The False-Hearted Teddy (21 page)

I nodded. “And a fire department paramedic like Todd would have that knowledge. Sorry for suggesting you made the story up about the anonymous reporting party.”

“I can’t wait to get my hands on that little weasel,”

said Mulvaney.

“And charge him with what? We’ve got nothing on him, LT,” I said.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Delcambre.

“We have to talk to Tony. We need an inside look at how Jennifer viewed her relationship with Todd and what was going on behind the scenes before the show.”

“But, I told you. He invoked his rights, so we can’t talk to him,” said Mulvaney.

“Of course we can talk to him. Miranda doesn’t mean we can’t continue to ask him questions. It just means we can’t use his answers against him. Once he understands we’re giving him the opportunity to shove the blame onto Todd, believe me, Tony will talk.”

“I see what you’re saying, but don’t we have to release him?”

“Not immediately. The inhaler you found in his room is enough to hold him for now.”

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John J. Lamb

“But Todd—”

“Is probably the killer. But all we’ve got at the moment is an interesting theory and some suspicious circs.

There isn’t a shred of proof to implicate Todd. However, you have solid physical evidence that, at least at face value, shows that Tony is the murderer. Correct?”

“That’s true.”

“And it’s merely our mean-spirited cop opinions that he lacks the G-2 to pull off such a complicated crime,” I said, using the old U.S. army term for military intelligence.

“So, we’re under no lawful obligation to release him yet,” Delcambre said.

“Give the man a cigar. We hang onto Tony for now because we need a twist on him. When I’m done, you can show him the door.”

“But I’m not comfortable with you interviewing him,”

said Mulvaney.

“I’m not comfortable with it either. The guy hates my guts and if I don’t remember to move my hands fre-quently, there’s the chance he’ll eat one. But, it has to be me, because we’re running out of time and I’m the only one who knows the questions that have to be asked.”

“Even if that’s true, you don’t have any authority to in-terrogate him.”

“Who says?”

“Our department rules and regulations—”

“Which aren’t the same thing as statutory and case law and, like all regulations, are probably too rigid when a situation goes fluid like this.” I glanced at my watch. “Look, for the past hour or so, I’ve been acting as your de facto agent and you can’t un-ring that bell. It’s going to come out at trial, regardless of who’s charged with murder. So, type up something formalizing my role in the investigation. I’ll sign it and that will keep everything legal.”

We heard footfalls and a moment later, a desk sergeant The False-Hearted Teddy

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stuck his head through the doorway. “Lieutenant Mulvaney? We’ve got a bunch of TV crews and newspaper people starting to set up camp in the lobby, saying there’s going to be a big press conference. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Sorry, Carl. I’ve been jammed here. I’ll come out in a second to update you.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in the watch commander’s office.”

Once the desk sergeant was gone, Mulvaney said,

“You’re right, we’re running out of time, so I don’t have any choice. You can do the interview, but I’m going to be in there with you, while Delcambre monitors the video from the AV room.”

“Absolutely. I want to upset Tony’s equilibrium, and you being there will do just that.”

“Why?”

“Because you scare him. Unlike his wife, you’re a woman that would not only fight back, you’d kick his butt.

However, I want your promise not to interrupt because I’m liable to say some things that aren’t quite orthodox.”

“Imagine my surprise at hearing that,” Mulvaney said with a sigh.

I opened the envelope containing Tony’s property, peered inside, and took out the wrinkled bag of peanut butter M&M’s.

Delcambre looked nauseous. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to eat those.”

“No.” I tossed the candy into the air and caught it. “If you’re going fishing, you need bait.”

Sixteen

While Delcambre went back to the holding cell to get Tony and Mulvaney briefed the watch commander on what was happening, I used the phone to make a quick call to Ash. When she answered, I was relieved to hear the buzz of many voices in the background. It meant that she was back down at the teddy bear show.

“You’re still at the police station, aren’t you?” she asked.

“There’s a déjà vu moment. How many years have you been asking that question, my love?”

