Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 08

by Justice

  Latimer nodded and left the room to fetch.

  “How long do you think this will take?” Kramarze asked.

  “Pitch a tent, Mark,” Moody said. “You’re going to miss the ball game. Take out the recorder and start setting up.” He looked at the one-way mirror. “Can we get going please?”

  Decker spoke into the mike. “We were ready a half hour ago, Mr. Moody.”

  “It heartens me to see LA’s finest so prompt.” Moody took a leather folder from his briefcase and a gold pen. “Glad to see my tax dollars at work.”

  Elaine turned to Decker. “Want me to set up now?”

  “Please.” Decker studied the men through the one-way mirror, watched Whitman’s reaction when Elaine came in pushing a cart that held not only the polygraph machine but also a printer, a ream of computer graph paper, and a half-dozen dangling electrodes.

  Whitman’s eyes fell on the cart, but Decker saw that he stared through the equipment, his expression flat and vacant. Something about him was different. He didn’t appear scared or nervous or even apprehensive. But he wasn’t the cocky teen Decker had interviewed yesterday.

  Decker studied the kid’s face.

  Whitman seemed deflated. Something—or someone—had knocked the wind from his sails.

  Elaine began hooking the electrodes up to her stud muffin, separating arm hair, exposing tiny patches of Whitman’s skin to get optimal conduction between body and machine.

  The boy didn’t flinch.

  And that said a lot. Because Decker knew that electrodes on the skin always conjured up images of the electric chair.

  To Elaine Moody said, “May I see the list of preprinted questions?”

  “That isn’t normal procedure,” Elaine said evenly. “Besides, you couldn’t read my handwriting. However, you can guide your client any way you see fit.”

  “Thank you for your permission.”

  “No need for the sarcasm, Jimmy,” Decker said.

  “Moody’s uptight,” Davidson said.

  “He’s trying to intimidate Elaine,” Decker said. “She’s too much the pro to buy into that.”

  Davidson said, “The kid looks guilty to me.”

  “He isn’t acting nervous,” Oliver said.

  Davidson continued to peer through the mirror. “Well, he looks something.”

  “Not more than forty questions,” Moody said to Elaine. “I’m keeping track. We’ve agreed to cooperate with authorities, but not at the expense of my client’s health.”

  “I’ll say,” Oliver said. “Whitman looks tired. That’s not good. Fatigue deadens the emotions. Look at how passive he is with Elaine. She’s plugging him in and he’s just sitting there like road kill. You don’t have any anxiety, you’re gonna pass the test.”

  “He’s got anxiety,” Davidson said. “Look at his eyes.”

  “His eyes look dead to me,” Oliver said. “I’m telling you, there’s no one home over there.”

  Elaine spoke with a seasoned air. “I’m going to do some preliminary tests on you, Mr. Whitman. Just to make sure the machine is working properly. Is that all right with you?”

  Chris paused a beat, then said yes.

  “Uh-oh,” Oliver said. “I don’t like that, either. The pause before he answered. Someone coached him on how to use the machine—to wait before answering, even if the question is routine.”

  “Of course someone coached him,” Decker said. “He’s being represented by the best.”

  “The best the mob can buy,” Davidson said.

  Elaine said to Moody, “These are just test questions. They don’t count in the list of forty questions.”

  “In your mind, they don’t,” Moody said. “In my mind, they do.”

  Whitman crooked a finger at Moody. The lawyer bent over and Chris whispered in his attorney’s ear.

  Moody straightened up and said, “We’ll let it pass.”

  Officer Latimer came back in with the water and three glasses. Moody said, “Would you like something to drink, Chris?”

  Whitman shook his head no.

  Elaine started with her test questions, Whitman answered them mechanically, his voice a soft monotone.

  “He’s good,” Davidson said.

  Decker nodded. “Yes, he is.”

  Elaine asked for the go-ahead. Davidson gave her the green light.

  “Is your name Christopher Sean Whitman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you eighteen years old?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you born in New York City on July first?”

  “Yes.”

  “And were you adopted at the age of thirteen by Joseph and Donna Angelica Donatti?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Mr. Donatti still your legal father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Mr. Donatti currently supporting you?”

  Moody broke in. “Ms. Reuter, what financial arrangements father and son make bears no relevance to you or your case. Next question.”

  “Number-one goal of the shysters,” Oliver whispered. “Get Donatti out of the picture.”

  “You got it,” Decker said.

  “Mr. Whitman, do you attend Central West Valley High School?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a senior at Central West Valley High School?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you attend the senior prom at Central West Valley High School?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever been arrested before?”

  Again Moody interrupted. “The police know very well that Mr. Whitman has a clean record. It was stated at his bail hearing.”

  Davidson looked at Decker. “Told you.”

  Decker shrugged.

  Moody said, “What number question, Mark?”

  “Ten.”

  “Proceed.”

  Elaine said, “Did you attend the senior prom at Central West Valley High School with a date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was your date Cheryl Diggs?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was Cheryl Diggs your girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “What?” Davidson growled. “Of course she was his girlfriend! Fucking liar.”

