A Perfect Life (20 page)

“They're going to find the printouts. They'll know—”

“No they won't. You just printed off some e-mail lists, checking for dummy addresses or something.”

A loud knock startled them.

“Listen!” Scott whispered, but his tone was sharp. “The sex was real. We've been to lunch together a couple of times, always liked each other. Okay? And—with everyone gone for the day—we just got carried away when we were alone together in the office.”

A fist sounded as though it would shatter the door. “Ms. Friedman! Open the door. This is your last chance. Open up now!”

Natalie unlocked the dead bolt. As she twisted the knob to let the police inside, she simply nodded at Scott.

CHAPTER 32

The interrogation room at Boston PD looked like the ones on TV—gray walls, metal chairs, and a folding table with a top that was supposed to look like walnut. Across the tabletop, wisps of particleboard showed through plastic woodgrain in the forms of obscenities and initials. A few of the previous accused had gouged out creative anatomical sketches. Some of the more offensive pictures and phrases had been blacked in with Magic-Marker by someone trying to maintain some minimal level of decency, but not trying very hard.

Scott sat and looked at the two-way mirror built into the wall—again, just like on television. He stood and walked around the room, stopping in front of the mirror.

Gazing hard at his reflection, Scott said, “I'd like to make a statement. I'd like to make it now. Otherwise, you can get me a lawyer. Your choice. But I don't plan to sit here any longer.”

Three minutes later, the door opened. Detectives Cedris and Tandy—the same cops who had questioned him the night of Patricia Hunter's murder—stepped into the room. Cedris had led the arrest team at Natalie Friedman's apartment. This was the first time Scott had seen Tandy since the night of the murder.

Tandy began the conversation. “Hello, you sick fuck. Kill any helpless women lately?”

Scott trained his eyes on Cedris. “I'd like to make a statement.”

Tandy kept it up. “We don't give a shit what you want. We're here to ask you some questions.”

Lieutenant Cedris sat in a chair opposite the one occupied by Scott.

Tandy walked around the table and perched a fat butt cheek on the table six inches from Scott's elbow. He leaned over Scott, saturating the younger man with sour breath. “So, we hear you got caught at the hospital last night fuckin' the Friedman woman.” A nasty wet grin spread across his face. “Course, I always figured you was nailin' the Hunter woman before you snuffed her out. Most of this kind of shit is sex related.” He turned his head. “Ain't that right, Lieutenant?”

Cedris shrugged.

Scott leaned back, crossed his arms, and studied the two officers.

“So that's my first question,” Tandy persisted. “Were you fuckin' the Hunter woman?” He winked. “You know, havin' sexual relations with the victim while she was under your care?”

Scott looked across at Cedris. “You two need a new act.”

Cedris didn't answer. He just studied Scott's face.

Scott pointed a thumb at Tandy. “He's got to go.”

“You ain't in charge here, Harvard boy.” Tandy was going at it full bore, playing the crazy mean cop to perfection.

Scott kept his eyes on the lieutenant. “It's up to you. But if you want a statement, the bad cop in your little scenario has to leave. I want to make a statement, but not like this. If Detective Tandy stays, I'm done.
And
I'm formally requesting legal representation. On the other hand, if he leaves we can talk, and I'll forget about the lawyer. For now, at least.”

Tandy jumped down off the table and slammed an open hand against the tabletop. “Fuckin' little brainiac, ain't you? If it wasn't for my partner, I'd be bouncin' that brain of yours around inside your skull.”

Cedris simply said his partner's name.

“I'm leaving.” Tandy kept his eyes on Scott. “I'm leaving, but I'll be back for my turn. Guess I got some time to kill. Let me see if I can't line you up a big black buck with a hard-on for a cell mate.”

“Tandy!”

“I'm gone. I'm gone.” Tandy's eyes went to Scott, and he winked. “See you later, smart boy.”

The door slammed. Cedris still didn't speak.

“Someone should explain to your partner that graduate students don't really consider ‘smart boy' to be a putdown,” Scott said.

Cedris took in a deep breath. “I'm pretty smart myself, Scott.”

“Congratulations.”

“Detective Tandy has a temper, especially when a woman's been hurt. Sometimes it's a useful trait.”

“Maybe.”

“You calling me a liar?”

The young shrink shrugged.

“Maybe what? Maybe he doesn't like women being hurt? Or maybe it's a useful trait?”

