by O. J. Lovaz
“There were too many witnesses there last night. He’ll find out about the whole damn thing anyway.” And he’ll know that Michael lied, but she could protect him; she could get Wozniak’s attention off of him.
Anna wrapped her arms around Michael’s neck and gave him a long, tender kiss. She had a feeling it could be the last. She pulled back, looked him in the eyes and spoke earnestly, “Listen Michael, this could end badly for me. If it does, I’ll face the consequences with my dignity intact. I’ve made my decisions, good and bad, knowing there were risks, to stand for something good, to still like tomorrow and every day the person I see in the mirror. If I have to spend the next ten years in prison to give Mom the rest of her life back, it will be well worth it.”
“Come here,” Michael said while leading her to sit on the couch with him. “Get that out of your mind. You’re not going to prison. You can’t. It would be too unfair.”
“Too unfair; lots of things are too unfair. Justice is in short supply in this wretched world we live in. Bad people win every day; good people suffer every day.”
“Wolves and sheep,” said Michael.
“What?” Didn’t sound like him. Was he citing scripture?
“Your father’s words, wolves and sheep. He kept saying he was a wolf amongst sheep.”
“We are the sheep,” added Anna.
“Is it possible his view of people, and life, rubbed off on you just a little?” His voice swung to a higher pitch toward the end; eyes squinting, leaving a trace of tiny wrinkles.
“Perhaps more than a little,” Anna admitted more to herself than to Michael.
“Well, this wolf got killed by his sheep. I’m sorry. That’s insensitive. What I mean is he was wrong. Sure, some sheep get slaughtered every day, but many get away; and sometimes, the wolf goes hungry.”
“You should write this stuff. Sometimes, the wolf goes hungry…will it go hungry today, or are there sheep to be had? I guess we’ll see soon enough. I have to go see Wozniak at the precinct now.”
Michael winced briefly before putting on a calm face. “Please call me when you leave the police station. Promise me you will.”
Anna felt her face flushing, eyes welling up with tears she’d be embarrassed to shed. She was frightened. “I promise to call you if I get to leave.”
Michael wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly. “You will. Of course, you will, Anna. Believe you can get through this. Really believe it.”
Anna managed to stave off the tears; now she started getting up. “It’s time. I need to go now.” Time to get it over with.
“Remember,” said Michael, holding her hands, not letting go just yet, “you’re not going there as a suspect; don’t act like one.”
“I wonder, though, Wozniak interviewed you over the phone—why did he ask me to go down to the police station? I don’t think I’m just another witness.”
“Well, no, you’re Victor’s daughter; it’s different. This detective seems like a proper gentleman; maybe he simply wants to talk to you face to face out of respect.”
“I don’t know, Michael. He gives me the creeps. I feel like he sees right through me.”
“He doesn’t. He’s just a man trained to seem like he’s more than that. It’s just mind tricks. Remember this one thing—it will serve you well. Police detectives are legally allowed to deceive you during an interrogation. That’s how they get confessions out of people. If you sense that Detective Wozniak takes an accusatory tone with you, stop talking and get a lawyer right away.”
“I will. Thank you, Michael.” Anna hugged him and kissed him again. When she did let go, she wouldn’t dare to look back.
The door closed behind her. A dark, empty hallway; no cops running upstairs, not a sound. A faint smell of moisture reminded her of the woods, of the soil covering the blackened remains of her father’s baseball bat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she was still there, still guilty of accessory to the murder of her father. It was worth a try.
CHAPTER XIX
The thirty minutes that it took Anna to drive down to the precinct served her to settle down and carefully consider Michael’s advice. She would pay attention to any changes in Wozniak’s demeanor toward her. That seemed quite logical. Thus far he’d been very polite, composed, and even graceful, though somehow, that was precisely what made him so unnerving.
The police station looked rather unremarkable, at least from the outside, just a dull ivory square building. Upon entering the station, Anna found herself in a small lobby facing a reception desk enclosed in thick glass. The small rectangular window on the glass panel, positioned almost at waist level, forced Anna to stoop down to talk to the unenthusiastic short, stocky lady sitting behind it, who advised her that Detective Wozniak would be informed of her arrival and asked her to please take a seat.
Metal chairs were lined up on either side of the room. She sat on a corner, facing a small TV; a local news show was on, though muted, but thankfully nothing about her father’s murder at the moment. There, she waited for fifteen minutes before a young officer asked her to accompany him. She had to go through a metal detector; it made an alarming sound which prompted a tank of a policewoman to ask her to spread her arms and legs and inspect her with a metal detector wand. She had forgotten to take off her watch.
Anna followed the young officer through a narrow aisle flanked on either side by ugly metal desks, half of them empty, and then through a hallway leading to various offices and conference rooms. He opened a door and asked her to step inside. “Detective Wozniak will be with you in a few minutes,” he said amiably.
This was an awful little room she had just stepped into. It was tiny, with plain white walls and no windows; all that was there was an empty table with two armchairs on one side and a rolling office chair on the other. Certainly, this is not a room where officers gathered around to share a laugh. This wasn’t anybody’s office either. This was an interrogation room. Anna had never been in one before, but she had seen some in movies.
