Deceit (26 page)

Two sealed evidence bags sat on the table.

Perry and I watched through a one-way window from an adjacent room, just as small. The metal chairs were hard. My back ached and my eyes were gritty. Perry perched in his seat, alert as ever. The tilt of his body belied his thoughts—he’d give anything to exchange places with the officer.

I prayed Edgar Trovky would lead us to Baxter.

He’d come into the room limping, his expression hard as sour candy. His eyes were deep-set and beady, his gaze bouncing around as if every corner menaced. He had a narrow face, thin lips. Buzz-cut hair. His voice sounded nothing like the gravel of Hooded Man. But maybe that voice had been put on just to frighten me. Hooded Man had done everything else he could to scare me, from meeting me on that dark road to wearing a bloody mask. All to push me into finding Melissa as fast as possible.

What a pawn I’d been.

But if my mistakes led us to Baxter in the end, it would be worth it.

For the first fifteen minutes of the interview, Slater asked Tro-vky about everything except the bullet wound in his leg. Where he worked, what family he had, his hobbies, how long he’d lived in San Jose. I half listened, vacillating between frustration and fascination. Trovky’s initial answers were in monosyllable. But little by little Slater opened him up until he was speaking in full sentences, offering information.

“He’s a good interrogator,” Perry said in a low voice. “He’s read the guy. Now he’s making him comfortable.”

“So.” Slater bounced a finger against the table. “What happened to your leg?”

Trovky’s face clouded. “It was an accident, like I told the doc. I was cleaning my gun and it went off.”

Slater nodded. “How’d you manage that?”

“It just went off.”

“You were holding it how?”

Trovky focused on the table. “Like this.” He mimed holding a gun, pointing it downward.

“Odd angle to clean a weapon.”

Trovky shrugged.

“You had it pointed straight down?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” Slater leaned to the side of his chair and fisted his hip. “The doctor said the bullet entered your leg at an angle, higher in front, headed lower. If you had the gun pointed straight down, the bullet would have gone straight inside your leg.”

Trovky shrugged again. “Okay. It was angled.”

“Pretty odd position for your hand.”

No response.

“What kind of gun is it?”

Trovky’s eyes jerked to the floor. “Don’t remember.”

“You don’t
remember
?”

“Uh-uh.”

“When did this…accident happen?”

“Just before I got in the car, and then the cop pulled me over.”

“Just before.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yup.”

Slater and Dan exchanged a look. The officer refocused on Trovky. “See, that’s what I’m not getting. The doc said for sure that bullet had been in there at least a couple hours.”

“You can’t keep me here. I ain’t done nothin’.”

“He’s lying,” I said to Perry.

“Yeah. Question is, about what? Somebody other than Melissa could have shot him.”

Slater tilted his head. “You’ve got eight unpaid moving violations. That we know for sure. We
can
do something about that.”

Trovky’s mouth tightened. He glared at the wall.

Slater reached for the evidence bags, moved them around. Trovky’s eyes snapped to the bags.

“What’s in there?”

“I want you to tell me about your ‘cleaning accident’ again.”

“What’s in the bags?”

“You first.”

“I told you, man!” Trovky repeated his story.

“Where’s the gun?”

“At home. You think I’m gonna bring it with me to the hospital?”

Slater sniffed and moved the bags around some more. “If you’re lying, we’ll know. In one of these bags is the gun I’m willing to bet shot you. And in the other is the bullet taken from your leg. I’m thinking they’re going to match.”

Trovky went very still. Then shrugged. “So do your testing.”

The three men sat in silence.

Dan spoke up. “There was a home invasion this evening at 264 Anniston in San Jose. You know anything about that?”

“Nope.”

“Where were you this evening from six o’clock on?”

In his house, alone, Trovky replied. He’d been sleeping. Then cleaned his gun.

Perry and I exchanged a glance. No alibi.

Out of the blue I began to shake.

Maybe it was my thorough exhaustion, maybe frustration. Throw in my roiling anger at the lies and hypocrisy of Baxter Jack-son. He’d gotten away with Linda’s murder for six years. Despite all I’d tried, he just might win. If this man didn’t crack—
if
he was the right man at all—and we didn’t find Melissa, Baxter would keep right on living as king of Vonita, head elder at my church. The thought made me want to throw up.

