by Deanna King
“Take a chair, Mr. Renner.” Jack took a chair and squared it around to face Max. Dawson Luck took the other chair, pulled it back by the door, sat down, folded his arms, and without uttering a word he just glared.
“I shoulda known it was you that had them come get me. I done told you everything I know, how many ways can I tell ya, I don’t know nothing.” Max ran his hand over his bald head, sweat had beaded on his forehead, and the black T-shirt he was wearing showed signs of heavy sweating. The interview room was relatively cool, so Jack knew right away that Max was under stress.
He set a thick folder and a tape recorder on the table; Max stared at both.
“I know what you said, but we’ll go over it all again, and Mr. Renner, I’d advise you to tell the truth. I—”
Max cut him off. “I have told you the truth, what do you want me to do, make up some fucking lies so you’ll leave us alone?” His fist pounded the table as he slightly rose from his chair.
“I’d advise you to keep your cool in here, or I’ll be forced to cuff you to your chair, understand?” His tone was harsh.
“I’ll do my best to try.” Max lowered his somewhat raised buttocks back solidly to the chair, his face losing the red angry hue.
“You’ve been read your rights, is that correct?”
Max nodded.
“Are you willing to talk to us on your own accord?”
Again, Max nodded.
“Okay, what was your job at the Crystal Barrel twenty-five years ago?” Jack looked up at him, his own face blank.
“Bouncer.”
“Did you work any other bars that were owned by SS Corporation?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Renner, or do you want me to call you Max?”
“I’d prefer to be called Sarge, but seeing how you told me before that you needed to use my official name because this was f’ing official business, I guess Max is fine.” The big man stretched his legs under the table, crossed his arms over his big barrel of a chest, and squinted his eyes in anger.
Jack thought that was a little better, a whole sentence this time, and not just a one-word answer. This was progression.
“Sarge, how did you get that nickname, were you in the army?” He decided to try to get him “warmed up,” maybe more relaxed.
“No, it was my rank in the biker’s gang I used to ride with when I lived in Chicago. I’m gonna repeat that phrase for ya, I used to ride with, don’t no more.”
“So, talk to me about what happened twenty-five years ago, this is important, I—”
Max interrupted him. “I’d like to cooperate, but…” Max didn’t finish, Jack held up his hand to stop him.
“Let me finish, then you tell me how much cooperation you’re willing to give, deal?”
Max Renner shot him a piercing stare, and his brows furrowed, the muscles in his jaw were visibly flexing. He looked over at Dawson Luck, and he gave him an eviler eye, never adjusting his legs, feet, or unfolding his arms. Jack noted his posture; the man had closed himself off.
“I’m listening, Detective.”
“First, I just want a yes or no to the next two questions. Okay?”
“Yes. Now, what’s the second question?” The big bald man was being a smart-ass.
“Touché, Sarge. No one can say you don’t have a sense of humor now, can they?” Jack smiled at him. “And that is not the second question. Question one—do you know a man named Skip Johanson?”
“Yes.”
“Question two—do you know a man named Harvey?”
“Harvey who?”
“Walden.”
“No, never heard of him.”
Jack studied the man’s face.
“Okay, how did you know Skip Johanson?”
“Back in the day he and I worked at the Crystal Barrel, he bartended, I bounced.”
“You stay in contact with him?”
“Nope, we lost contact, he moved over to another bar and I stopped bouncing. I guess I haven’t seen Skip in fifteen years or so. You know, I ought to give him a call, I liked the guy.” Sarge let out a long exhale. Remembering the past brought back both happy and awful memories. He had liked Skip, goofball, naïve Skip.
Jack pulled out the crime scene photos from 7-11’s case, the murder of Skip Johanson. He knew Sarge had no idea that Skip was dead. He laid the pictures facedown in front of him.
“What’s this, a lineup for me to pick from?” Max shifted in his seat.
Jack’s mouth was set in a straight line, his hand on top of the pictures. “I’m afraid not.”
Sitting up straight, he pulled his long legs back up, both palms flat against the table. “What’s this about?”
“See for yourself.”
Sarge pulled the stack of photos toward him, his eyes never left Jacks face, and without looking, his hands turned the stack over, then his eyes moved to the pictures. A sharp intake of breath, the blood rushed from his face.
“That’s Skip. Oh my God, who did…why…what the hell?” He looked at the next picture, and then he shoved them away not bothering to look at the rest.
“Why would someone want to kill Skip, he was a sweet guy, a bit goofy, but he wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
Just by his initial reactions, Jack knew this had upset him. He scooped up the pictures and put them back in the file.
“That’s what I was going to ask you. Why would someone want Skip dead? I know some bad things went down twenty-five years ago, and don’t sit there and tell me you don’t know a damn thing because I know you’re lying.” Jack’s voice boomed and bounced off the walls of the interrogation room.
“None of what you think you know had anything to do with Skip Johanson, I can tell you that much. As for saying anything else, Detective West, I’ve nothing to say.” Max was again being hard-core. Jack had anticipated this.