She sat down and started looking at pictures on her phone—that way her eyes would actually be looking outside of that awful room designed to break her spirit. There were pictures of her with Michael, Frank and Sarah, and Diane too, from their trip to Boston. She found a picture of her mother sitting in the garden on a perfect sunny day; and her mind flew there. She’d taken that picture maybe three years ago. Her father had been on some trip and they had the house to themselves. They made pancakes, watched old sitcoms—Bewitched, if she remembered correctly—and soaked up the sun in the garden.
The door opened, and in came Detective Wozniak and Officer Mitchell.
“Good afternoon, Anna,” said Wozniak before sitting down. “You did say I could call you Anna, right? Is that okay?”
“Good afternoon, Detective. Yes, of course you may call me Anna. And good afternoon to you as well, Officer Mitchell.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Goddard,” Mitchell said deferentially as he sat down next to her.
Wozniak was now seating across from Anna, on the better, bigger chair. The psychology of it all didn’t escape her. He could recline and move around, while she was stuck against the wall, surrounded by him and Mitchell. But the real question was, why did she choose to sit where they had expected her to? What would have happened if she had waited for Wozniak sitting down on the chair that she knew was meant for him? That would have been an act of open defiance. A strong move, no doubt, but that was not how she wanted to play this game, at least not yet.
She did need to say something to project confidence; to show that she was not there as a suspect. What would she say right now if she was completely innocent? Well, of course, “Detective, have you been able to make any progress with the investigation? Are you any closer to finding out who killed my father?”
“Rest assured, Anna, that we will bring the killer to justice. The fact is we’ve done much already, and the pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place.” This, he s
aid with an earnest expression, and yet there was a glint in his eyes that she didn’t trust.
“Of course,” Wozniak continued. “I suspect that you will be of great assistance to us in that regard. Like I said earlier, sometimes, we don’t know what we know. Often enough it is tiny details that one has not given a second thought that turn out to be definitive evidence. But, before we go any further, may I offer you a cup of coffee? We just got a brand-new espresso machine and it is truly fantastic. I will confess a little peccadillo of mine. I don’t like the cheap coffee folks buy here, and I do fancy myself somewhat of a coffee aficionado, so I bring my own organic, top quality coffee. So, would you like a first-class cup of coffee?”
“When you put it that way, Detective, how could I say no? Sure, I’ll have it with cream if you have it, and one sugar.”
“Excellent. Mitchell, could you ask Katy to make us three coffees? I assume you want one as well. Mine is easy to remember—black, no sugar.”
Officer Mitchell stepped out. “I do apologize for the room, Anna,” said Wozniak, leaning slightly forward. “It’s awful, I am well aware of that, but it does provide privacy.”
She understood all too well their need for privacy. “I understand, Detective; don’t give it another thought.”
“May I ask what you do for a living?” Wozniak’s lips curved up into a delightful smile, one that felt jarring in their current setting.
“I’m a school psychologist.”
“Ah, that’s admirable. If I understand correctly what your profession entails, you help kids deal with difficult situations at home and school. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s actually quite accurate.” He probably already knew what she did for a living.
“That must be very rewarding. And what made you choose that line of work?”
“Um, I don’t know. Like you said, it’s very rewarding work.” She wasn’t going to open that door to her psyche.
“I think maybe I do know,” said Wozniak with an air of mystery. “If I may be so bold, I believe you’re one of those people who are born with an instinct to protect others, especially the innocent and vulnerable. It takes one to recognize another. That is what drives me too; it’s why I became a cop.” There was that smile again.
“Thank you. That’s nice of you to say,” Anna said as Officer Mitchell returned with her coffee. A moment later, a skinny lady brought the other two cups.
“It’s pretty good,” Anna said after tasting the coffee, though it really wasn’t nearly as good as advertised.
“Anna, I’ll ask the obvious question first.” Wozniak sipped his black coffee sans sugar. “Are you aware of anyone who may have had any kind of animosity, a recent heated argument, perhaps a dispute over money, anything like that, with your father?”
“No, I can’t say I do. He did increase the rent to his tenants every year. He was kind of ruthless in his business dealings, that’s true, but I doubt that would drive someone to murder.”
“There’s all kinds of crazy people out there. Who knows? I’ve learned not to rule anything out prematurely. I’ll always remember a homicide I investigated about eight years ago. A man killed his boss at the company parking lot apparently because of a disciplinary action he had taken against him for absenteeism—it had been just a memo, not even a suspension. Then I found out that the man’s wife had cheated on him with his best friend and was about to get their house and custody of the kids in the ensuing divorce proceedings. The man had been in a homicidal state of mind and his boss just happened to press the red button. In his mind, the man was probably murdering his wife, not his boss.”
“That was a hell of a thing, Wozniak. What a messed-up world we live in,” said Officer Mitchell. Anna had nearly forgotten that he was still there, beside her.
“Yes, that’s quite a story,” she said. It really had made an impression on her, but why did Wozniak bring it up? What was he driving at? His story involved an affair—coincidence or not.
