Homicide Related (19 page)

The cops, that's what.

Detective Randall and his partner Bob Something-or-Other—Dooley decided he should find out what the guy's full name was—were waiting for him in the office.

“We'd like you to come downtown and talk to us, Ryan,” Randall said.

Dooley glanced at Mr. Rektor, who wasn't smiling but who might as well have been; he had a smug look on his face. Mr. Rektor had a low opinion of Dooley and was never happier than when Dooley seemed to be confirming just how right he was. Dooley wanted to ask why the cops wanted to talk to him—was it about his uncle? Probably. About Jeffie? Could be, although wouldn't someone besides Randall have caught that one? But he didn't know what the cops had said to Mr. Rektor, and he didn't want Mr. Rektor to know anything more than he already did. So he said, “Okay. Sure.” The sense he was trying to convey:
Hey, I'm a good citizen. I've got nothing to hide.
The sense that he ended up conveying (to Mr. Rektor, anyway, judging from the look on his face):
You want to play that old game again? Well, all right, let's go. Catch me if you can, boys.
Living down to Mr. Rektor's low opinion again. Dooley also said, just to be clear, “Am I under arrest?”

He knew he shouldn't have bothered when Randall said, “Not at this time.”

He rode in the back seat. Neither of the two detectives said anything to him until after he was seated at a table in an interview room. The walls were bare. There was nothing on the table except an audiocassette player and a file folder that Dooley assumed had something to do with Lorraine. Randall told him that they wanted to talk to him again about Lorraine's death (he called her “your mother”) but that Dooley didn't have to talk to them if he didn't want to.

“I'm already here,” Dooley said.

Randall said in a bored tone that let Dooley know that they both knew it was a formality, that because he was still a youth, he could have an adult present in the room while he talked to the police—a parent (which they knew he didn't have), a guardian, even a lawyer if he wanted. Dooley thought about Annette Girondin. But she was his uncle's lawyer, so maybe that would be some kind of conflict of interest.

“No, it's okay,” Dooley said. “I'm fine.”

“It's your right to have a lawyer present,” Randall said, making sure his ass was good and covered.

“I know,” Dooley said.

Randall told Dooley that they wanted to videotape the questions and answers, if that was okay with him. Dooley thought about Annette again. Maybe she knew someone he could call. But if he called a lawyer, for sure the cops would think he had something to hide. And who knew what they already thought, bringing him in here like this and videotaping everything?

“You want to talk to me, go ahead,” he said. He told himself that everything would be okay as long as he kept his head and didn't panic. They made him sign a piece of paper before they got down to it.

As soon as the video camera was rolling, Randall asked Dooley again if he wanted a parent, a guardian, or a lawyer present, and Dooley said, for the camera, that he didn't. Randall told him that he could change his mind at any time; he just had to say so. Dooley said he understood that. Randall looked at him for a moment. His first question came out of left field.

“Ryan, do you know Jeffrey Eccles?”

Jeffie?

“I thought you said this was about Lorraine,” Dooley said.

“Do you know Jeffrey Eccles?”

There was no point in denying it. Teresa had already talked to the cops. She had mentioned his name.

“Yeah, I know him.”

“How do you know him?”

Dooley shrugged. “I just know him. From around.”

“Would you say that you and Jeffrey Eccles are good friends?” Keeping it present tense, Dooley noticed.

“Good friends? Not really,” Dooley said. “But friends? Yeah, for a while. We kind of lost touch, though.” Mostly because Dooley had been locked up. “I ran into him once, maybe six months ago, after I started living with my uncle.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothing,” Dooley said. “Stuff. You know, catching up. I saw him on the street.” Actually, Jeffie had seen him. If Dooley had spotted Jeffie first, there wouldn't have been any conversation. “We talked for maybe five minutes. I didn't have a lot of time. I was on my way to an appointment.”

Randall perked up. “An appointment?”

“With this psychologist I was seeing.” He didn't want to get into that, so he hurried it along. “We talked, I left, and I never heard from him again until he called me a couple of weeks ago.”

“Do you know he's dead?”

“Yeah,” Dooley said. “His girlfriend told me. But what does Jeffie have to do with—”

“His
girlfriend
told you?”

“Yeah. She called me.”

“Are you good friends with her, too?”

“No,” Dooley said. “I hardly know her.”

“But she called you? Why did she do that, Ryan?”

“To tell me about Jeffie. To tell me he was dead.”

“So a girl you hardly know calls you to tell you a guy you're not really friends with is dead,” Randall said, making an effort to sound as perplexed as he was trying to look. “I don't get it. Why would she do that?”

Dooley thought about the video camera that was running. He wondered if maybe now was a good time to say he wanted a lawyer. Randall would love that. He'd think he was onto something.

“Like I said, Jeffie called me a couple of weeks ago. He asked me to meet him.”

“Meet you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you aware that Jeffrey Eccles was in the drug trade, Ryan?”

“Don't you mean,
allegedly
in the drug trade?” Dooley said. As far as he knew, Jeffie hadn't been arrested again since that last time, and that hadn't been for drugs.

“Did you know?”

“I heard what some people said, if that's what you mean.”

Randall was quiet for a few moments. Dooley had to fight the urge to fill up that silence, to explain himself so that Randall wouldn't suspect him of anything. It sounded easy—just sit there and say nothing—but it never was.

“Why did Jeffrey want to meet you?” Randall said finally.