“Good to know Skip wasn’t involved, or that’s your story. Skip being dead, I can’t ask him.” He laid the manila file on the table, scooted his chair up, and leaned in. “You, on the other hand, are quite simply the opposite. You were there, I’ve got the proof.”
“What are you talking about, proof of what?”
Jack’s eyes bored into the man’s eyes. “Your fingerprints, Sarge, that’s what I’ve got.”
“My prints, on what, I think you’re bluffing your ass off.” Sarge slouched in his chair with cocky confidence.
“The girl that was found dead, you know the one, Celeste Mason, I’m sure you recall that night, don’t you?”
“Just what am I supposed to recall? I wasn’t freaking there.”
“My partner back there and I went to the old evidence storage, you know, to see what had been collected at Ms. Mason’s murder scene. It was funny, we thought we had hit the jackpot with certain items, and then it struck me. It had always bothered me that the dead woman’s wallet had no pictures, not a damn one, but I saw that once there had been pictures. I took a closer look at the worn-out plastic sleeves and if you held them just right, you could see faint imagines of colors, where pictures had once been. Thing was, I just didn’t think about it until later.”
Sarge said nothing, and Jack continued.
“You know, forensics have improved over the past decade, and it improves daily. Two things that have improved in the last two-plus decades are the collection and testing of DNA, and Sarge, the collecting of prints. Technology has improved to the point that you can damn near get prints off any type of substance—wood, metal, cloth, paper, plastic, and silk—even articles that have a distinct pattern or ridging that are invisible to the naked eye.”
“It concerns you a great deal since we found your prints, or should I say several of your prints, on the wallet. I have a question. Did you give Celeste Mason the pictures out of JoAnn Cutter’s wallet, or did you toss them? Which was it?” His voice was aggressive, his eyes never leaving the bald man’s face.
Max Renner’s face fell, he went pale, but he stayed silent.
“Sarge, did you hear me, you want me to repeat the question?” Jack’s deep baritone voice resonated in the interview room.
“I heard you the first time, Detective.”
“I recall the second trip we made to Waller…you said you weren’t ‘initially’ in that room, then you didn’t finish what you were saying. Jenna admits to being at the door. She claims that all she saw were feet on the bed, but wasn’t sure whose feet they were. If you don’t recall saying that, I can play the tape back. Well?” His voice was low and menacing.
Sarge continued to be the man of stone. His silence was infuriating.
“Tell you what. You’re already under arrest, for either killing that woman, and if you didn’t, I have you on conspiracy to cover up a murder. I’m going to book Jenna on conspiracy to cover up a murder. You can both go to prison. Am I getting this through your thick skull?” His fist hit the top of the table with a thud.
“Leave Jenna outta this, she did what she was told, she didn’t know what was going on.”
“Sarge, what was going on?”
“Are you willing to leave Jenna out of this if I cooperate?” Sarge clenched his jaw so hard that Jack swore he heard a tooth crack.
He locked eyes with the big man. He had nothing on Jenna. Besides, he was fishing for a whale. He wanted to nail that judge’s sorry ass to the wall.
“Tell me what happened that night, the damn truth, and I’ll see what I can do about Jenna. If you cooperate, I’ll put in a word for you with the DA, I’ll tell them you cooperated. Deal?”
Sarge agreed. He had to protect Jenna, and he hoped like hell the system showed him some leniency.
Jack started the tape recorder, and Sarge told him what had happened that night at the All Occasions Motel.
When he was finished, neither Jack nor Lucky said a word. The silence made Max uncomfortable, and he broke the unbearable quiet that had filled the interview room.
“Like I said, I wasn’t there when it happened. They told me we needed to go and help a man out. I had no idea that she was dead until I got there. I wasn’t brought in on the plan until it was already in progress.”
Jack West was trying to read him. Was he downplaying his part, or was he telling the truth? His tone sounded genuine when he admitted he had no idea what went down initially, but that didn’t erase the fact that he helped with the cover-up.
“No one, no cop, nobody ever talked to me about that night. Here I was working at her bars, and no one ever questioned me about her, or who wanted her dead, nothing.”
“Cops on the take shoved it all under the rug, no one wanted answers back then. I want to know if Celeste Mason and Jed Logan knew this would happen. Were they the ones who perpetrated this?”
Sarge’s massive shoulders jerked up in a small shrug. “Don’t know that for sure, but I did know that she was getting death threats, and she needed to disappear. I knew Wolff, he was a regular customer for the girls, and he was into that crazy dangerous sex. Jenna told me about it, and I made her quit hooking. When she told me what he made her do, I was mad enough to kill the bastard. I’ll admit it, when his balls were in a sling, I didn’t care, and I liked the fact that I had something to hold over his high and mighty head.”
“Are you blackmailing the judge, Max?”
Max let out a raunchy belly laugh. “Are you kidding me? If I were, I’d be living somewhere else besides BFE Waller. Listen, I had no idea that they intended to use JoAnn as a body double. I told you already, I wasn’t in on the plan, God, man, I have my own worries, and I didn’t want trouble with the law either.”