“Twenty-six. I thought it was going to stop once you retired from SFPD and became a teddy bear artist.”

“It would have, if I hadn’t been promoted to Chief of Fur-ensics.”

Ash groaned.

“I take it the reporters are gone?” I asked.

“They took off out of here about a half-hour ago.”

“And does everyone there believe I killed Jennifer?”

“Nobody knows what to think . . . except for your The False-Hearted Teddy

177

special
friend, Lisa. She came by our table a little while ago to offer her support.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Ash began to mimic Lisa’s syrupy voice and I winced. “Gee, Mrs. Lyon, I’m surprised that you aren’t at the police station trying to help your husband. When you see Brad, please tell him that
I
don’t believe he killed anybody.”

“I’m stunned the cops weren’t called back out there to investigate another murder.”

“No, because that’s exactly the response she wanted.

So, even though I wanted to break her bones in alphabet-ical order, I stayed cool.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I did, and I’m proud of myself.” Ash sounded tranquil. “I just smiled and told her that I was certain the foremost thing on
your
mind at the moment was some tramp’s opinion of you.”

“That must have left a mark.”

“Nope, she just gave me a nasty little smile and strolled off. So, when are you coming back here?”

“Soon.”

“Brad honey, that word has no meaning when you use it.”

“I know, but we’re on the verge of breaking this case and I need to ask you a question: have you seen any sign of Todd?”

“He’s down at the Cheery Cherub Bears booth. Why?”

“I don’t have time to explain all the details, but it’s looking more and more as if he’s the real killer. When did he show up?”

“About a half-hour ago. It looked like he made some sort of little memorial speech and now there’s a crowd of people around the booth—”

“And the bears are flying off the shelves faster than plywood panels just before a hurricane, right?”

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John J. Lamb

“How did you know?”

“With Jennifer dead, it’s the last bunch of angel bears she actually made. They’ve become instant collector’s items.”

“God, I hadn’t looked at it that way,” Ash said, the dis-taste palpable in her voice.

“That’s because you’re like most bear collectors. You buy them because you love them, not for their investment value.”

“So, why did Todd kill her?”

“I don’t know yet, but more than likely it has something to do with Jennifer’s proclivity for shivving people who made the mistake of thinking they were her friend.”

“Which also means he planted the evidence in our room. Why?”

“One unsolvable problem at a time, my love.”

“What do you want me to do? Should I keep an eye on Todd?” she asked eagerly.

“No. Stay the hell away from him,” I said, sounding far gruffer than I intended. At the risk of sounding like some overdramatic young teenager in the throes of puppy love, I couldn’t envision life without her.

There was perhaps a moment’s worth of silence. Finally, Ash said, “I promise not to go near him, darling.”

“Thank you, and I’m sorry for snapping at you. But it’s the ‘nice guys’ like Todd who have the potential to be extremely dangerous—Cody Jarrett-top-of-the-world-Ma dangerous,” I said, alluding to James Cagney’s masterpiece performance as a mad-dog killer in the old film,
White Heat.
“They figure they’re trapped and already going down for murder, so there’s no point in worrying about the final body count.”

“I’ll stay away from him. But do you want me to call you if he leaves?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why?”

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“Because he’s intelligent enough to realize that he’ll attract suspicion if he suddenly bails. And, don’t ask me why, I also have a feeling he won’t leave until after the award ceremony this evening.”

Ash was perplexed. “What does the award ceremony have to do with anything?”

“With Tony in jail and Jennifer in the morgue, Todd’s the only member of the Cheery Cherub Bears team available to accept Jen’s posthumous trophy for best bear in the costumed, five-to-fourteen inch category . . . and you know that’s exactly what the judges are going to do.”

“He’d stay for a trophy? That’s crazy.”

“Maybe, but he was in love with Jennifer and if he had to keep that a secret from everybody while she was alive . . .”

“He can pretend they’re together now? Even if he hadn’t killed her, that’s just sick.”

