by Justice
“You know, first time I ever laid eyes on you in orchestra, I had it in mind to seduce you.” He looked at me. “There was never any school of music back east. Whole tutoring thing was a ruse. A way to get near you so I could make my move.”
“Your move?”
“To get you on your back, Terry. I was supposed to nail you…chalk up another point for the stud.” He looked at the ceiling. “Instead, I fell in love with you. Yes, even pathological liars have feelings. Believe it or not, I was trying to behave myself ’cause I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew I had to go back to Lorraine…but I thought at least we could ride out the year together as close friends or something or other. When you blew me off, I was destroyed.”
“I didn’t blow you off.”
“Of course you blew me off. Man, I was a basket case that weekend. Must have dialed your number like a hundred times. But I always chickened out. Then I don’t know…I suddenly got real pissed off. Putting me through all this shit when I loved you so much. I wanted to make you pay.” He paused. “For what it’s worth—and that’s not too much—I really am sorry.” He checked his watch. “I’m late.”
“For what?”
“I’m supposed to meet with my lawyers at three-thirty…go over things. I’m supposed to see the fuzz at five. They set up a polygraph for me. That should be interesting.”
“Are you nervous?”
He looked at me. “Of course I’m nervous.”
Softly, I said, “Are you going to pass it, Chris?”
“That’s a nice way of asking me the question.” He closed and opened his eyes. “The crucial stuff I’ll pass. But if they ask me…related stuff, I may not do so well.”
I waited.
He said, “If they ask me if I ever killed anyone, I may not do so hot on that.”
We locked eyes. With sudden insight, I realized what he was talking about.
Only upshot of the whole mess was I hated the son of a bitch. So after the shock wore off, I was kind of happy.
“You killed your…” I covered my mouth, recoiling from the horror.
Chris nodded. “Yes, I killed my father.”
It all made sense. Why he was so indebted to his uncle. I said, “Donatti set it up like a professional hit, didn’t he? He took the blame for you.”
“He was willing to take the fall, but luckily it never came to that. Technically, it’s still an open file on the books—unsolved. But there isn’t any statute of limitations on homicide.”
“You were a kid,” I told him. “He was abusing you. It was self-defense.”
“Except it really wasn’t self-defense. He’d been chasing me with a knife, but he’d given up. Got himself smashed and passed out dead drunk on the couch.”
There was a long pause.
“Whole thing was…surreal,” Chris said. “I got out of the closet, sneaked away real quiet so not to wake him up. I meant to just…walk away…like all the other times before. Instead…I began to feel real…real…weird. Next thing I knew I was holding a gun…not sure how it even got into my hands. My dad was…handcuffed. Don’t know how that happened either. I took the gun…placed it between his eyes.”
He cleared his throat.
“There was this flash…then a loud pop…” He looked up. “I must have fainted. When I came to, I got my bike and fetched Uncle Joey. My dad used to do some odd jobs for my uncle. Joey thought he was a jerk, but he had a thing for my mom, so he kept him on. He won’t admit it, but I did him a favor when I whacked my father. Saved him the trouble of doing it. Because Joey never messed with married women. It was a point of honor with him.”
He checked his watch again.
“You’d better go,” I said.
“I’m fucked up already. Another ten minutes won’t make a difference.” He looked at me. “He was a real horrible man, Terry. He…did things to me.”
I nodded, but he shook his head no. “You don’t know. How could you?” He paused. “You ever been with a guy, Terry? I know you didn’t do much with Bull…much to his chagrin. But maybe you and Reiss…”
I didn’t answer him.
Chris said, “I’m just trying to find out if you know your way around the male anatomy.”
He was leading me somewhere. I said, “I know the sensitive parts.”
He tapped the floor next to him, asking me to sit.
Up until then, I hadn’t realized I was still backed up against my desk, clutching my book. I had been a coiled wire for over half an hour. Suddenly, I gave myself permission to relax. Uncurling my shoulders…unclenching my jaw. It felt good. I went and sat beside him. My fear had vanished, but not my apprehension.
