The Reveal: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (Book 6)

by Mike Markel

  “You know this guy?” Ryan said.

  “He’s Gregory Macmillan. He’s okay. I was hoping for a newbie.”

  “We should be all right, though, don’t you think? As long as he doesn’t know we like Martin for killing Virginia Rinaldi, we’re okay.”

  “Let’s hope so. I’ll be pissed if this thing blows up.”

  “By the way, did you get a chance to get the chief up to speed?”

  “Yeah, I did. He knows you pulled Abby out of the water.”

  Ryan shrugged his shoulders, like it was no big deal. “I mean, about the story how we’re gonna arrest Krista?”

  “He said he thought it might work. He’s giving me a reprimand.” It just came out.

  Ryan turned to me. “You’re kidding. What for?”

  “For not running it by him first.”

  “That’s crazy. It’s a good plan.”

  “No, he’s right. I should’ve brought it to him, with you there. That way, you could’ve said you didn’t like it. You could’ve gone on record as saying no, convinced him you were right. A conversation with the three of us would’ve been better than just you and me.”

  “I get that point, Karen, but you don’t have to worry about that. If you propose something I really don’t like, I’ll tell you. I wouldn’t let you bully me into doing something I think is wrong. That was a good plan.” He gave me a reassuring smile.

  “Thanks for saying that. We’ll know in a half-hour.”

  “I know already,” Ryan said.

  I remember when I was that hopeful. No, that’s not true. I was never that hopeful.

  Through the glass, I saw Macmillan, the attorney, slap his pen down onto the battered steel table. He pulled back, like something Martin said had surprised him—and not in a good way. Then, I read Macmillan’s lips: He said, “What the fuck?”

  My heart sank. Shit. If Martin had just told him about killing Virginia Rinaldi, the case would collapse. The attorney would figure out that if we hadn’t yet found the evidence to connect Martin to the murder, we probably never would. He would tell Martin to keep his mouth shut; the attorney would deny that Martin meant to toss Abby into the reservoir. With no prior arrests, Martin might be able to get the assault down to a misdemeanor, which would mean no DNA. And that would mean no murder conviction.

  Ryan saw my expression and hit the button to turn the microphone on. Martin was speaking. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what to tell you and what not to tell you. I’ve never been arrested before.”

  “You’re supposed to tell me everything. If I don’t know what happened, I can’t represent you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” It came out as a sneer. “I watch TV.” He paused and gathered himself. “Do you know what to do? Can you get me out of this?”

  The attorney shook his head in disgust. “‘Out of this’? No, I doubt if anyone could get you out of this. Just sit still and don’t say anything. I wish you’d told me about this a half-hour ago.”

  Chapter 31

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said to Ryan. We walked out of the little corridor and opened the door to the interview room. “Turn the system on, please, Detective.” Ryan walked over to the controls on the wall. I announced the date and time and the names of the four people in the room. I had made up a folder with “Hunt, Martin” written on the tab and filled it with a stack of scrap paper. I placed the folder in front of me on the table.

  “Mr. Hunt, let me tell you where we are. Ms. Demarest is in Rawlings Regional Medical Center. We think she’s going to survive. If she does, we plan to charge you with a number of offenses. If she does not survive, we’ll amend them to manslaughter or murder. What were the two of you fighting about?”

  Gregory Macmillan put his hand on Martin Hunt’s arm to remind him not to speak. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself here. This was a scuffle. As simple as that. Why is my client being charged with anything at all?”

  I looked at him. “Counselor, did your client tell you that Detective Miner and I both saw him pull Ms. Demarest out of her car, beat her up, drag her over to the rock outcropping at the reservoir, and throw her in?”

  “Unless you have that on video, it’s your word against my client’s. He assures me that he and Ms. Demarest were squabbling but that he did not drag her over to the outcropping and throw her in. She slipped and fell in.”

