by Brian Thiem
“I’m good.”
Sinclair took the chair Shaw had been sitting in. Braddock sat across the table from him. He opened his portfolio and slid out a yellow pad. He wrote the date, time, and room number in the upper corner.
“My name is Sergeant Sinclair and this is my partner Sergeant Braddock. We work homicide. Let’s start by confirming some information. Your last name is Shaw?”
“Yeah.”
“First name Brandon?”
“Yeah.”
“Middle name?”
“James.”
Sinclair continued asking him for information that would be required on a booking sheet, slowly writing his answers on his legal pad. Although he already knew most of Shaw’s personal information, going through the process got Shaw used to answering whatever Sinclair asked. When finished, he placed his pen on the pad and locked his eyes onto Shaw.
“Brandon, I’m sure you’re curious about why you’re here. I’d like to tell you why, but under the law, before we talk, I’m required to read you your rights. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, I guess. I got nothing to hide.”
Sinclair slid a form out of his notebook, and even though he knew it by heart, he read it verbatim. He kept his eyes on the form, avoiding eye contact, trying to make the Miranda waiver process seem like nothing more than a routine bureaucratic process.
“Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sinclair could see Shaw nodding his head.
“I need an oral response,” Sinclair said, pen poised above the paper.
“Yes.”
“Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?”
Chapter 30
Another reason Sinclair kept his eyes on the form was so that Shaw couldn’t see the anticipation in his face. Everything hinged on Shaw waiving his rights. The longer Shaw thought about it, the more likely he’d realize how dumb it was to talk. Sinclair had to make it appear as if it were no big deal.
“Well?” he asked, still looking at the form.
“Okay.”
Sinclair turned the form around and handed his pen to Shaw.
“I need your initials here, next to where I wrote Yes to you understanding your rights. And your initials here next to the Okay that you’re willing to talk with us. And then your signature here.”
After he initialed and signed, Sinclair slipped the form into his portfolio—out of sight, out of mind—wrote the time and Waived/Signed on his yellow pad, and then looked up at Shaw. “When I earlier asked your occupation and work address, you told me you’re a student at UC Berkeley. What’s your major?”
“Civil engineering.”
“That’s impressive. How are you doing?”
“It’s tough, but I’ve got a three-five GPA.”
“I guess you’re just beginning your junior year, huh?”
“That’s right.”
Sinclair took notes of his answers to get him used to the process, even though Sinclair knew they were lies. “Why do you live way down by Lake Merritt? Isn’t it easier if you live near campus?”
“I used to live there, but the rent is outrageous.”
“Did you live on campus or at a fraternity?”
“I lived in the dorms freshman year and tried a fraternity, but it didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“Too many rules. Worse than the dorms.”
“What fraternity was that?”
“Alpha Kappa Lambda.”
“So was that last year, your sophomore year, when you rushed the fraternity?”
Shaw’s eyes focused on Sinclair and then darted above and past him, finally settling on an imaginary spot on the wall. Sinclair could tell the gears were turning in his brain.
“That’s right,” Shaw finally said.
“So I guess you went to the party there during pledge week, like all new pledges.”
“I guess.”
“Did you or didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I was there, but I didn’t stay long.”
“How come?”
“It was sort of boring, so we left to check out other parties.”
“We? You and Adrian?”
“Who?”
“Adrian. Weren’t you with him that night?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about. That was a year ago. I don’t remember who I was with.”
“Were you with any girls?”
“No, not really.”
“How about these two?” Sinclair slid two photos in front of him.
Shaw stared at them for at least ten seconds before he looked up and said, “I don’t know them.”
“Never saw them before?”
“Nope.”
“Their names are Samantha and Jenny. Does that ring a bell?”
“I said I never saw them before.”
“Okay. We’ll be right back.” Sinclair and Braddock gathered up their paperwork and notebooks and left the room.
“Is he stupid or what?” said Braddock as she settled into her desk.
“He’s very bright. He thinks you and I are stupid.”
“Adrian Nadeiri’s in two-oh-two,” said Jankowski.
Sinclair and Braddock entered the interview room next to Shaw’s room and went through the same DNA collection process as they did earlier. After Jankowski said his line, Sinclair and Braddock began to leave. Sinclair stopped at the door. “We’ll be a few minutes. You want the paper or something to read?”