Perry reached for my shoulder and steadied me. Without that I may have fallen out of my chair. “You okay?”

I managed a wan smile. Patted his hand. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You need sleep.”

“I need justice.”

Dan and Slater went over Trovky’s story as to his whereabouts three times. The man wouldn’t budge.

Perry scooted his chair next to mine. I leaned against him. My head weighed a thousand pounds.

Slater leaned forward. “You know Melissa Harkoff?”

“No.”

“How about Baxter Jackson?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Think hard.”

“I don’t
know
them!”

“Where were you last night between eight thirty and nine o’clock?”

“At home. Alone.” In his anger, Trovky’s voice was lowering, turning rougher.

“You sure are home alone a lot.”

Trovky lifted a shoulder.

“You know Joanne Weeks?”

“No.”

Hooded Man.

An invisible hand pulled me out of my chair. I headed for the door.

“Joanne.” Perry rose. “What are you doing?”

“That’s him. That’s his voice.”

I strode out of the room, knocked on the interrogation door. Stood aside before it opened so Trovky couldn’t see me. Dan came out, closed the door behind him.

“It’s him. I know the voice.”

I wanted to shout. I wanted to hit something.

“You sure?”

“Can you make him show you his left hip? That’s where my car nicked him. It should be bruised.” Trovky hadn’t favored that hip when he walked in. He’d had too much of a limp on his right leg.

“Okay.”

“Let me go back in with you.”

“No, Joanne.”

“
I’ll
question him. I’ll
make
him talk.”

“Slater knows what he’s doing. If this is your man, we’ll get there.”

“It’s
him
!”

“Okay, Joanne! Now go sit down.”

Perry appeared and started to pull me away. I tried to shake him off. He pulled harder. Dan slipped back into the room.

“Perry, leave me
alone
.”

“Joanne, you want to ruin this now? Let them do their job.”

“They’re not doing it fast enough!” My voice rose.

“Be
quiet
.”

“I just want—”

“Joanne.” Perry yanked me away from the interrogation room.

“I just want—”

“Jo-
anne
.”

He pulled me into our area and closed the door. I smacked his hand away from my arm. Rage boiled up within me. This wasn’t working. Trovky would lie his way out of this. Baxter would walk.

Linda
, why
didn’t you talk to me?

My eyes burned. I fell into my chair.

Just like that the anger blitzed away, replaced with utter exhaustion. My head lowered. “I’m sorry. I just want people to stop
lying
.”

Perry sat down and pulled me into his arms. His chin rested on top of my head. “I know, Joanne. I know.”

FIFTY

At 3:45 a.m. Edgar Trovky cracked.

The ironic part? Officer Slater lied in order to break him.

Slater had taken the two evidence bags out of the interrogation room, telling Trovky someone would be running a firing test on them right away. Later he left again and returned with “the results”: the gun and bullet matched.

“You’re looking at some heavy-duty time here.” Slater tapped his fingers against the table in slow metronome. “But we know this wasn’t your idea. We can make you a deal. You tell us what you know about Baxter Jackson, and we’ll go easy on you.”

Trovky stared at the floor. “I can’t go back to jail for years, man. My girlfriend’s pregnant.”

“So talk to us.”

Trovky’s eyes bounced from Slater to Dan and back. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Slater gestured toward Dan. “The DA’s sitting right here. He calls the shots.”

Trovky thought it over. Then talked.

Melissa
was
blackmailing Baxter.

No.
My mouth opened. I exchanged a long look with Perry.

In response to the blackmail, Trovky said, Baxter schemed to have Melissa killed before his payment deadline. That’s where Trovky came in, as of last Thursday. He’d contacted Trovky through a common acquaintance—a construction worker out of a job and eager to make a fast $1,000 for the introduction.

Tony Whistman’s words surfaced in my brain:
“She got all weird on me and took off three days ago.”
After Melissa first contacted Baxter, she must have been paranoid he’d try to hunt her down—scared enough to leave the place she’d lived in for the last few months and lie low in someone else’s house.