  Elaine said, “Have you ever had sex with Cheryl Diggs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever had a homosexual encounter?”

  “No.”

  “On the night of the prom, were you aware of the fact that Cheryl Diggs was pregnant?”

  Whitman paused. “I can’t answer that yes or no.”

  “Next question,” Moody said.

  Oliver said, “Why can’t he answer that yes or no?”

  Decker said, “I don’t know. Elaine knows what I want. She’ll get it out of him.”

  Elaine said, “Mr. Whitman, on the night of the prom, did you suspect that Cheryl Diggs might be pregnant?”

  “No.”

  Elaine paused. “Mr. Whitman, on the night of the prom, did Cheryl Diggs tell you she was pregnant?”

  “Yes,” Whitman answered.

  “Good going, Elaine,” Decker whispered.

  “Did Cheryl Diggs tell you that you were the father of the baby she was carrying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you believe her when she told you that the baby was yours?”

  “No.”

  “Did you believe her when she told you she was pregnant?”

  Whitman held up his hands and shrugged. “Can’t answer that yes or no.”

  “Next,” Moody said. “Where are we, Mark?”

  “We’re up to twenty-one questions,” Kramarze answered.

  Elaine said, “Mr. Whitman, do you believe that you fathered Cheryl Diggs’s conception?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Whitman, after the senior prom, did you and Cheryl attend parties?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have sex with Cheryl Diggs at any of those aforementioned parties?”

  “No.”

&nb
sp; “Were you alone with Cheryl Diggs at the Grenada West End Hotel in room three-fourteen the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you have sex with Cheryl Diggs in room three-fourteen at the Granada West End Hotel the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have sex twice with Cheryl Diggs in the aforementioned hotel the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, the energy of youth,” Oliver said wistfully.

  “Did you have sex three times with Cheryl Diggs in the aforementioned hotel the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “No.”

  “Did you witness or hear of Cheryl Diggs having sex with any other man the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I didn’t hear or see anything. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

  “A yes or no answer, Mr. Whitman.”

  “Skip over the question,” Moody said. “It’s improperly stated.”

  Elaine moved on. “At the Grenada West End Hotel, on the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward, did you in any way bind, tie, or help secure Cheryl Diggs’s hands to the headboard using ropes, articles of clothing, or anything else as constraints.”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever tied up Cheryl Diggs as part of your sexual interplay with her?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever tied up any person as part of your sexual interplay with that person?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever tied up anyone, for any reason, in the last ten years?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a homosexual?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever murdered anyone?”

  Moody said, “Ms. Reuter, for the second time, Mr. Whitman has a clean record for all the world to see. Your question is not only biased and prejudicial but insulting and irrelevant. If you can’t keep your questions more germane to Miss Diggs’s unfortunate case, we can stop now.”

  Elaine said, “Mr. Whitman, were you drinking the night of the prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever had blackouts from your drinking?”

  “Don’t answer that, Chris,” Moody said.

  “Why’d he object?” Davidson asked Decker.

  “Blackouts could be for the prosecution or for the defense. Moody doesn’t know how he wants to use it, so he doesn’t want to deal with it.”

  “Where are we, Mark?” Moody asked.

  “Thirty-six.”

  “Four more, Ms. Reuter.”

  Elaine said, “Mr. Whitman, were you drunk the night of the prom?”

  Moody said, “In the absence of any clinical analysis, the question postulates a subjective state of mind which my client is neither prepared nor skilled to give. Proceed to the next question.”

  “Have you ever taken drugs?”

  “Ms. Reuter, for the last time, Mr. Whitman’s record is clean,” Moody said. “I am sorely losing my patience.”

  “Mr. Whitman, did you murder Cheryl Diggs the night of your senior prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “No.”

  “Did you, in any way, do harm to Cheryl Diggs so as to cause her death the night of your senior prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  “No.”

  “That’s forty,” Kramarze stated.

  Elaine said quickly, “Mr. Whitman, did you in any way, wittingly or unwittingly, do harm to Cheryl Diggs so as to cause her death the night of your senior prom or in the early morning afterward?”

  Moody broke in. “Again, you are asking Mr. Whitman to evaluate something subjective. How does he know what he might have done unwittingly?”

  Kramarze said, “And we’re up to forty-one, Mr. Moody.”

  “We are done,” Moody stated.

  Elaine said, “Mr. Whitman, have you been completely truthful in answering these questions?”

  “Yes.”

  Elaine smiled at Moody. “Now we’re done.”

  20

  “He passed.”

  “What?” Decker said. “All of it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “’Fraid not.”

  Davidson grabbed the test results from Elaine Reuter’s hand. “These tests are garbage! No wonder they’re not admissible as evidence.”

  “I told you he was going to pass,” Oliver said, combing his hair. “He’s wiped out. He doesn’t give a shit. No anxiety, no fluctuation in the galvanic skin response.”

  Elaine said, “There’s some truth to that.”

  “Or he’s a psycho,” Davidson said.