“I've been sitting in here for two hours. Could I get something to drink? A Coke or something?”

Cedris shook his head. “You give me something first. Answer my question about Detective Tandy.”

“Okay. You're not exactly playing good cop. You're the . . . let's call you the ‘smart cop.' Maybe ‘reasonable cop' is more accurate. You make it clear that you are the path of reason. I'm supposed to believe that if I can only explain my problem to you logically, then you'll understand—maybe even come over to my side.”

“I didn't ask about me.”

“But your partner, Detective Tandy, he's not nearly so sly. Tandy is playing the bad cop to perfection, probably exactly the way some old cop taught him when he joined the force ten years ago. It's ridiculous. Yelling, threatening. Hovering over me and invading my personal space. His job is to shoo me to you—like a faithful spaniel flushing a covey of quail for his master to blow out of the sky.”

Cedris leaned back again and smiled. “My, my. You really do think you're smart, don't you?”

“Not really. But smart enough to know that Tandy wanted me to ask him to leave. That's why he was pushing so hard. And—give him credit—he
is
irritating. So, when I said I wouldn't talk until he left, that gave you the opening to be Reasonable Cop and take over the interview alone.”

Cedris allowed himself a small laugh. Scott couldn't tell whether it was appreciative or derisive. “Anything else, Dr. Thomas?”

The lieutenant was smart. He had remembered that Scott had asked at the hospital
not
to be addressed as doctor. Tandy had used the unearned title to needle Scott the night of the murder, and Cedris was using it now for the same reason.

“Just one more thing.” Scott breathed deeply to control the fear expanding inside his chest. “You don't care what I think—except as it applies to Patricia Hunter's murder. You asked me to explain my comment regarding Detective Tandy to get me talking. You wanted to open a dialogue—to pry open my mind and get me comfortable sharing my thoughts with you.”

Cedris smiled again. “Seems to have worked.”

Scott tried to smile back. “Could be. Could also be that I wanted you to know that the statement I'm about to make is being made because I want to make it. Because it's true, and because I have nothing to hide. Not because you and your hypertensive partner ran some B-movie scam on me.”

Cedris didn't smile now. He got stiffly to his feet. “You said you wanted a Coke?”

“Please.”

“But when I get back, I want that statement.”

“You'll get it.” Scott held his gaze. “You could have had it ten minutes ago if you'd just asked for it instead of trying the Abbott and Costello routine.”

The lieutenant nodded once and exited the interrogation room.

Scott sat very still. He was pretty sure he'd throw up if he moved.

Scott told his story to Lieutenant Cedris. He rattled off the litany of anonymous phone calls, break-ins, and threats. He told all about Click, about Kate Billings and her connection with Patricia Hunter, about Peter Budzik and his abuse of Cindy Travers. Scott even talked about the wax-faced watcher, without speculating to the detective about the man's real identity. The only things he left out were the e-mails from Click to Kate and Dr. Reynolds. Discussing those would have implicated Natalie.

Cedris listened and took notes. When Scott was through, the detective asked him to repeat everything. Finally, Cedris disappeared and Scott thought he was through talking until the lieutenant came back with a court reporter. Scott drank a second Coke as he relayed everything again.

Cedris left. The court reporter followed. Scott was alone.

The nausea faded.

Talking to the detective had made him feel better. But talking could be a dangerous antidote to nerves. He rolled his shoulders to release tension and glanced at his watch. He and Natalie had been picked up four hours earlier—just after 9:00
A
.
M
. He felt jittery and weak from having nothing in his stomach all day except two Cokes. But a case of the jitters was better than puking, which was where he had been headed earlier in the day.

Scott stood and walked to the mirror again. “Don't you guys have to feed me?”

Nothing.

At four that afternoon—seven hours after being nabbed at Natalie's place—Scott saw the knob turn. A skinny woman with dishwater blond hair stepped into the room. Her blue lawyer suit was worn at the hem and shiny across her butt. She looked tired and official.

Cedris stepped in behind her and closed the door. “Scott, this is Assistant District Attorney Anne Foucher. She wants to speak with you.”

The woman sat on the edge of the table, not in an intimidating or energetic way but as if she didn't have the energy to lower herself into a chair. “You tell a good story, Mr. Thomas.” She leafed through a stack of papers—some looked like the detective's notes, others were typed. “Very consistent from one version to another. Just enough changes in wording, just enough little errors, to make it look believable.”