  I smiled. “That’s your defense? She’s about a hundred and twenty pounds, he’s about one-ninety. She dragged him over there, then she slipped and fell in?”

  “Unless you can prove otherwise.”

  “Martin, what were the two of you fighting about?”

  The attorney leaned over and whispered in Martin Hunt’s ear. Martin nodded, cleared his throat, and began. “She accused me of uploading the video to the porn site. Which she said ruined her life. I told her I hadn’t done that, and that’s the truth. God’s honest truth.”

  “You’re talking about the video with Abby and Krista having sex, correct?”

  He nodded.

  “I need you to speak your answers, Martin.”

  “That’s the video I’m talking about.”

  “You did shoot the video, though, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you didn’t upload it to the site, who did?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t me.”

  “Guess.”

  “If I had to guess, I would say it was Krista.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “She’s a prostitute. She fucks guys for a living. She was probably getting into a new thing. I don’t know how it works—I mean, whether it’s a royalty model or a flat fee—but obviously a woman like Krista would be stupid to not be thinking about new revenue streams.”

  “How did Krista get the video to upload it?”

  “I gave her the memory card before I left.”

  “So you’re saying Abby Demarest held you responsible for all the harassment since word got around there’s a student in a lesbian video online.”

  “I told her the truth: I didn’t do it. So she says, ‘Prove it.’ I said, ‘Don’t be an idiot. How do you prove a negative?’ That’s when the scuffle started.”

  “Let’s talk about prostitution. We’re also going to charge you with promoting prostitution.”

  Gregory Macmillan exhaled slowly and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. I tried to read his expression to see if this was the offense that Martin hadn’t told him about at the start.

  The attorney spoke. “Detective Seagate, I had not been informed by my client about this alleged incident, and therefore I have not had an opportunity to discuss this charge with him.”

  “Well, I’m happy to tell you about it. Couple days after Professor Virginia Rinaldi was murdered, your client, the president of Alpha Phi Sigma fraternity, thought it would be clever to throw a themed beer party. They called it ‘Bye, Bye Virginia.’ Mr. Hunt can fill you in later on why he thought that was a good idea, but he hired a prostitute to work the party. That prostitute was Krista—that’s her professional name. Her real name is Elena Moranu—”

  “Do you have proof that my client hired her, or that she was hired at all?”

  “Proof is a tough one. We have Krista’s statement that she was hired—by him. And we have some circumstantial evidence.” I turned to Ryan. “Do you have that chart?”

  Ryan pulled the “$/Fuck” chart from his folder and passed it over to Gregory Macmillan.

  “What is this?” the attorney said.

  “Your client hired Krista to have sex with five guys. Then he brought in an extra five, for a total of ten.” I pointed to the bottom line. “That brought the price per fuck down to fifty dollars.”

  Gregory Macmillan, a look of disgust on his face, leaned back and stared at Martin.

  Martin looked at the attorney. “I don’t know where that came from.”

  “I do,” I said. “From the dumpster behind the fraternity
house.”

  The attorney shook his head. “As you said, that’s circumstantial.”

  I nodded. “One other detail: We do have proof that your client drugged Krista at that party. That would explain her wooziness, which made it easier for the ten guys—including your client, Counselor—to gang rape her.”

  “What is the nature of that proof?”

  “A woman who was at the party was taking a selfie. It’s in the photo.”

  Martin Hunt was looking down at his hands, which were intertwined on the table. The attorney looked at him. Nobody spoke for a good ten seconds.

  We didn’t have any photo showing Martin Hunt drugging her. But we’re allowed to lie about the circumstances of the crime. The idea is that an innocent suspect will know the police are lying and call our bluff. But a guilty suspect won’t call our bluff because he knows we might in fact have that evidence. The suspect’s reaction to the lie tells us what we need to know.

  “So your client is guilty of promoting prostitution by hiring Ms. Moranu and guilty of soliciting prostitution for screwing her. Both of those are felonies. The soliciting is no big deal: up to a thousand bucks and one year. The promoting is another matter: That’s fifty thousand and ten years.”

