Julius Katz and Archie

by Dave Zeltserman

  “You could give us permission to search your hotel room,” Julius said. “If no gun was found that would help somewhat.”

  The young book editor didn’t say anything. I think she was too angry right then to say anything, and just stared with a cold fury at Julius.

  “I might have enough for a search warrant,” Cramer volunteered.

  Julius glanced at his watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock,” he said. “I’ll be announcing the murderer in roughly three hours. You can have your men keep her detained until then, and we can always seek a warrant then.”

  Cramer didn’t argue the matter. He nodded to one of his men, who escorted Zoe Chase from the office. They only had a few minutes before Richardson was scheduled to be brought in, and Cramer didn’t want to miss that, which I guess made him okay with postponing a search warrant for Zoe Chase’s hotel room. All of this led me to wondering how many psychopathic personalities were in this group of suspects.

  Chapter 22

  The first thing Herbert Richardson did after sitting down in the seat of honor across from Julius was to reach for the platter of remaining sandwiches resting on Julius’s desk. Julius moved faster and moved the platter away from him.

  “These are not for you,” Julius said.

  This got my processing cycles racing. Normally Julius was ever the gracious host, but he did not like feeding murderers, and he probably liked even less the idea of feeding a murderer who also took potshots at him. I had no idea what it was that had him now leaning heavily towards Richardson, especially after the three suspicious characters he had spent a good part of the last five hours questioning, but I started analyzing the day’s events so far to see if I could figure it out.

  Richardson, at first, was taken aback by Julius’s ungraciousness, and then his lips pushed out in a look of anger and hurt. “Who are these sandwiches for?” he demanded, his high-pitched voice not much more than a squeak.

  “Everyone else here but you,” Julius said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because they’re not murder suspects. You are.”

  Richardson blinked stupidly for a good four seconds, then a bright pink worked its way into his cheeks as anger got the better of him.

  “This is outrageous,” he sputtered. He looked around him, first at Burke, where he got no sympathy, then twisting in his chair to stare back at Cramer as if he was going to make a citizen’s complaint over the way he was being mistreated. All Cramer did was look at him with indifference. Richardson was so incensed his hands started to tremble. “I come here of my own accord, and this is the way I’m going to be treated?” he demanded.

  “You can leave anytime,” Julius offered. “Of course if you do, I suspect Detective Cramer will be arresting you and bringing you to the precinct for questioning.” Addressing Cramer, he asked, “You should have enough to arrest him for murder, don’t you think, Detective?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got more than enough,” Cramer agreed.

  Richardson had started to rise out of his chair, but he sank back down. He was still trembling, but now it was more out of fear than anger. God only knew what was going through his head. At the very least he must’ve been wondering whether Julius knew of his affair with Gail Kingston and of his blackmailing her.

  “This is insane,” he claimed, trying to show some bravado but failing miserably at it, his large blubbery face looking scared. “What in the world do you think you have?”

  “We’ll get to that,” Julius said. “Let me first explain about Thursday afternoon. There was a reason why I waited until all of you arrived outside my door before letting any of you into my home, and it was very enlightening watching how you in particular acted. Even though there were two women present, you barged in ahead of the pack so that you could grab what you considered the most prestigious chair in my office, namely the one you’re sitting in right now. I believe you would’ve knocked over anyone you had to to get to that seat first.”

  Was that Julius’s half-baked wisp? If it was, I couldn’t figure out its significance. An injured look marred Richardson’s face as he glowered at Julius.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a sniff.

  “Perhaps you don’t,” Julius said. “It’s possible. Someone as deeply narcissistic as you might not even be aware of something like that. But it was a strong clue of your true nature, and your further behavior in my office that day confirmed to me that you are a classic example of a narcissistic personality. For reasons that I have no interest in going into with you, it is clear that whoever murdered Kenneth Kingston was one of the people that Kingston had sent to my office that day. That none of you displayed any clue that they had committed a murder only several hours earlier—the murder of someone we were in fact waiting to join us—convinced me that this murderer had to possess a psychopathic personality. I’m too good at reading people’s slight tics and body language for it to have been anything else. But in reflection, this murderer could also have a narcissistic personality disorder. That would also have allowed him to escape detection that day.”

  I went to the Mayo Clinic’s website and looked up narcissistic personality disorder. The key symptoms were an inflated sense of your own worth, disdain and lack of empathy for others, and generally a sense of superiority to everyone around you. There were certainly similarities with it and a psychopathic personality, especially the overwhelming sense of entitlement. All this fit with what I’d observed of Richardson, and also with Julius’s claim that someone with this type of mental disorder could’ve killed Kingston minutes before going to Julius’s home Thursday and not shown it. I couldn’t understand why if Julius had this wisp floating around he had gone into so much detail with the other suspects, but I was still excited thinking that we had our murderer.

  Richardson sniffed again with his outrage, his cheeks now red. “You better be careful, Katz,” he warned. “ Or I’ll sue you for slander.” He looked around the office and forced a self-satisfied smirk as he faced Julius again. “I’d quite enjoy being awarded this townhouse.”