“Was that you in the mask and hooded jacket that stopped Joanne Weeks on the road?” Slater asked.

“She hit me with that 4Runner. You should arrest her.”

“What about at her house later that evening? You again?”

“Baxter wanted a GPS on her car.”

“You put one on her 4Runner?”

“So I could know where she was.”

“Where’s that GPS now?”

“After they got away from the hotel, Baxter told me to take it off and get out of there. I threw it in a dumpster. Soon after that the cop stopped me.”

Just to hear the GPS
had
been on my car. And that this murderer was waiting outside that hotel for us. If Perry hadn’t come…I turned and gave him a long look.

“Where’s the dumpster?” Slater asked.

Trovky told him. I knew Slater would send someone out to pick up the GPS.

“Okay.” Slater thought a moment. “Just curious—what was with the garage door at Ms. Weeks’ house? You slam it on purpose?”

Trovky lifted a shoulder. “I was leaving. The wind blew it out of my hands.”

Another vindication. I
hadn’t
been crazy.

Slater nodded. “What about Joanne Weeks? Did Baxter Jack-son want you to kill her too?”

Trovky glared at the wall. “I think I’m done now.”

“You want to take the rap for this whole thing?”

Trovky’s mouth worked. He stuck his fingers into his scalp and rubbed. “No.”

“Then keep talking.”

A long moment passed before Trovky spoke again. “Yeah, he wanted that Joanne lady dead too.”

The words blazed through my head. I closed my eyes, picturing Baxter Jackson in my house, pretending to set things right between us so he could worship at church. The sincerity he’d feigned in front of our pastor. How did people
do
that? How could a so-called Christian, a man who
knew
the truth of Christ, lead such a double life?

Slater leaned forward, folded arms on the table. “Why did he want her dead?”

“I don’t know. I suppose so she couldn’t figure out what happened and talk to you guys.”

My whole body tingled. I could be dead right now. I was supposed to be
dead
.

Perry put an arm around my shoulder and rubbed.

“How much was Baxter going to pay you for Melissa Harkoff’s murder?” Slater asked.

Trovky swung his head toward the wall, clearly brooding over his loss. “Ten thousand.”

“And for Joanne Weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah what?”

“Another ten thousand.”

“Twenty thousand dollars all together.”

Trovky lowered his forehead into his palm. “Me and my girlfriend need that money, man.”

Dan and Slater exchanged a look.

“You get paid any up front?” Slater wanted to know.

“Half of it.”

“Ten thousand? Five for each hit?”

“Yeah.”

“Cash?”

“Yeah.”

“When was this?”

“Thursday.”

Slater tapped his bottom lip. “So you said Baxter called you tonight with a change of plans.”

Trovky winced and shifted his wounded leg. “These chairs are hard.”

“We’ll try to wrap up here quick as we can, but there are still a lot of things we need to go over. You need something to drink?”

“You got Coke?”

Dan left the room and returned with a can of Coke.

The DA kept a poker face as the questioning about Baxter’s schemes against Melissa’s blackmail continued. But I knew from the tilt of his body, his knuckles brushing the edge of the table, that his mind whirled. Blackmail was illegal. His star witness had just dulled considerably. Even if he did find Melissa, if she did lead him to Linda’s body, this was going to be one huge mess to sort out.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. Had all I’d lived through in the past thirty hours been for nothing?

“So now when’s this drop-off payment supposed to take place?” Slater asked Trovky.

“Ten o’clock Monday morning.”

Six hours from now.

“And you’re supposed to watch the site and take out Melissa when she comes to pick up the money?”

Trovky’s eyes pinged from Slater to Dan. “Yeah.”

“You know when she’s coming?”

“Nope. I was just supposed to wait till she showed up.”

“What about Joanne Weeks?”

The suspect shrugged. “He said we’d talk about that later.”

Later.
Baxter still planned to kill me.

By the time the whole tale had unraveled, it was 5:00 a.m. My second full night without sleep.
Zombie
didn’t begin to describe me.