  “My client has a clean record. This is his first offense.”

  I put on a face that said that’s a good point. “True, but with the drugging, I imagine he’d get the higher end of the range. What do you think, Counselor?”

  Suddenly, Martin Hunt spoke. “This is crazy. How can you rape a prostitute? Her job is to fuck guys. I was doing her a fav—”

  Gregory Macmillan barked at him. “Shut up. Right now.” He turned to me. “Have you met with Larry Klein yet?”

  We hadn’t. “Here’s what I’ve been authorized to offer you. Two police detectives witnessed your client fight with Ms. Demarest and throw her in the reservoir. And we have a woman who swore out a complaint about promoting prostitution and another complaint about rape. If your client pleads to the assault on Ms. Demarest, we’ll drop the prostitution and rape charges. That’s a very good offer because the rape would put him on the sex-offender registry for life. What do you say?”

  “Misdemeanor assault?”

  I frowned, disappointed. “Can’t do that. She’s in the hospital now, fighting for her life. We saw him beat her up, throw her in. It has to be felony assault with a weapon.”

  Macmillan’s head jerked back. “Wait a second. What weapon? There was no weapon.”

  Ryan said, “Anything is a weapon if it’s capable of being used to produce death or serious physical injury. A pillow is a weapon if you use it to smother someone.”

  Martin turned to his attorney. “What is he talking about? I didn’t have a weapon.”

  Gregory Macmillan turned to him slowly. “You threw her in the reservoir. What did you think would happen to her?”

  “This is complete bullshit.” Martin Hunt’s voice was getting high and squeaky.

  Gregory Macmillan furrowed his brow and turned to me. “That’s up to twenty years and fifty thousand dollars. But no sex-offender status, right?” He wanted to be sure that’s all we were asking for.

  I nodded. “And, like you said, it’s a first offense. I don’t think your client would do more than five or six years. That’s provided the victim lives. If not, the deal goes away.” I paused. “You might want to recommend to your client that he take the offer.”

  “Give us a minute, Detectives.”

  “Of course.” I stated that we were suspending the interview. Ryan shut down the recording system, and we left the room.

  We walked into the corridor and turned on the microphone, but neither the attorney nor his client said anything. Macmillan sat there, his arms crossed on the table, looking absently across the room. Martin Hunt seemed to be crying. His body was shaking, his hands covering his face. After about a minute, the attorney glanced at his watch.

  Four or five minutes passed. Macmillan snuck a look at his cell phone, then took a deep breath and put his arm around Martin Hunt’s shoulder. The young man’s torso sank onto the table and he began to moan. Macmillan squeezed his shoulder the way a father might after his son got in some real trouble. The attorney spoke a few words into Martin’s ear. The boy appeared to nod his head. Gregory Macmillan stood and walked over to the mirror and tapped it gently with a knuckle.

  Ryan and I re-entered the room. Ryan turned on the recording system and I announced the time. The three adults sat down. There was silence for the longest while.

  “My client is willing to accept your terms.”

  “Felony assault with a deadly weapon.”

  “That’s right.”

  Ryan slid a sheet of paper out of his folder and passed it to the attorney. How he had found time to write it up, I didn’t know. Macmillan read it quickly—it was only one paragraph long—then passed it to Martin Hunt. Gregory Macmillan placed a pen on the sheet of paper, and Hunt signed it.

  Ryan walked over to the control panel on the wall and turned off the system.

  Gregory Macmillan gestured with his head to ask if he could say something to me in private. I walked over to him and we drifted to the corner of the room. I raised my chin to signal for him to speak.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, Counselor. You did the right thing for the kid. We saw him. It was obvious he was trying to kill the girl. My partner dove in to get her. Both of them almost died. The kid’s gotta do some serious time.”

  “Do you know what she had on him that he wanted to kill her?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Not even sure a prick like him needs a good reason. It could be anything. She could’ve called him some name for uploading the video and bringing all that shit down on her.”