“Yeah, but it’ll play well to people who, unlike us, don’t routinely expect the worst from other folks.” From out in the detective bureau, I could hear the muffled sound of Tony’s protests as he was led into the interview room. I said, “Look honey, I’ve got to go now. I love you and I’ll be there soon.”

“There’s that word again. Love you, too.”

A sudden thought struck me. “Wait, wait . . . don’t hang up. Are you still there?”

“I’m still here. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I just want you to check your leather satchel and see if you still have your card key to our room.”

“I’m going to have to put the phone down to look.

Hold on a second.” I heard Ash unzip the black bag and in the background I could hear the happy sounds of the teddy bear show that I was missing. She came back on the line. “Yes, it’s right here.”

“And I’ve got mine. Thanks, sweetheart and I’ll explain later.”

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John J. Lamb

Hanging up, I made another quick telephone call. I walked out into the office area a minute or two later and met Delcambre, who’d just locked the interview room door. On the other side of the door, I could hear Tony complaining, but couldn’t quite make out the words.

Noticing my quizzical glance at the door, Delcambre said, “There apparently wasn’t enough for lunch. He’s still hungry.”

“Remind me to notify Amnesty International. Hey, a couple of things occurred to me when I was talking to my wife on the phone.”

“What’s that?”

“For starters, while we’re in talking with Wally Walrus, you need to contact your people at the hotel. Have them round up the fifth-floor cleaning crew for interviews, because I’ve got a pretty good idea of how Todd planted the evidence in our room.”

“So, tell me.”

“Detective Callahan strikes again. I just called the hotel and learned that there were only two card keys issued for our room . . . both of which are accounted for.”

Delcambre tapped his forehead as if frustrated he’d missed an obvious clue. “And there was no forced entry, so the only way he could have gone in was while the maids were cleaning the rooms.”

“Probably with a teddy bear in his hands, posing as me. I never saw the maids, so they wouldn’t know me from Todd.”

“And in fairness, they might have thought he was your son . . . or grandson.”

“You’re a cruel man, Richard. I guess that’s why I like you. But back to the question of room access: the scenario also fits the time frame, because the maids cleaned our room between the time I was doing the computer searches and when I interviewed Donna.”

“So, we’re also going to need a photo lineup. I’ll call The False-Hearted Teddy

181

the Pennsylvania State Police and ask them to send us a digital DMV photo of Litten ASAP.”

“And here’s something else you might want to jump on quickly: those latex gloves that were recovered from my room? I’ll bet Todd doesn’t know that it’s possible to recover latent fingerprints from the inside of gloves.”

“With the superglue fuming process.” His eyes widened with surprise. “Oh man . . .”

“Uh-huh, the method of murder might also be the exact same process by which you identify the killer.”

“And if we do recover latents, we can compare them immediately, because his prints will be on file in Pennsylvania.”

“Because he’s a public safety worker.”

“Right. I’ll also get the State Police to fax me a copy of his print card.”

Mulvaney came into the detective bureau with a sheet of paper in her hand. She nodded in the direction of the interview room door. “Is he in there?”

“Yeah,” said Delcambre.

“Before we get started, I need you to sign this.” Mulvaney handed me the sheet.

“My secret agent credential. I might need it in Karachi.”

“You might need it at the nuthouse. Or maybe I belong there,” Mulvaney said with an anxious sigh, “because this is so far outside our policies and procedures, that I can’t believe I’m doing it.”

I said, “I know you’re worried, but this is going to work out all right. It’s always easier to explain why you crowded a department regulation if you’ve got the killer in custody. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

I read the document. It was a boilerplate form on Baltimore City Police Department letterhead that essentially said I was temporarily acting as an agent of the police and that this didn’t entitle me to break any state or federal laws. At the end, there was a statement saying I henceforth 182

John J. Lamb

and forever surrendered any rights to sue the City of Baltimore or its employees if I were to be injured or killed during my time of service. The last bit was the standard “hold harmless” waiver that always gives a personal injury attorney a fit of the giggles, because it isn’t worth the ink with which it was printed.

I signed the form, dated it, and handed it back to Mulvaney, who tossed it on a nearby desk.