Looking straight at Anna, Wozniak leisurely rotated his cup of coffee clockwise, then back to its original position before lifting the cup to within an inch of his lips. “So you don’t remember your father having any major arguments with anyone recently?” He sipped his coffee now with an odd air of royalty, his eyes never leaving her.
Wozniak could already know all about the disgraceful conclusion of their family gathering. To be caught lying about that now would send her down the route of being read her Miranda rights. She needed to tread carefully here. Still, she couldn’t just give it all away at once. That would be too obvious. What would a spotless, proud Anna Goddard have to say about it?
“Well,” she said, “nothing outside of the family circle. There were strained relationships in the family, but I hope you will respect my wish to not speak about private family matters.”
Wozniak placed his cup back on the table and leaned forward. His voice came out soft and comforting, the way good fathers always spoke to their daughters in movies. “I can understand that. You lost your dad only last night, and here I am asking you to divulge sensitive family matters, perhaps even tarnishing the memory of your loving father. It doesn’t seem right, I know.”
The detective picked up his coffee and seemed to sink into deep thought for a moment, two dark eyeballs just sitting above the rim of the steaming cup, like moons on the night sky of an alien world. Then an earnest expression returned to his face, the brows shooting up as his voice came out slightly apologetic. “However, it is important that we thoroughly investigate all the leads we get, no matter where they take us, and I’m afraid they might take us to uncomfortable places.”
The scent of coffee saturated the air; it was a smell she associated with happy times, and friendship—to smell it now as she felt the walls closing in on her was jarring. Was this the time to ask for her lawyer?
Anna tried to regulate her breathing, keep a straight face, and play the part of Charles Goddard’s granddaughter, above suspicion and proud, speaking to the help. “What exactly do you mean by that, Detective? What are these leads you’re referring to?”
Might have overdone it too, but she’d rather sound arrogant than guilty. Anna looked to her right and found Mitchell’s face only inches away from hers, lips pursed, eyes squinted, scanning her deceitful face. Her body instinctively recoiled away from him.
Now, Wozniak spoke with a hint of compassion, likely feigned—a warm blanket he threw over his callousness. “Anna, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we cannot discount the possibility that this may have been some kind of domestic incident. We cannot at this point in time rule out any family members as potential suspects.”
“What are you saying here, Detective?” The words barely came out. Anna’s heartbeat sped out of control; she focused all her strength on keeping a calm demeanor.
“Look, Anna, I’m not going to ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to talk about. You’re here as our guest, cooperating with our investigation voluntarily. The last thing I want to do is upset you. That said, I am going to tell you some things I have come to know in the last few hours, and all I ask is that you confirm if these things did happen.”
“All right, please go ahead,” Anna said. She could feel her hands beginning to shake.
“Thank you, Anna. I meant to tell you earlier, but I must have been distracted, that between the time we spoke on the phone and now, we’ve been able to speak to some of your relatives who attended the family reunion. Your grandmother, Rose—who is such a lovely lady—and your cousin, Mark, were the first we spoke to. Their recollection of the events last evening at your parents’ house match quite closely. So let’s begin there.”
It was all as Anna had feared, and it was happening so quickly, too. “All right, please continue,” Anna said.
What else could she have said? She could have stopped talking and demanded her right to legal representation, but that would have seemed grotesque given the amiability with which the conversation had been proceeding.
She had not been accused of anything, at least not yet, and was being treated as a collaborator and interested party, being the daughter of the victim. She tried to remain calm, and reminded herself that she had foreseen this moment; that it was, in fact, inevitable that Wozniak found out about the affair, the scandal, about everything up to a mere hour before the murder, and yet, not about the murder itself.
Wozniak straightened up in his chair. “It appears the evening went quite as expected until around eight, or eight fifteen by your grandmother’s recollection. Slight variations like that between witness accounts are normal and more often than not inconsequential. In fact, I get much more suspicious when witnesses give the exact same version of events, with exact times and exact words. Well, you’re a psychologist, so I don’t need to bore you with my rudimentary understanding of the human mind. You’re well aware that not two people remember events exactly the same way.”
What was Wozniak driving at? “Yes, I’d agree with that, generally speaking.” It would be best to keep her answers short.
Anna stole a glance at Wozniak’s silent partner. Mitchell had eyes only for her, it seemed. He’d also been scribbling something down. What could he have jotted down? Not Wozniak’s words, of course. Maybe just words—scared, nervous, shaking, lying; maybe those. Would they replay this later? She hadn’t seen any cameras in the room, but there could be one behind her.
Wozniak continued. “Right, generally speaking. So it appears that sometime after eight, an incident completely unexpected, and shocking, took place. A terrible revelation. Truly, something no one would forget. Do you recall what that was?”
“Yes, it involved my cousin, Diane.”
“It did. It most certainly did.” Wozniak sat back straight in his chair, eyes narrowed, lips arching up lopsidedly, revealing the hawk Anna knew him to be. “Tell us, Anna, what do you recall, exactly? What happened?”
Where to start? What to say? What to hide? The silence was unbearable. Wozniak glanced at Mitchell, so she did too. The officer had a reception desk smile plastered on his face, and that little notebook in his hand.