  “Well, I hope the girl’s okay, anyway.”

  “Yeah, me, too. You did right by her.”

  “You know, Day One in law school they tell you that every defendant deserves the best representation, regardless of the heinousness of the crime. I’ve been a public defender for twenty years, and each year it gets harder and harder for me to believe it.”

  “Thanks again.”

  He nodded and walked out of the interview room.

  Ryan nodded to Macmillan, then waved to the officer standing outside. “Take Mr. Hunt down to Booking. I’ll be right there.” The officer entered the room and escorted Martin Hunt out.

  Over the years, I’ve talked with a lot of young offenders right after they signed a statement that’s going to send them away for years. Surprisingly often, they have no idea what just happened to them. It must be some kind of psychological protective mechanism. If they realized what their future was going to be like, they probably wouldn’t be able to keep breathing.

  Martin’s grim expression told me that he was starting to realize he was now a felon. I could imagine what was going through his mind: how this was going to screw up the rest of his semester, maybe get him booted out of the university. He might find it difficult to get the kind of job he was expecting. His parents might take it hard.

  But Martin’s expression wasn’t quite grim enough to tell me he realized how, in less than a week, he was going to be convicted of murdering Virginia Rinaldi, and there was a very good chance he would spend decades in prison. And that he might be executed.

  No, his expression did not show he realized that at all.

  Chapter 32

  The chief was sitting on the edge of my desk. “Good job, Karen. Ryan.” He smiled.

  “You heard we got the little prick?”

  “I watched the last few minutes from my office.”

  “You see any grounds for appeal?”

  “No, it looked clean. The public defender was there the whole time and gave him good advice. I think we’re good.”

  “Excellent,” I said.

  “I was talking to Larry Klein. He wanted to get a better understanding of the relationship among the three: the two students and Krista. He wa
nts to be sure we have all the charges ready in case we need to use them.”

  “Sure. Makes sense. He want to talk to us?”

  “I said I’d ask you.”

  Ryan hurried and got a chair for the chief, who sat down between our two desks.

  “Have we got a good story on how the video got uploaded to the porn site?” the chief said.

  “Problem is,” I said, “we got three good stories.”

  “Martin Hunt is lying,” Ryan said. “He said Krista did it; she was branching out into new revenue streams. He swore he had nothing to do with it, which is enough reason for me to think he did.”

  The chief turned to me. “What’s wrong with Krista getting into porn?”

  “She might be getting into porn,” I said. “And maybe she gave the video to her pimp, who did it. But I don’t think she even has a computer or knows how to use one.”

  “It wouldn’t be Virginia Rinaldi?”

  “We thought about that, Chief,” Ryan said. “We know she didn’t upload it from any of her computers. We do know she liked to look at lesbian porn, and possible she got some kind of thrill seeing Krista online, but it’s hard to imagine she’d like seeing Krista and Abby together.”

  “The main reason it isn’t Virginia,” I said, “is that she’s spent her whole career fighting sexual exploitation of women. And that’s exactly what that is: a bunch of pervy men running a porn site that makes money off women screwing. She might look at porn, but she isn’t gonna help make it.”

  The chief stood. “Well, if Abby’s able to speak, try to get her to tell you what she knows. And interview Krista again. We need to understand why Martin tried to kill Abby. What did she have on him that we’re not getting? Did she know he killed Virginia? Did they do it together? Let’s try to nail down the motivations a little better.”

  “We’ll get right on it, Chief. We’re going to talk to Krista now, and we’ll see if Abby is able to talk yet.”

  “Great. Good job. Congratulations.”

  After the chief left, I said to Ryan, “Any reason not to tell Krista she can go home?”

  Ryan thought for a second. “I don’t see why not.” He paused a second, then opened his notebook. “Yesterday morning, when we interviewed her, she said she didn’t know who the video guy was.”