Quickly, he undid his zipper and pulled his jeans and Jockey shorts down to his shoes. He was wearing a long T-shirt that hid most of his nakedness, but not all of it. I looked away.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
I complied.
He placed my hand under the warm folds of his scrotum. I could feel skin tighten under my touch…see him growing hard. He noticed how nervous I was.
“Just a reaction ’cause you’re touching me. I’m not going to do anything.” He gently wrapped my fingers around one of his enormous testicles and spoke softly. “This one’s legit.” He brought my hand around his second testicle and forced my fingers to give it a hard squeeze. I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let me. “Obviously, this one’s a prosthesis.”
He curled my finger around the shaft of his erection.
“I have a rep for having the biggest balls in the school.” His voice was deep and melodic. “It’s probably true. First off, I’m a big guy and lucky enough to be proportional. But because I have only one testicle, when I reached puberty it grew twice the size of normal to make up for my loss.”
“Hypertrophy,” I said.
“Exactly,” Chris whispered. “It hypertrophied. I’ve had two operations to replace the prosthesis…to even things out. I’ve finally settled down. But for a while, I was pretty lopsided.”
“You weren’t born that way, were you?”
“No.” His eyes met mine. “My dad injured me in one of his drunken rages. Held me down and repeatedly kicked me between my legs. I had a massive hemorrhage.”
I flinched, tried to bring my hand to my throat. But he kept my fingers around his erection. I hadn’t realized it—his hypnotic voice had kept me spellbound—but we’d been stroking him together. I moved my eyes downward. He was fully extended. Quickly I averted my eyes.
“They surgically removed the worst one and used it to repair the better one. I don’t know if my dad meant to hurt me like he did. He claimed he was just trying to teach me a lesson. And he was all apologetic afterward. But that didn’t stop him from getting drunk a week later and coming at my mom with a butcher knife. Nice, huh?”
He let go of my hand, pulled up his pants, and zipped himself up. Without thinking, I reached out to him. He blinked, then melted in my arms, my breasts a pillow for his head, his arms hugging me tightly. He lowered his head to my lap and looked at me with soft eyes. I stroked his hair, wondering who this boy really was.
“No one knows. Not my uncle, not Lorraine, not anyone. My mom knew about it, of course. So did my aunt Donna—Joey’s wife. Now it’s just you.”
“I hope there’s no connection,” I said. “Your mom and your aunt are both dead.”
His laughter was genuine. I said, “You have a doctor?”
“Of course. Yeah, he knows about it, too. Which is another reason why I knew that Cheryl’s baby couldn’t have been mine. Every time I go in for a checkup, they take a sperm count. I’m not totally sterile, but it’s pretty damn low. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sire kids. That’s all right. I’d make a lousy father.”
“Did you use condoms with Cheryl that night?” I asked.
“Yeah. Not that Cheryl had a no glove, no love rule. She played it loose. It was me. I didn’t trust her.”
“Did you leave the condoms at the hotel?”
<
br /> “Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t expect Cheryl to die.”
“So the police have evidence against you.”
“I wouldn’t call it evidence against me. Yes, I fu…I had sex with her. So what? They still have to develop a case against me. They don’t have a motive.”
“Cheryl’s pregnancy.”
He kissed my crotch over my jeans. “It wasn’t mine—”
“Chris—”
“I know, I know. It looks bad.”
“You have to see your lawyers. You’re in trouble.”
“Yes, I am.” Again, he kissed denim between my legs. “I have to go. But I don’t want to go. Because once I leave here, I’m never going to see you again.”
“I don’t know about that.”
He sat up. “Teresa, I’m going down for this. No matter what the truth is, they’ll find a way to screw me. Because of my uncle. And when I go down, I don’t want your name associated with me, do you understand?”
