Julius Katz and Archie

by Dave Zeltserman

  Julius raised an eyebrow at her contradictory love and hate statements, but didn’t pursue it. “You suspected that the purpose of the meeting in my office was to uncover your lover?” Julius asked. “Was that why you were so anxious and hostile?”

  She nodded.

  “Convince me that you didn’t conspire with Richardson to murder your husband.”

  She stared blankly at Julius before finally murmuring that she didn’t know what he meant.

  Julius breathed in deeply and sighed all the way down. “Of course you do. I want you to convince me that when you left your condo at ten-thirty-five Thursday morning, it wasn’t so that you could let Herbert Richardson in through the back fire door, then up three flights of stairs and into your apartment to shoot your husband. If you truly hated your husband, what better way to express this hatred than by watching him realize he’s about to be murdered by a man he found repulsive in all ways?”

  Gail Kingston blinked several times as she absorbed what Julius was saying. “It couldn’t have been like that,” she stammered out. “The building’s concierge called me a taxi.” She turned in her chair so she could look at Cramer. “I’m sure you must’ve checked up on this,” she asked him.

  “We know a taxi picked you up,” Cramer said. “And we know he left you off at the corner of Newbury Street and Exeter at ten-fifty. After that we don’t have any verification of what you were doing until you entered a salon for a manicure at eleven-forty.”

  “You see our problem,” Julius said, causing her to maneuver in her chair to face him again. “You could’ve let Richardson in through the back fire door before going up front to the concierge and having a taxi called. Or you could’ve met with Richardson on Newbury Street only to give him your back door key if he didn’t already have one, or even so that you could go back with him. Or maybe you even shot your husband before you left your apartment and used that extra time to hide the gun. I know the police tested your skin for gunpowder residue, but you could’ve worn rubber gloves, making that test useless.”

  “No,” she insisted. “I didn’t do any of that.”

  “Then convince me.”

  For the next forty minutes she tried doing just that while Julius tried to poke holes in what she was saying or catch her in a contradictory statement. In the end it was a stalemate, and he next tried to go over her knowledge of guns. She admitted she was licensed to carry and that she owned a thirty-eight which she kept locked in her bedroom. The gun questions led to dead ends, and next Julius tried going over her whereabouts last night. She insisted she spent it alone in her condo. That at nine o’clock yesterday evening she took twice as many sedatives as she was supposed to and slept until the police woke her at nine-thirty this morning. Julius tried, but couldn’t shake her on this. It would be easy enough for her to be lying about last night. She could have snuck out the back of her building and caught a cab to downtown Boston, and from there she would’ve had only a short hike to the bushes outside Julius’s townhouse.

  “Are we done?” Gail Kingston asked. She looked absolutely wiped out, like she had aged ten years since being ushered into Julius’s office. I no longer had any doubt that she was our killer, but I had to wait the next three minutes to voice my opinion while Julius sat as still as a marble sculpture while he observed her. I knew better than to interrupt Julius while he was doing that. In the quiet of the room and in my anxiousness to have Julius declare her the killer, those three minutes dragged interminably. Finally, Julius broke out of his spell and turned to Burke to ask if he had any questions. Burke shook his head. He had been only a bystander throughout the interrogation, doing nothing more than quietly observing the proceedings while he kept his eyes mostly closed as if he were about to fall asleep. He wasn’t about to, of course. He took enough pulls on his beer to show he was awake and alert to everything going on. I was surprised by his behavior. I would’ve thought he’d want to perform for the camera, even if he was only asking pointless questions, but I guess he’d decided to defer completely to Julius.

  Julius breathed in deeply before telling Gail Kingston that they were almost done. “I only have one more question that I need you to clear up,” he said. “Explain to me why you took five thousand dollars out of your bank account three weeks ago.”

  I was afraid Julius wasn’t paying attention earlier when I briefed him. So he was just saving my most damning bit of information until the end. I felt a warm buzz in my processing cycles over that, something akin to satisfaction. While Julius’s question caught both Cramer and Burke off guard, at least from the way they both sat up straighter in their chairs, Gail Kingston didn’t seem surprised by it. In fact, from her reaction she must’ve been expecting it all along.