  “There’s truth to that, too,” Elaine said. “A pathological liar could probably beat it.”

  Decker took the test results from Davidson. “Were any of his answers inconclusive?”

  “Some variation when I asked about an arrest record—”

  Decker cleared his throat.

  Davidson glared at him. “You got a problem with mucus, Decker?”

  “No,” Decker said. “I got a problem with Whitman’s clean sheet. I know he’s been caged before.”

  “Call New York,” Oliver said. “Kid’s not that old. Even if his records as a juvey have been sealed, someone’s bound to remember a crime committed by Joseph Donatti’s son.”

  “Anything else show up funny, Elaine?” Decker asked.

  “He also had a little wiggle when I asked him about tying girls up. Betcha he’s had some bondage fantasies. But nothing jumped out beyond the norm.”

  Davidson swore. “This is really going to put us in a one-down position when we interview him. Once the little shit knows the results, he’s gonna be an impossible nut to crack.”

  Elaine said, “Delay it. Tell them I went for dinner, will have the results back in an hour or so.”

  “They’ll see through it,” Oliver said.

  “Probably,” Decker said. “But it won’t hurt to increase Whitman’s anxiety. Like Scott said, the kid could use a dose of nervousness.”

  “Goddamn mother F!” Davidson said. “How’d he pass it?”

  Decker shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t do anything.”

  Davidson glared at Decker. “He did it. You know it and I know it.”

  “Let’s backtrack for a minute,” Decker said. “Whitman admitted screwing Cheryl twice. I think that explains the two used condoms we found in the hotel room. But she also had lots of semen inside of her.” He paused. “There’s another guy unaccounted for, Lieutenant.”

  Oliver said, “Some of Whitman’s friends told me they’d been raging before they reached the hotel. Cheryl had been seen with a lot of guys.”

  Decker said, “So she had plenty of opportunity for sex before Whitman got to her at the hotel.”

  Elaine said, “But Whitman was with her at the parties.”

  Decker said, “I’m sure he wasn’t with her every single moment. We’re talking about teenage boys.” He smiled. “I mean, how long does it take?”

  “That’s what pushed him over the edge,” Davidson said.

  “Come again?” Elaine said.

  “Simple,” Davidson said. “He slipped it in, realized she’d already put out for someone else. He went psycho.”

  Elaine said, “Except he didn’t consider Cheryl his girlfriend.”

  “That’s according to him,” Davidson said. “According to everyone else, they were tight. Stick to polygraphs, Reuter.”

  Decker said, “Lieutenant, if she had had sex with another man prior to Whitman…and Whitman was the one who used condoms…there’d have been semen found on the outside of the skins.”

  Oliver nodded. “Was any found?”

  “I’ll check.” Decker’s eyes went to Davidson’s. “Matter of fact, I think the best t
hing to do is go back to basics and check out everything about this case…all the different leads.”

  Davidson’s eyes grew hot. “Right now, Decker, the best thing to do is lean on Whitman. You go in and interview the hell out of that kid. Grill him hard and don’t let up. I know psychos and killers, and he’s a psycho and a killer.”

  “But a tired one with no anxiety,” Oliver said.

  Davidson said, “That’s exactly when you want to attack, Oliver. When the defenses are down and the mind’s confused. By him coming in tired, he’s done half our work for us.”

  “Loo,” Oliver said, “I know wisdom states that you want to wear your suspects down…they become vulnerable when they’re tired. But that’s not this guy. Let him go home and sleep. Give him a chance to build up his arrogance. He’s a surefooted son of a bitch. If anything trips him up, it will be his cockiness.”

  “Oliver, you’re a good homicide cop,” Davidson said. “But you’re wrong.” He turned to Decker. “You’re going to do this right?”

  “Only way I know how to work,” Decker said.

  “Good,” Davidson said. “Now I got a couple of phone calls to make. You go get that little psycho.”

  Davidson left the room, slamming the door behind him. Decker turned to Oliver. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”

  “I do, too,” Elaine said. “Whitman wasn’t my typical subject. Nothing riled him. Way too passive.”

  “Fatigue.” Oliver shook his head. “Not that I personally think Whitman’s innocent. I think he’s guilty.”

  “Why?” Elaine said.

  “Picture I got of him from talking to his friends,” Oliver said. “A cold mother.”

  “He’s a spooky kid,” Decker said.

  Elaine sighed. “The good ones are always gay or weird.”

  Oliver smiled. “I’d like to see him nailed. I’m just saying, if you go after someone, do it in the best way possible.”

  “I’ll work around it,” Decker said. “Got a few aces up my sleeve…thanks for the support, Scott.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I just don’t understand Davidson’s attitude. You don’t crucify without evidence. The loo’s got a real hair up his ass with this one.”

  Several, Decker thought. And they’re all African American.

  Decker walked into the interview room, taking a seat opposite Whitman. He pulled out a cigarette pack and slid it across the table. Whitman eyed the cellophane carton, then pulled out a smoke and placed it between his lips. Decker lit his cigarette.