“Chris—”
“Listen to me, Terry. Listen to me because I know what I’m talking about. It’s unlikely that the police’ll link me and you. We haven’t been together in months.”
He took my face and kissed me hard on the mouth.
“But if they do…talk to you…you were my tutor, I was your student. Nothing more. I told you in earnest that I never wanted you grunged by any of my dirt. I mean that now more than ever. Don’t call me. Don’t come to my place. Don’t write. Don’t try to contact me. Don’t do anything on my behalf. Just forget I ever existed!”
“I don’t know if I can accept that,” I said.
“You’ve got to accept it, angel, because you’re dead to me! It’s got to be that way!”
Chris ravaged my mouth, then let go of my face.
“You start…trying to defend me…defend a Donatti…if you do that, the authorities’ll turn on you like rabid dogs and drag you over concrete with razor-sharp teeth. All your hard work, Terry…all your dreams’ll be flushed down the crapper just because you had the bad luck to be loved by a bad boy. That’s the last thing I want. I’d rather do time than have them ruin you.”
“How would they ruin me?”
“Believe me, Terry, they have ways!”
19
The elevated view room was separated from the larger interview room by a darkened one-way mirror. As Decker made final adjustments on the tape recorder and video camera, Scott Oliver stepped inside, closed the door, and took a seat at the table.
“The secretary from the McCaffrey et al. law firm called. They’re going to be late.”
Decker stopped fiddling with the controls of the camera and looked at his watch. Fifteen past five. “They’re already late. Is Whitman with them?”
“She says Whitman’s with them. The car just got stuck in rush-hour traffic.” Oliver took out a comb and ran it through thick, wavy hair. “Hope she’s telling the truth. Because if she’s jiving me and the kid bolted, I’ll bring her down along with the shysters who’re supposed to be the kid’s keepers.”
Decker smoothed his mustache. “It’s a well-established firm. They’d know better than to cover for Whitman.”
“Joseph Donatti’s a very big guy.”
The room fell silent. A moment later, Davidson and Elaine Reuter, the polygraph administrator, came in. Elaine was tall and slender with an attractive but somewhat equine face. She sat down at the table, but Davidson leaned against the wall, peering into the empty interview room. Suddenly the area felt cramped. Decker broke into a sweat.
“Where the hell are Whitman and his legal eagles?” Davidson asked.
“Stuck in traffic,” Oliver said.
The lieutenant looked at his watch. “It’s twenty after. I don’t like it. We’ll go another ten minutes. Then we execute the warrant.”
Oliver said, “The secretary swears they’re on their way.”
“With Whitman.”
“With Whitman.”
“They’re hotshot lawyers,” Davidson said. “Their car must have a cellular phone.”
Oliver said, “I’ll get them on the horn.”
Decker said, “Might as well plan some strategy as long as we’re all here.”
Davidson looked at Oliver. “What’s he doing here?”
“He interviewed some of Whitman’s friends for me,” Decker said. “When I interview the kid, I want him around to make sure I don’t misquote his notes.”
“You want to do the polygraph before or after you question the kid?” Elaine asked.
“Before,” Decker said. “Get his initial reaction to the key questions on paper.”
“I got the cellular number.” Oliver started dialing. “Hope this sucker connects through.”
“Some people like to do the polygraph first,” Elaine said. “Other dees I’ve spoken with think it ruins the element of surprise during the interview.”
“I’m not pulling rabbits out of my hat,” Decker said. “I’m just using it as a gauge.”
Elaine said, “Since it’s inadmissible in court, it’s not good for much else. Too bad. In the hands of an experienced operator—like moi—you’ve got a real useful tool.”
“Unless you’ve got a psycho,” Oliver piped in, phone tucked under his chin. “Damn, another busy signal!”
“Do you have any problems with the questions I gave you?” Decker asked Elaine.
“No, they’re fine.”
Davidson said, “Lemme see the list.”
Elaine handed him a copy.
“How come you only got forty questions?”
“That’s all the firm’s allowing us,” Decker said.