  “Why do you think I took out that money?” she asked.

  Julius shrugged. “There are any number of reasons that I could guess. The money could’ve been used to purchase an untraceable thirty-two caliber handgun, for example.”

  She shook her head. “If that money ended up buying a gun, it wouldn’t have been with my knowledge. But I want you to guess what that money was used for. If I’m going to be put through the wringer for over an hour by the great Julius Katz only two days after finding my husband murdered, I want to at least see your genius in action. At least give me that after what you’ve put me through here today.”

  “Very well,” Julius said, conciliatorily. “It’s only a guess, but if the money wasn’t used to purchase a gun, which I haven’t ruled out, then I’d say Herbert Richardson forced you to pay him blackmail.”

  A harsh smile pulled up her lips as she stared at Julius. “That’s right,” she said. “If I didn’t pay him he was going to tell Ken about our affair. I’m guessing he wanted cash so his wife wouldn’t see any records of a check from me being deposited into his account, but you can ask him that when you talk to him. You can also ask him whether he used that money to buy a gun.”

  “Do you think he killed your husband?” Julius asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes wandering from Julius’s. “I just don’t know. He hated Ken every bit as much as Ken hated him. Are we done now?”

  There was an almost desperate pleading in her voice as she asked that. Julius nodded. When she stood, her legs appeared shaky, and she almost fell back into her chair.

  “Madam,” he said. “If it turns out that you had nothing to do with your husband’s murder and the attempt on my own life, then I truly apologize for what you’ve been put through. Rest assured that the person responsible for your loss and this interrogation you had to suffer will be caught today as I’ve promised.”

  Several tears leaked from Gail Kingston’s eyes as she nodded. One of the police officers got up to escort her from the office. I was confused. I was still convinced she was guilty—even with her tears—or at least had conspired with Richardson, and I couldn’t see the point of Julius letting her go, especially with her appearing to be on the verge of cracking. From the way Cramer was watching her, he didn’t like the idea of it either.

  “I’m thinking I should bring her down to the station for more questioning,” Cramer grumbled after the door to Julius’s soundproof office closed behind her.

  “Not if it disrupts what we’re doing here,” Julius said.

  Cramer glared at the closed door that Gail Kingston had exited through seconds earlier. He rubbed a hand across his face, his nose bending like rubber.

  “I don’t like the idea of letting her walk free,” he complained in a half-growl.

  “Do you have enough to charge her?” Julius said.

  Cramer didn’t bother answering him. I had already compiled what they had and it wasn’t enough. Julius knew that too, as did Cramer.

  “If you must, have a man watch her home,” Julius said. “She’s not going anywhere, at least not before midnight.”

  Cramer didn’t want to give in on this, but he didn’t fight Julius too hard about it. If it wasn’t for Julius’s promise to deliver the killer by
midnight, he probably would’ve gone with his gut and brought Gail Kingston in.

  Up until that point Cantrell and DiNatale had been unobtrusive enough that it was easy to forget they were there, and I think it spooked Cramer a bit when his eyes wandered to his left and he saw Cantrell with his video camera aimed at him and remembered what was going on. His eyes snapped back to meet Julius’s gaze, the tips of his ears reddening.

  “Fine,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. What do you think, though? That we take on Richardson next?”

  Julius shook his head. “No. We’ll stick to the plan,” he said.

  Burke got to his feet and arched his back as he stretched. “I’m going outside to get some air,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  Julius nodded. It was five-thirty. The next suspect, Edward Marriston, wasn’t going to be brought over until six o’clock. Julius suggested to Cramer that he would get everyone sandwiches and coffee, and Cramer didn’t argue with him, so Julius left for the kitchen, leaving Cramer and two other cops behind in his office, as well as Cantrell and DiNatale. Earlier, Julius had called a local restaurant that specialized in gourmet sandwiches for a delivery of their best (they even had a fried catfish number named after Julius), and once we were in the kitchen he took these from the refrigerator so he could warm them up in the oven. I asked him then whether he thought Gail Kingston was the one. He frowned as he rearranged the sandwiches so they’d warm evenly, and told me he wasn’t sure.