“The truth's funny that way.” Scott studied her face.

Some small energy flashed in the ADA's irises. This one had a short fuse. “Don't get smart with me, Scott. I may even be smarter than you are.”

“I doubt it.” It had been seven hours of this crap. Scott had had enough. “Lieutenant Cedris tells me he's smarter than me, too. Looks like I should get to be smarter than someone around here.”

“Listen to the mouth on this one.” She glanced back at Cedris, then turned her eyes on Scott. “I'm smart enough to know that several of your hairs were found in Patricia Hunter's hand.”

Scott bounced forward in his chair. The reaction was involuntary, and he hated that he'd let them see it.

“Uh-huh. Ready to quit being cute now?”

“Mrs. Hunter was my patient. I imagine you can find trace evidence all over the room showing I was there. Look—I volunteered a statement and gave it three times. You're the ones trying to get cute. Someone—Kate Billings or this Click guy or both—is trying to ruin my life. I don't think there's anything cute about this. Everything I've worked for is falling apart, and all I get from you people is some bullshit act you've seen on
Law & Order
.”

Anne Foucher's face colored. “Oh, we're just getting started here, Scott.” She tossed his typed and handwritten statements onto the tabletop a little harder than she intended, and two sheets floated onto the floor. She ignored them. “Tell me about your bare-assed adventure with Natalie Friedman.” She motioned at the spilled papers. “You managed to leave that out of your statements.”

“Nothing to tell. Natalie and I have always been attracted to each other. I was hoping she could explain—”

The ADA interrupted. “I heard she was blowing you when the officers interrupted. Tell me, you manage to get your rocks off?” The ADA knew her facts were bull. She was angry and pushing to get Scott to say something he'd rather not say.

“This is getting tiresome. The detective's partner already tried that route. At least he was trying to get thrown out so his partner could get me talking. I'm not sure what you think you're trying to do.”

The ADA jerked her thumb at the door. “Friedman is in the holding room next door. She claims you two were just getting started—kissing and petting—when the officers caught you. Now, I can understand why that's the version she wants to put out there. I mean, hell, she's probably gonna lose her job over this as it is. Throw in that she was gulping tube steak, and—”

That was enough. “You aren't a very attractive person, are you, Ms. Foucher?”

“I'm not here for you to like me, Scott.”

“No, no. That's not what I mean. Obviously, you're a waste of oxygen as a human being. But I was talking about your physical appearance. I'm not talking about the shape of your nose or the width of your butt. I'm talking about someone who looks like she didn't bathe this morning. Someone whose hate and bitterness flows out of every pore.”

Cedris stepped up. “Shut up, Thomas.”

“She started it. I thought Anne here wanted to get personal.” He turned his eyes back to the ADA. “No ring on your finger. What are you, thirty-six, maybe thirty-eight? Spend all your time at work. No social life to speak of.
Talking
about sex is about all you've got, isn't it? I mean, when life's been as disappointing for someone as it's been for you . . . who can blame you for wanting other people to be as miserable as you are? Sure, you could get out there and meet someone, but then you'd have to quit hating everyone you meet. You might have to admit that life hasn't turned out the way you expected.

“What happened to you, Anne? When did you go from being a woman to slumping around—pissed off at the world—in a frayed, ten-year-old suit? I'm sorry. I'm getting off the subject. You wanted to talk about sex. Preferably something degrading? Something that makes you feel better about your own miserable little life? Is that it, Anne? You want to degrade Natalie and me because we were doing something that you've either forgotten about or never could handle to begin with?”

ADA Foucher was on her feet now. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Finally, she blurted out one word—“Asshole”—and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“That was shitty.” Lieutenant Cedris leaned against the far wall, studying Scott's face. “You happy with yourself?”

“No.”

“Then what was that performance supposed to prove?”

“You people come in here and insult me and everything I stand for. You play with my mind. Try to degrade me. Try everything nasty you can think of to make me angry enough to say something incriminating, when I haven't done a damn thing wrong.” Scott fought the queasy knot working around in the pit of his stomach. “I thought Assistant District Attorney Anne Foucher needed to see what it feels like.”

“And,” Cedris said, “she insulted your friend.”

“Yeah”—he leaned forward—“she did.”

The lieutenant pushed off the wall. “Okay, come with me. We're cutting you loose . . . for now. The ADA you just attacked says we don't have enough to hold you.”