  “I seriously doubt there would be much chance of that,” Julius said. “I feel confident that I could produce a dozen reputable psychiatrists who would come up with the same diagnosis.”

  Richardson’s eyes shrunk to small dots as he stared at Julius. “I’m leaving,” he proclaimed. “I didn’t come here to be insulted and to have my reputation impugned.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Julius agreed. “You came here to discuss a murder, one that you’re a hair’s breadth away from being charged with. So I’d suggest you stay seated.”

  “You’ve got nothing to arrest me on!”

  “No? We’ve got motive. Your pathological hatred towards Kingston—”

  Richardson snorted at that. “That’s ridiculous,” he claimed. “The only thing I had for him was contempt as a writer and as a person—”

  “Let’s say disdain.”

  “Say whatever you want. But I had no such pathological hatred towards the man!”

  “Of course you did,” Julius said dismissively. “But that’s besides the point. We also have damning evidence. More than enough to convict.”

  “What damning evidence?”

  “That Gail Kingston paid you five thousand dollars,” Julius said. “And we’re assuming, as will a jury, that that money was paid to you to murder her husband.”

  Richardson didn’t look very good right then. Kind of like he had eaten something that made him queasy. His worst fears must’ve been realized when Julius mentioned that five grand.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” he started

  Julius shut him up with a look. “We have evidence of the payment, so don’t try that.”

  A fleeting, calculating look ran over his eyes as he tried to think what that evidence might be, but Julius didn’t give him a chance to think about it too long as he brought him back with a question concerning his pathological hatred towards Kingston.

/>   “I didn’t hate the man,” Richardson murmured, still distracted as he was trying to figure out what evidence they might’ve had about Gail Kingston paying him five grand. “I might’ve enjoyed exposing him in my reviews for the talentless hack of a writer that he was, but otherwise, I had no feelings towards him.”

  “Because he was so beneath you caring about him?”

  Richardson started to nod, but caught himself.

  Julius smiled thinly. “You’re going to keep lying to me, is that it?” he said. “It doesn’t matter. I know about the black eye and bruises that Kenneth Kingston inflicted on you seven months ago. The minor injuries that sent you running to the emergency room.”

  Richardson was going to deny this, but I could see his eyes waver as he wasn’t sure what Kingston had told Julius in private. Of course, I had briefed Julius about Richardson’s trip to the emergency room, but I didn’t know that the injuries were caused by Kingston, although I suspected it. Julius couldn’t have known either. It was a bluff, but one that Richardson bit on.

  “The man attacked me for no reason,” he said.

  “No, you’re lying again. You attacked him, and you did so because you were outraged that Kingston had the audacity to try to exact a tiny bit of revenge for all the vicious reviews you had written for his books by writing an online review for a short story of yours. One that appeared in an anthology that was released two weeks before your trip to the emergency room.”

  Richardson’s face turned ashen.

  “The garbage he posted was nothing more than a spiteful attack against me!”

  “Possibly,” Julius admitted. “But it appeared to me to be honest, and in a way, very kind. I read your published short story, and to call it tripe would also be very kind. All I can imagine is that the editors included your story in their anthology as a way to induce a generous review from you. I’ve also read your reviews of Kenneth Kingston’s books. While Kingston was not a brilliant writer, he was more than adequate, and did not deserve the bile that you poured on him. All I can imagine is that your narcissistic personality came into play. Either he slighted you in some way, or in your mind, you were more deserving to be published. Whichever it was, your reviews of his books were irresponsible and had little to do with reality.”

  Herbert Richardson could’ve killed Julius then. Well, no, he wasn’t physically capable of something like that, at least not with his fists. If he tried that, Julius would’ve sent him to the intensive care unit instead of to an emergency room to bandage up a few bruises as Kingston had. But if Richardson had an automatic pistol or some other high-powered weapon maybe then he’d have a chance. Little more than hatred filled up his eyes as he glared at Julius. Julius snapped him out of it by mentioning again the five thousand dollars Gail Kingston paid him.

  “She didn’t pay me five thousand dollars,” he insisted.

  “Of course she did. That’s not open for debate.”

  “She loaned me the money.”

  “Really? She used the word paid when telling us about it.”

  Again a queasiness ruined Richardson’s face, making him look a bit green around the gills. He was trapped and knew it, but still he continued to insist that the money was a loan.

  “Why would she loan you that type of money?”

  “Because we’re friends.”

  “Your extreme narcissism handicaps you,” Julius said. “It makes you believe that we’re all imbeciles and will believe any bald-faced lie you tell us. We know the money wasn’t a loan, and yet you persist in repeating that lie. It’s almost as if you’re begging to be arrested, and Richardson, if you’re indicted on murder charges whether you’re guilty or not, you’ll be convicted for the simple reason that a jury will hate you. Let me explain further. I know you would not have come to my office Thursday if it was simply a matter of Kenneth Kingston requesting you to. No, not with the level of animosity you felt towards him. You came because you wanted to find out what I knew. If you turn out not to be his killer, then possibly also what he knew. There was something you were afraid might come out during that meeting, and I am convinced it has to do with the five thousand dollars you were paid. Well? If Gail Kingston didn’t pay you that money to kill her husband, then why did she?”