  “Those tears were an act,” I said. “As well as the rest of her performance. A sociopathic personality can be very convincing when they want to be. Besides, she had opportunity and motive and knows how to use a gun, and the only time she’s told you the truth so far is only after you’ve caught her lying.”

  “I’m not ready to pronounce her a murderer,” Julius said, distracted as he retrieved the coffee beans from the refrigerator and measured out the proper amount to grind. “It’s too early to tell, and I still have four other suspects to question. I’ll have a clearer picture of all this when I’m done.”

  “I’ll bet she was lying about the five grand,” I said. “But there’s no way you’re going to know for sure. When you ask Richardson about it, he’s going to deny any knowledge of it.”

  “Let him.” Julius made a face at the prospect. “I’ll know if he’s lying to me. The man’s a fool.”

  “How about a fool and a murderer?”

  Julius grimaced at that. “Possibly,” he said.

  For the next thirty seconds I didn’t ask Julius anything else while he ground the coffee beans. Once he was done, I mentioned how skillfully he’d sidestepped Gail Kingston’s accusation that her husband had been cheating on her. “With a twenty-five grand potential bonus from Margaret Herston waiting for you, I don’t blame you,” I said. “I’d like to ask about that wisp of a half-baked suspicion you’ve been working on. Was that about whether Gail Kingston was having an affair?”

  “No, Archie. As far as I was concerned that was a given. The wisp that I’m still trying to get a handle on is something far more elusive.”

  I still couldn’t tell whether he was bluffing or not. Maybe that half-baked wisp existed, maybe it didn’t. I didn’t know, and I probably wouldn’t know until Julius was willing to divulge the truth about it.

  “Did you warn Cramer ahead of time about that ploy you used—the one where you had Kingston hiring you because he thought his wife was planning to bump him off?”

  A bare trace of a smile showed on Julius’s lips. “Yes, Archie,” he admitted. “I called Cramer earlier this morning from the third floor. I figured I had to. That if I didn’t he’d probably get excited enough by that announcement to have a heart attack, and I didn’t want to be responsible for the death of one of Cambridge’s finest.”

  “Burke didn’t know?”

  “No, he didn’t. Since she was going to be facing him, I wanted his reaction to be genuine.”

  The sandwiches had finished warming up and the coffee was done brewing. Julius transferred the food to a platter and the coffee to a thermos, and then brought all of it back to his office.

  Chapter 20

  Promptly at six, Edward Marriston was seated in the chair of honor across from Julius, otherwise the setup was the same as it had been earlier with Burke sitting up front with Julius, Cramer and two other cops sitting where they’d been, and the skeleton camera crew standing off to the side, being unobtrusive. Julius had earlier ordered twenty sandwiches, and although Cramer had three and everyone else had two, including DiNatale and Cantrell, there were still extras left, and Julius offered Marriston one, which he gladly accepted, picking for himself a lamb shank and chutney on a sourdough roll.

  After a few minutes of observing Marriston, I started to have my doubts about Gail Kingston being the murderer. According to Julius the murderer had to have a psychopathic personality, and the widow Kingston didn’t do a very good job hiding her annoyance at her dead husband two days ago when she sat with the rest of the group in Julius’s office. Maybe it was all an act with her—then and earlier today. It was possible, but still, watching Marriston he seemed like the real deal. A client he had known and worked with for years was murdered only two days ago, and he looked like he hadn’t lost a second’s sleep over it. Sitting casually with his right leg crossed over his left knee, he looked relaxed and refreshed, and if anything, he only appeared amused by the situation.

  I haven’t described Edward Marriston yet. The reason I didn’t bother doing that is there was nothing remarkable about him. Forty-seven years old, average height, average weight, brown hair thinning and showing a touch of gray. Nothing really distinguishable about him. He was dressed in a fairly unremarkable way also. Bland colored slacks, button down shirt and sweater, and with rather ordinary brown loafers over tan socks. Nothing about him stood out except maybe his eyes. As I watched his gray eyes twinkling with amusement, I couldn’t help wondering if they were the eyes of a psychopath, especially with the way he pursed his lips as if he were fighting to keep from giggling out of giddiness when Julius remarked that he didn’t seem grief stricken at all over what happened to Kingston.

