes, more than the situation itself. Carl had seemed baffled by the arrest but not the least bit uncooperative. He’d readily offered samples of his hair for retesting—anything to help out Miz Lilah. He’d handled the car trip over to the station house pretty well although he’d been uncomfortable riding next to Marge. But once inside the small interrogation area, Totes’s nervous system began to discharge. He fidgeted and drummed the table with his hands. He took off his cowboy hat and kneaded the felt rim with calloused hands. Clearly, this was not a man used to physical boundaries.

Marge was seated closest to the door, working the tape recorder. Decker wanted to do the questioning. He had seated himself next to Totes at the other end of the table. Totes had been working out the horses when they had presented him with the warrant. The stable hand’s jeans were covered with dust, his shirt had soaked up lots of sweat. Guy smelled up close, but Decker could take it. He’d spent enough of his youth on a ranch and was used to nature’s perfume. After being Mirandized, Totes was given a card that stated he had been advised of his rights. Marge asked him to read the card and sign it and he did so without reservation.

“How long this gonna take?” He wiped his face with his bandanna and stuck it in his pocket.

Decker said, “A long time, Mr. Totes.”

“Don’t like talking in a room.” Totes’s eyes were still jumpy. “Why couldn’t we talk at the ranch? Like last time.”

“Because you’re under arrest, Mr. Totes,” Decker said. “Do you understand that you’re under arrest?”

“Arrest fer what? I didn’t do nothin’.”

Decker tapped his foot. “I think we should get him a lawyer.”

“Don’t need no lawyer,” Totes insisted. “Jus’ ask your dern questions and get this over.”

Marge and Decker exchanged glances. Decker shrugged and told her to turn on the recorder. After reciting the identifying data into the mike, he began the questioning.

“Mr. Totes, do you remember last Monday, June twenty-third—”

“Don’t remember no dates.”

“Okay.” Decker tried a different angle. “Do you remember the day after your boss, Lilah Brecht, was raped?”

“Yessir.”

“Do you remember where you were the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

“Yessir.”

“Where were you that night, Mr. Totes?”

“Where I always were. At the ranch.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know the address of the place. Don’t you got it?”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “In which part of the ranch were you located, Mr. Totes?”

“Oh … in the stable.”

“What were you doing in the stable?”

“What wuz I doin’? I wuz sleepin’.”

“Why were you sleeping in the stable?”

“’Cause that’s where I live.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Five years.”

“And you were sleeping there the night Lilah Brecht was raped.”

Totes didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the rim of his hat. “Yessir.”

Decker assimilated Totes’s pause. “You were sleeping there all night?”

“Don’t you sleep all night, mister?”

Decker was impassive. “Were you sleeping there all night, Carl?”

Again, Totes hesitated. “Yessir.”

Two pauses within a minute of each other. Was he that slow a thinker or was he formulating consistent lies?

Decker said, “What time did you go to bed that night, Carl? When did you stop working and go into the stable?”

“’Bout eight-thirty. Gets dark ’round then.”

“You went into the stable around eight-thirty?”

“Yessir.”

Decker stood and leaned against the table. “Okay, Carl, you went into the stable around eight-thirty. Did you leave the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

Totes shook his head.

Decker said, “I need a yes or no answer, Carl. Tape recorder won’t pick up a headshake. Did you ever leave the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

“Nossir, I never left the stable.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

Decker walked slowly from one side of the room to the other, then back again. He sat on the table, facing Totes, and frowned. “Carl, I’m confused about something. How do you explain your hair on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

Totes was quiet.

“Carl?”

“I … I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that.”

Decker sighed. “See, Carl, your hair was found on Lilah Brecht’s sheets. How do you explain that?”

Totes shook his head, his expression was pained.

Decker said, “You don’t have any idea how your hair was found on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

“Nossir.”

“Well, Carl, if you didn’t visit her the night she was raped, maybe you visited her the night before …”

Totes looked up. “I don’t get what you’re asking me.”

“Have you and Lilah ever had sex, Carl?”

Totes turned angry red. “That’s a turrible question.”

“I’ve got to ask you these questions, Carl. Have you and Lilah ever had sex?”

“Nossir!”

Decker ran his hands through his hair. “Now, you got me confused again, Carl. If you’ve never had sex with Lilah, how’d your semen get on her sheets?”

Totes was still scarlet. “Like you said, mister, you’re confused. So why should I answer your questions, if you don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about?”