  Herbert Richardson clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to answer Julius. How could he? If he did, he’d be admitting to blackmail. Julius waited thirty seconds, and then told Cramer that it was pointless wasting any more time talking to him.

  “If he tells us anything it will only be more lies,” Julius said. “You might as well arrest him, or at least detain him for the time being.”

  Cramer nodded, and got on his cell phone to have Richardson taken away. The book critic didn’t even protest. He was too defeated to bother. It was then that I realized what Julius was doing. Not just with Richardson, but the others also. Burke had remained nearly invisible during this session—either he decided that he made enough appearances earlier for the camera when he joined in the questioning, or Julius’s abruptness with Richardson caught him off guard and didn’t give him a chance to dive into action. Whichever it was, I was pretty sure Burke figured out what Julius was up to also from the way he was smiling.

  Two uniformed cops came to retrieve Richardson, and after they left with him, Julius all but confirmed to me what his game plan had been by what he told Cramer and Burke. That Cramer should have enough now to get search warrants for Richardson’s home, as well as the other suspects he had questioned so far.

  “There should be more than enough probable cause to get your warrants,” Julius said. “At least for those four.”

  “I’m impressed,” Burke said, still smiling to himself. “You played him perfectly, especially playing dumb the way you did about him sleeping around with Gail. And twisting the blackmail into possible payment for a hit. Christ. As I said, I’m impressed.”

  Julius nodded to him. “Thank you. Of course, the blackmail Gail Kingston told us she paid him could very well have been payment for a murder, which could’ve been her reason for entering into the affair in the first place. We haven’t ruled that out yet. But as you mentioned earlier today, locating the gun is the key to solving this murder, and I believe you’re right. At least now we have the opportunity to look for it.”

  Cramer was nodding slowly as he digested all this. The look in his eyes as he turned towards Julius could only be described as newfound respect. He understood the game Julius was playing. Probably also that Julius had been bluffing all along about being able to point out the murderer by midnight. But that didn’t matter. If this led them to finding the murder weapon, an arrest would follow quickly, and he’d still have Julius to thank for that.

  “Maybe I should get working on those warrants,” he said gruffly.

  Julius gave a glance down at his watch. It was nine-twenty-five. He had spent less than half an hour with Richardson.

  “Jonathan Mable will be here in a little over an hour,” Julius said. “I’d suggest we wait for now on the warrants. Maybe I’ll be able to create enough probable cause so that you can include him also when you go to the judge.”

  The doorbell rang before Cramer could answer him. A delivery man stood outside. I told Julius this, and he excused himself to answer the door.

  Chapter 23

  Julius took the package the delivery man gave him and brought it back to his office. “It looks like Archie was successful in New York,” Julius told Cramer and Burke once he was seated behind his desk with the package in front of him.

  “Happy to be of service,” I told him.

  Julius smiled thinly in response to that, but otherwise ignored me. Cramer asked Julius what he had, and Burke’s eyes opened another sixteenth of an inch to show his curiosity.

  Julius held up his hand for Cramer to be patient, and then took from his desk drawer an eight-inch switchblade that a triple-murderer once tried to plant in his chest, and which he now used as a letter opener. Cramer was eyeing the switchblade, which
was an illegal weapon for Julius to own, but he swallowed back whatever crack he was going to make. Burke, on the other hand, was eyeing only the package. Julius used the blade to deftly slice open the envelope and pulled out a thick manuscript. The title read Killers and Other Strangers. The author was Kenneth J. Kingston. It was his last book; the one wrapped in secrecy that was going to be published soon and was now guaranteed to be a bestseller. I asked Julius whether it was Tom Durkin who had gotten the book from the publisher, and he signaled to let me know that it was Saul Penzer who accomplished the task.

  Burke was squinting as he eyed the manuscript. “Okay, so you got a copy of Ken’s top secret book,” he said. “How’s it going to help us?”

  Julius shrugged. “I’m not sure, but we’ll see.”

  Since Julius had twenty-twenty vision, he didn’t need reading glasses, except occasionally when needing to make out the small print on contracts, and when he took a pair of reading glasses from his desk drawer, that was a prearranged signal for me to call Burke, so I did. Once I got him on the phone, I gave him the rundown on Stephen Herston’s travel itinerary that I had pulled from the airline’s database. Even with all the suspects lining up, the plan was still for him to try to eliminate Herston from contention by showing a picture I had faxed over earlier to verify that Herston boarded the plane he was supposed to on Thursday morning. After I got off the phone with Burke, he informed Julius that he had a tip on his missing runaway girl and he needed to check it out, which had also been prearranged between the two of them. He then suggested to his camera crew that they stay put where they were.

  “I’ll try to be back before Mable’s questioning starts,” he told DiNatale, “but this case could break any minute. You two really need to be here.”