“Including the basics,” Elaine said.
Davidson skimmed the questions. “So why are you asking Whitman about previous arrests? Isn’t his sheet clean?”
“According to the files, yes,” Decker said. “According to me, he’s been on the wrong side of the law before.”
“His lawyer’ll object to the questions. Write something else.”
“We’re testing Whitman’s reactions, Loo,” Decker said. “Even if the kid doesn’t answer the question, we’ll still get a reading on the graph when he hears it. Let the lawyers object.”
Oliver mimicked, “The cellular customer you are trying to reach is currently away from the mobile phone….” He slammed down the receiver. “I don’t like this.”
Davidson regarded the room clock. “Another minute.”
The phone rang. Decker picked it up, told the operator thank you. “They’re here.”
Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. The place fell silent. A moment later, uniformed officer Latimer escorted three figures into the interview room below.
Elaine’s eyes widened. “Who’s the big blond in the black silk blazer?”
“Christopher Whitman,” Decker said.
“He’s only eighteen?” Davidson said.
“According to his records,” Decker answered.
“I don’t believe it,” Elaine said.
“He looks older,” Davidson answered. “In his twenties.”
“Up close, he looks younger,” Decker said. “It’s his expression.”
“Yep,” Oliver agreed. “It says: Done it all, seen it all.”
“A genuine stud muffin,” Elaine answered. “He looks too good to be straight.”
Decker raised his brow. “Maybe he isn’t.”
“Homosexual panic,” Davidson nodded. “He couldn’t get it up. She teased him. He got pissed. No more teasing. I like that.”
Oliver said, “Weren’t there two used condoms in the room?”
“Not to mention the semen inside the victim,” Decker said.
Davidson said, “Who said the fluids belong to Whitman?”
Oliver asked, “Do they?”
“We haven’t asked Whitman for a sample yet,” Decker said. “Until now, I haven’t been able to approach him.”
“He likes classical music, doesn’t he?” Davidson said.
“
He’s a classical cellist,” Oliver said.
“Loo, lots of people like classical music,” Decker said.
“Not eighteen-year-old red-blooded males,” Davidson pronounced. “They like that heavy metal shit. Gets the hormones pumping. I’m telling you he’s queer.”
Elaine frowned. “Another one bites the dust.”
Davidson said, “Elaine, ask him if he’s ever had a homosexual encounter.”
“You’re over forty questions.”
“Throw it in anyway. And if you can get away with it, ask him if he’s homosexual or bisexual.”
“Got it,” Elaine answered. “Who’s the silver fox in the gray Armani suit?”
Decker studied the figure below—six one, one-eighty, medium build, alert blue eyes, round clean-shaven ruddy face, his cheeks imprinted with webs of small veins.
“James Moody,” he said. The guy must be close to sixty by now.”
“He looks good for his age,” Elaine said.
Decker’s eye drifted to the younger lawyer. Double-breasted Hugo Boss suit, white shirt, red silk tie. Five ten, one-ninety. Strong features, slicked-back black hair with dark eyes and thick brows. “The other one is Mark Kramarze. He likes young girls.”
Oliver said, “How young?”
“Pubescent but barely so.”
“What were your dealings with him?” Davidson asked.
“One of my old Foothill juvey cases involved a thirteen-year-old runaway who’d been roughed up.”
“Kramarze?” Oliver asked.
“Not officially,” Decker said. “She dropped the charges.”
Davidson said, “How much he pay her?”
“Probably five grand. That was the going rate.”
Oliver said, “Chrissie has himself surrounded by some fine citizens.”
“Kramarze is along as the secretary,” Decker said. “Moody’s the head honcho and he is good.”
“Turn up the mike,” Davidson said. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.” Oliver cranked up the volume.
Moody said, “Comfortable, Chris?”
Whitman nodded.
“Do you want some water?” Moody didn’t wait for an answer. “Officer, may we please have a pitcher and three glasses of water?”