  “I could lie if you want,” Marriston said. “Or put on an act. But I doubt I’d fool you, so why bother?” He had been eating his sandwich at a leisurely pace and he picked it up to take another bite, and from his expression appeared to be savoring it. Once he was finished chewing and swallowing that bite, he added, “By the way, excellent sandwich. From Largents?”

  “This is a game to you?” Julius asked.

  Marriston continued to look amused as he shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “I voluntarily agreed to come here to answer questions about a murder that I have no involvement in or any knowledge of other than what’s been in the papers. I know you’re very good at what you do, and from all accounts the very best at sniffing out murderers, so why should I be worried about this? And what would you have me do? Pretend to be upset about Ken’s murder when I’m actually quite pleased that it happened?”

  “Why are you pleased over a client being shot dead?”

  Marriston flashed Julius an impish grin—that’s the best way I can describe his grin, so that’s how I’m describing it.

  “Why? Well for starters it should do wonders for book sales, and will probably get Ken’s upcoming book on top of the bestsellers list, which I’ll be collecting a fifteen percent commission on. Ken taking a bullet through the heart was probably the best career move he could’ve made.”

  “Why not shoot all your clients then?”

  Marriston pursed his lips as he mused on that. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “But that’s only if I could shoot them with impunity. One or two of them I’d spare, the rest I wouldn’t shed too many tears over. Let me explain to you about writers. There are a few normal ones in the mix, but the majority have the most fragile, bruised egos you could imagine. Maybe it comes from all the rejection they have to suffer, especially since in their minds they’re such de
licate geniuses. I’m not exactly sure why so many are like that, but Ken was the worst. A preening prima donna when things were going well, and an absolute misery when things started to fade on him.”

  “And that would be reason enough to want him shot?”

  Marriston shrugged. He was still smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “By itself, maybe not. But he was blaming me for his drop in sales and the more anemic advances he’d been getting. He was poisoning other writers against me, and I was losing potential clients because of him.”

  “Why did you put up with it? Why not simply drop him as a client?”

  Marriston’s smile weakened. “I was stuck,” he said. “It was bad enough as it was. If I dropped Ken, I would’ve brought on his full wrath and he would’ve been working twenty-four seven to ruin me. My only hope was that his new book would get him back on the bestsellers list, and that that would’ve appeased him enough to stop trying to destroy me.”

  “You didn’t hold out much hope for that?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Marriston said. “Ken’s top secret campaign wasn’t a bad idea, but it would only work if the book was getting a huge push from the publisher and the author a seven-figure advance. That’s what would’ve gotten the media biting on it and the bookstores making big buys. With the advance Ken was getting, nobody was going to pay attention to his gimmick, and the stunt most likely would’ve backfired on him since he wasn’t going to get any prepub reviews. Him getting shot changes everything. Over the last twenty-four hours we’ve gotten over a hundred calls from film companies and foreign publishers salivating over the rights. Thank God there was somebody out there with good enough aim to hit Ken in the heart, especially given that the damn thing couldn’t have been much bigger than an ice cube!”

  I was fascinated by Edward Marriston’s cavalier attitude over the death of Kenneth Kingston. What I learned from my research is that a psychopathic personality tends to have no remorse or empathy towards others, and Marriston was definitely displaying a complete lack of both of those towards Kingston. Psychopathic personalities are also represented by a glibness and superficial charm, which was also another big check mark next to Marriston. And they also tend to live a predatory lifestyle, and there wasn’t a much more predatory job out there than literary agent. On the other hand, from all the psychiatric papers that I could find on the subject, these personalities usually try to manipulate others to hide what they are, and Marriston was making no attempt to do that. So was he a psychopathic personality who was so convinced he was going to get away with murder that he didn’t care about hiding his true nature, or was this something altogether different? I had no idea. From the way Julius was staring at Marriston, I knew he must’ve been weighing these same questions.