Totes folded his hands across his chest, his mouth hardening. Decker appraised him. Totes was the kind of guy who mistook soft-spokenness for weakness. Decker liked the good-cop approach to questioning, but it wasn’t going to work here. Time to shift gears.

“Carl, you said you were in the stable the entire time on the night Lilah Brecht was raped.”

“Yessir.”

“The entire night.”

“Yessir.”

“You never left once?”

“Nossir.”

“Not to go to the bathroom?”

“Nossir, I got a horse’s bladder.”

Marge tried to stifle a smile, but was only partially successful. Decker said, “So you never left the stable that night. Not even once?”

“No … nossir.”

“Carl, how did your hairs get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?” Decker kept his voice even. “How did your semen get on her sheets?”

“I … I don’t … I—”

“Carl, where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

“In the stable.”

“C’mon, Carl, stop giving me a hard time. Tell me, how did your semen get on Lilah’s sheets?”

Totes squeezed his hat until his knuckles turned white. “I didn’t rape her.”

“Okay, you didn’t rape her. How’d your hair get on her sheets, Carl? How’d your semen get on the sheets?”

Totes didn’t answer.

“Carl, where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

“In my stable—”

Decker pounded the table so hard, both Totes and Marge jumped. He waited a beat, then calmly resumed. “Carl, how’d your hair get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets if you were in the stable the night she was raped?”

Totes looked down.

“Have you ever had sex with Lilah Brecht, Carl?”

“I already told you no!”

“So you never had sex with her—”

“Why’re you repeatin’ yourself?”

“’Cause you’re not explaining to me how your semen got on Lilah Brecht’s sheets. How’d that happen, Carl?”

Totes didn’t answer.

Decker said, “Where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

“In my stable.”

“The whole night?”

“The whole night.”

“You didn’t go out and no one came to see you?”

Totes started to speak, then turned silent. Decker picked up on it.

“Someone came to see you the night Lilah Brecht was raped, Carl?”

Again, Totes didn’t answer. Decker reseated himself next to the stable hand. “Who came to see you the night Lilah Brecht was raped, Carl? Who came to your stable?”

There was a long hesitation before Totes said, “I cain’t tell you that.”

Decker ran his fingers through his hair. “Who came to see you, Carl?”

“I cain’t …”

“How’d your semen get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets, Carl?”

“I … I don’t know.”

Decker said, “Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

Totes shook his head.

“Carl, answer yes or no. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

“Nossir.”

But Decker knew he was lying, and that made him feel like an ass. All this time he’d been sure Totes was innocent. His gut had told him that. The old gut had been wrong. The stable hand had suddenly turned pale. Decker said, “You want something to drink, Carl? You look a little funny.”

Totes’s expression became mulish. “I’m fine, mister. Be more fine if you’d stop confusin’ me.”

“Then just answer the questions one at a time, Carl. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

“I told you no.”

“Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped, Carl?”

“Goldern it!” Totes said, “I told you I don’t remember.”

“No, you didn’t, Carl. You told me nossir, you didn’t see her. That’s what you said. But now, you’re telling me you don’t remember—”

“’Cause you’re mixin’ me—”

“You’re mixing yourself up. Which is it, Carl? Nossir or you don’t remember? Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

Totes was breathing heavy. “Nossir.”

“How did your semen get on her sheets, Carl?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you rape Lilah Brecht, Carl?”

“I don’t … you’re confusin’ me!”

Silence.

Decker said, “Carl, how did your hair get on her sheets?”

“I … don’t know.”

“Who came to your stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

“No one.”

“Before, you said you couldn’t tell me. Now you’re telling me no one. Which is it? Who came to see you at the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped. Who?”

“I … I … I cain’t tell you.”

“How’d your hair get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

“I’m mixed up.”

“I know you’re mixed up because you’re not answering my questions. How’d your hairs get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets? How’d they get there, Carl? How?”

“I don’t know.”

“They didn’t walk by themselves. How’d they get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

“I … I … don’t know.”

“Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

Silence. Decker repeated the question.

“You’re confusin’ me,” Totes answered.

“Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

“I … I’m mixed up. You’re askin’ too many questions.”

“Just listen to them one at a time. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

“I don’t …”

“Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

Totes was panting. “I … mebbe I did.”

“Maybe you did,” Decker repeated. “Carl, did you rape Lilah Brecht?”

“Mebbe I did.”