“Where is Celeste?”
“I don’t know, that’s the truth, all I have is a phone number, I swear.”
“I’m going to need that number. Would you be willing to be a witness for the state?”
“Are you leaving Jenna out of this?”
“I have to tell the DA the entire story, but I think she’s basically safe. You though, I can’t tell ya if the DA will work a deal or not, that’s not my decision, all I do is put in a word, you understand?”
Sarge bobbed his head a minute, thinking about it. Lucky for one wondered what he was thinking about, this was a deal of a lifetime and he better jump on it.
“Deal, then.”
“Good. Now, you recall the woman, Daphne Walden?”
“She was Jenna’s friend, not mine. I knew her from the Blue Marble. I worked at the Barrel, uh, Crystal Barrel, full-time. I can’t tell you much, except I do know she died. Her husband called Jenna to let her know.”
“Did you know her husband?”
“No, never met him. When we moved to Waller, I was trying to put all that business behind us.” A certain pain filled his eyes. “Guess no matter what you have in your past it always catches up to you. I guess that’s it, now what?”
“I’m gonna go talk to Jenna.” Jack nodded at Lucky then turned back to Sarge. “I’ll call the DA’s office in the morning, get someone over here tomorrow.” He stared at the man before he spoke again.
“I’m going to let you go on your own recognizance tonight, and if you run, I swear I’ll find you then I’ll go after Jenna and she will be in prison, charged with accessory after the fact, is that clear?”
“Yeah, it is crystal clear.”
“Good. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know when we can meet the assistant district attorney.”
Without another word, Jack and Lucky left Max Renner in interview room five, alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“7-11 haven’t called in, I guess the warrant squad hasn’t found that Walden-Buccella guy yet.” Lucky stood at the interview room monitors as they watched a morose Max Renner, sitting alone, his cocky confidence gone—a man who was now contemplating what his future would be, or if he even had a future.
“We need to find that SOB and get on that phone number Sarge gave us. I’m betting it is a burner phone, but better than what we had before, which was a big fat zero, zilch, and nada. You ready to go talk to Jenna Berrie?”
Jack opened the door to the room and walked in, Lucky right behind him. He set a bottle of water, a thick file, and a tape recorder on the table then he pulled his chair up to the end. Lucky pulled a second chair back toward the door, taking up the same stance as he had with Max Renner.
“Sorry we’ve kept you waiting, Ms. Berrie…may I call you Jenna?”
“Uh-huh, is Sarge okay, he’s still here, isn’t he?”
“Yes, we…”
“Please, please don’t put him in jail,” she whimpered, cutting his words off.
“He’s not in jail, yet. We’re not sure what will happen, he told us about that night. I want you to answer a few questions.”
She brought her hand up and swiped a tear from her cheek. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
Jack turned the tape recorder on and jumped in. He was tired, it was late, and he wanted to get the questions over with and call it a night.
“Do you know a man named Skip?”
“Yes, I do.” Her voice came out sounding like a mousey squeak.
“What about a…”<
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“Can I smoke in here because I need a cigarette?” she interrupted him.
“Sure, I’ll…” Jack started, but Lucky immediately stood up.
“I’ll go get an ashtray.” He stepped out of the room, was gone all of five seconds, and came back with an old flat metal ashtray.
“Tha...thank you,” she stammered, pulling it closer toward her.
Lucky said nothing, no “you’re welcome,” “kiss my foot,” or even a grunt, he took his place again and assumed the same posture as before.
She tapped out a cigarette and Jack saw her shaking as she tried to light it; he held the lighter for her as she steadied her hands. Inhaling a long drag, she closed her eyes, held it for a minute then turned her head to the side and exhaled.
“I’m ready, Detective.” The cigarette soothed her shaky nerves, as she took a second long drag.
“Do you know a man named Skip and a man named Harvey?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How do you know both these men?”
“Skip bartended at the Crystal Barrel, and Harvey worked for a while at the Blue Marble, then he married Daphne.”
“Jenna, Max said he didn’t know a man named Harvey, why would he say that?” That ticked him off, if Harvey worked at the Blue Marble, Sarge should know him, why had he lied about that.
“He didn’t know him. Sarge didn’t go over to that club very much, if ever. Harvey came onboard a year before Celeste died, but there were so many people, and we didn’t know most of ‘em. Once I stopped hooking, Sarge worked full-time at the Crystal Barrel.” Jenna took a couple more long drags and tapped the ashes off her cigarette.
“Jenna, let’s not lie to one another, we both know she’s not dead, and I figure Celeste is still somewhere in Houston, so Jenna, don’t try to play me, it won’t work. No more lies.” His eyes focused in on her eyes. He didn’t blink. Jenna held his stare for half a minute before she blinked then turned her eyes away and stared at the worn, metal, discolored ashtray, and she tapped her cigarette against the flat rim again. The room was so silent you could almost hear the hiss of the cigarette as it burned down, little by little.