“That would be nice,” Nadeiri said.
“News? Sports?”
“Sports.”
Sinclair tossed the sports section of the San Francisco Chronicle on the table and shut the door.
“In five minutes, take the paper from him,” Sinclair said to Jankowski. “Tell him it’s yours and he can have it when you’re finished with it.”
Braddock raised her eyebrows.
“To show him he’s not in control here.”
Sinclair and Braddock returned to Shaw’s room. “We’re gonna take your statement and then get you out of here.”
He turned on the recorder, reread the Miranda warning, and had Shaw acknowledge that he was read his rights earlier and waived them. Oftentimes, a denial statement—a series of lies about a suspect’s involvement in a crime—when combined with evidence to the contrary, can be even more damaging to the suspect at trial than a confession. It shows a callousness and lack of remorse that a jury and sentencing judge will remember. Sinclair repeated his earlier questions and Shaw repeated his lies. When finished, Sinclair switched off the recorder.
He pulled Shaw’s chair toward him until their knees touched. He leaned in, his face inches from Shaw’s. “Brandon, you lied to us.”
Shaw looked away.
“Look at me,” Sinclair said.
Shaw looked up. After a few beats, Sinclair released his stare and leaned back in his chair. “We spoke to Cameron at the fraternity. He told us that you and Adrian . . .” Sinclair pulled a photocopy of Adrian’s driver’s license photo from his notebook and set it on the table. “Adrian Nadeiri and you brought those two girls to the party. They were underage and drugged, so Cameron asked you to leave. You and Adrian had sex with them.”
“No, we didn’t—”
“You’re still lying.” Sinclair set photocopies of the naked girls from Shaw’s cell phone on the table.
“Where’d you get those?”
“From your phone.”
“I know my rights. You can’t search my phone—”
“You signed the consent form back at your apartment. We have Adrian in the next room. He’s talking already.”
Shaw covered his face with his hands and rocked back and forth in his chair.
Sinclair peeled Shaw’s hands from his tear-streaked face.
“I don’t believe you’re a rapist.”
“I would never rape a girl.”
“But that’s how it looks.�
��
Shaw wiped his eyes and nose and slowly nodded his head.
“I’ll bet there’s an explanation for what happened,” said Sinclair. “But it can only come from you.”
“Adrian’s father said he took care of it.” Shaw sat up straight in his chair. “That if we never said a word, we’d be okay.”
“Adrian’s father can’t help you. Only you can do that.”
Shaw looked at the floor for a couple of minutes. Sinclair said nothing. Shaw finally looked up.
“Are you ready to tell the truth?” asked Sinclair.
Chapter 31
Over the next hour, Shaw told them everything. He and Adrian looking for action. Spotting Samantha and Jenny on College Avenue. Smoking a joint in People’s Park and then visiting a friend’s apartment and drinking some beer. The girls said they wanted to party and each took Ecstasy. Although Sinclair didn’t believe the girls took Ecstasy knowingly, he didn’t challenge Shaw on the issue.
The girls got friendly and they started making out—Shaw with Jenny and Nadeiri with Samantha. The studio apartment was crowded with people, so Shaw suggested they go to the frat house, where they could find an unoccupied room. They were just getting comfortable in one of the rooms when Cameron came in and asked them to leave. They got in Nadeiri’s car and drove to a rave concert in Richmond. The guards wouldn’t let anyone in without ID proving they were eighteen.
Sinclair interrupted. “How old were the girls?”
“Jenny said she was eighteen and Sam sixteen,”
“Did you see their IDs?”
“No.”
“Would it surprise you to know that Jenny was fifteen and Samantha was fourteen?”
Shaw shrugged but said nothing. Sinclair had him continue.
“We hung around outside the rave for a while, drank some beer, and smoked some more weed. Me and Adrian talked about going over to his place. His father would be asleep, and we could do whatever we wanted. He’s got like an apartment over the garage behind the main house.”
“So is that what you did?”
“Yeah, we drove over there. The lights were off in Adrian’s father’s house, so we knew he was asleep. The girls were feeling tired and wanted another Ecstasy pill.”
“They asked for it?”