“He wanted to borrow some money,” Dooley said, feeling more confident now that he was on solid ground. He even told the detective how much Jeffie had borrowed. Randall whistled softly.

“That's a fair-sized chunk of change,” he said. “What did you say?”

“I said okay.”

“You said okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would you agree to lend that much money to a guy you weren't really friends with?”

“Like I said, we used to be friends. I owed him one.”

“Yeah? You want to tell us about that?”

“No,” Dooley said. There were some things that were none of their business.

Randall studied Dooley for a few moments.

“Where does a guy like you lay hands on that kind of money, Ryan?”

“At the bank. I have a job.”

“So after Jeffrey called you a couple of weeks ago—when exactly was that, Ryan?”

Dooley told him.

“So after Jeffrey called you—two days before your mother died—what happened?”

Wait a minute. What was going on? Were they trying to connect Jeffie's death with Lorraine's? Because if they were, the only connector Dooley could see was himself.

“I went to the bank and took out the money,” Dooley said. “Then I met up with him and gave it to him, and he promised to pay me back.”

“Where did you meet him?” he said.

Dooley told him.

“When exactly was that?”

Dooley told him.

“So you went into the ravine at ten o'clock at night to meet Jeffrey, is that what you're saying?”

“Yes.”

“I understand your uncle keeps you on a short leash, Ryan. Did you tell him where you were going that night?”

“No.”

“Did he know you were out?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did he think you were?”

Shit.

“I told him I was taking a walk,” Dooley said.

“A walk?” Randall said. “That's it?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn't mention that you were meeting Jeffrey Eccles?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that, Ryan?”

“My uncle didn't like me hanging around with people from … before.”

“People from before.” Randall seemed to like that. He even smiled. “So you didn't tell him you were
lending money
to a guy who was in the drug trade?”

Cops. They thought they were so smart.

“No,” Dooley said.

“In other words, you lied to your uncle. Is that what you're telling me, Ryan?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dooley said. He hated being caught out by the cops because once they had you telling one lie, they started playing that game—if you were lying then, how do we know you're not lying now?

“You guess?” Detective Randall seemed to like that, too. He leaned back in his chair. “So you went to meet Jeffrey, and then what?”

“I gave him the money. We arranged to meet up again so he could pay me back. Then I went home.”

“Did he say what he wanted the money for?”

“He said he owed someone.”

“You loaned him money so that he could pay off someone he owed?” Randall said.

“Yes.”

“Sounds like a bad risk, Ryan, wouldn't you say?”

“He said he'd pay me back.”

There was a long pause before Randall said, “If he was borrowing money to pay off a debt, where was he going to get the money to pay you back?”

Dooley looked at the detective. He couldn't possibly be that stupid.

“I guess he was going to earn it,” Dooley said.

“If he could earn money that easily, why did he need to borrow from you?”

Dooley wished he knew where Randall was going with his questions.

“He said the guy he owed wanted his money right away.

He wouldn't wait. I was willing to give him a week.”

“Did you meet Jeffrey Eccles in that ravine to buy drugs from him, Ryan?”

What?

“No. I don't do drugs.”

Detective Randall looked evenly at him.

“I don't do drugs
anymore
,” Dooley said.

“Did you tell your uncle where you were going?”

“I already told you—no.”

“Did you and your uncle discuss Jeffrey Eccles?”

Dooley stared at the detective.

“No.”

“When
was
the last time you saw Jeffrey?”

Dooley tried to keep his face neutral and his breathing normal. He forced himself to keep meeting Randall's eyes even though what he really wanted was to look away. He knew that whoever was investigating Jeffie's murder—was it Randall and his partner, or was it some other cops?—had talked to Teresa, and he knew what Teresa had told them.

“He was supposed to meet me a few days ago to pay me back,” he said. “He never showed up.”

“When and where was this?”

Dooley told him. He added, “But like I said, he never showed up. If you don't believe me, you can check at the restaurant.”

“Don't worry, we will,” Randall said. “Jeffrey's girlfriend said he seemed happy about going to see you. Why do you suppose a guy like Jeffrey would be happy about paying back the money he owed you? Does that make any sense to you?”

“Maybe he didn't like to be in debt,” Dooley said.

“Maybe he didn't like to be in debt to you.”

That's when Dooley slipped just a little. He said, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Jeffrey made six calls to you in the space of less than ten minutes on Monday night—three days after your mother died. He must have really wanted to talk to you. You want to tell us what that was all about?”

Dooley wasn't sure that he did. He thought about who else the two detectives had talked to or might talk to.

“He was supposed to meet me to pay me back,” Dooley said. “He was calling because he said he needed an extra day to get the money together.”

“An extra day,” Randall said. “So he calls you six times in fifteen minutes, he tells you he needs an extra day, and then he doesn't show up when he's supposed to. Is that what you're telling us, Ryan?”

Dooley didn't say anything.

“Did you give him an extra day?”

“Yes.”

“So, what, you told him he could pay you back on Tuesday instead?”

“Yes.”

Randall leaned forward and pushed the play button on the tape recorder. Dooley heard Jeffie's voice saying “Leave a message.” Then he heard his own voice: “It's me. Be here, Jeffie, or else.” He heard Jeffie's message again, again followed by his own voice: “Get your ass over here, Jeffie, if you know what's good for you.” And again: “I told you, Jeffie. You fuck this up and you're gonna be sorry.” Randall pressed the stop button.