“I don’t remember,” Shaw said. “Maybe the beer and weed was getting to them, but they wanted to keep partying. Maybe Adrian suggested it . . . I don’t remember, but I gave them another X. We had the music on, not real loud ’cause we didn’t want to wake Adrian’s parents. We were dancing and the girls were getting hot and took off their clothes.”
Sinclair saw Braddock stop writing and bite her lower lip. Ecstasy caused users’ body temperature to rise. When combined with other drugs and alcohol that lowered inhibition, it was common to see kids at raves stripped to their underwear. He was feeling the same disgust as Braddock, but he had faith that if a jury heard Shaw’s self-justifying bullshit, they’d see right through it and feel the same way he and Braddock felt at this moment, so he didn’t challenge Shaw’s story.
“The photos of those girls on your cell phone don’t look like two girls all hot and amped up on Ecstasy. What else did they take?” asked Sinclair.
“Just beer and weed.”
Sinclair stared at him. “We found traces of Rohypnol in both girls.”
“Roofies—no way. You’re not gonna pin no date rape on me.”
Sinclair sat silently, waiting.
“I picked up some Xanaxes at the rave.”
“Why Xanax?”
“Did you ever try to go to sleep after taking X?” Shaw asked.
Sinclair looked at him.
“I guess not,” Shaw said. “You can either stay awake half the next day until you crash or take something to come down. Xanax works.”
“But not roofies?”
“They’ll bring you down, but they can make you do weird shit.”
“Like have sex with someone and not remember?”
“I didn’t give anyone a roofie. Look, the girls were high on the X, sweating and clenching their teeth. I gave them a Xanax and they calmed down. Adrian took Sam into his room, and me and Jenny went into the guest room.”
“And you fucked her?”
“You already know that. You got my DNA.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There’s nothing to tell. We did it. She wanted to. It’s not like I forced her. It was just regular sex, nothing kinky. Then Jenny started dozing. I took the pictures, you know, to remember the night, and next thing I know, Adrian’s father’s in the apartment. He calls some guy who works for him. We get the girls dressed, and the man takes them home.”
Sinclair turned to Braddock. It was tough being the secondary during an interview—take notes, don’t interrupt the primary, let him determine the strategy—basically keep your mouth shut and bite your tongue. “Sergeant Braddock, do you have any questions for Brandon before we go on tape?”
“Just a few,” she smiled. “Did Jenny ever tell you to stop, either before you entered her or while you were having intercourse?”
“No.”
“Was she participating, you know, moving with you, or was she just lying there?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” Braddock leaned toward Shaw and furrowed her eyebrows. “When I’m making love with someone, I fully participate. Could it be that she wasn’t participating because she wasn’t mentally present—because she was so drugged that she was comatose?”
Sinclair interrupted Braddock. “Let’s turn on the recorder and finish this up.”
The recorded statement took a half hour. When they returned to their desks, Braddock said, “I’m sorry. I lost it in there.”
“Yeah, you did. We both know what happened in that bedroom, and any jury will know as well once they see the evidence and hear this tape. But we can’t push him so hard that he shuts down. We got what we needed on the rape. Now we have to keep him talking until we can put a red line through the murders.”
Sinclair turned to Jankowski. “How you coming with the warrant?”
“All done except for whatever Shaw told you.”
Sinclair gave him a quick summary of Shaw’s statement. “Add what’s relevant to the affidavit, get the warrant signed, and serve it. I doubt you’ll find any physical evidence of the rape after thirteen months, but be on the lookout for anything related to the murders.”
Sinclair gave his notes to Sanchez and asked him to comb through them for any information that he could add to his database.
“The Internet has a bunch of stuff on Nadeiri’s father,” said Sanchez. “In 1979, Rashid Nadeiri was a twenty-four-year-old engineering doctoral student at UC, Berkeley, but had to return home due to the Iranian Revolution. He left two years later because of the ruling clergy’s repression. He got a job at Microsoft then went to Oracle, where he worked his way to the top levels. Ten years ago, he and another man started their own company, and two years ago, his company, Nadgold, climbed into the top one hundred grossing companies in the Bay Area.”
“I guess his engineering degree wasn’t for building bridges,” said Sinclair.
“Computer systems, programming, and software.”
“Any record?”
“Clean as a whistle, but that kind of money could keep plenty of dirt hidden.”
Sinclair and Braddock opened the door to Nadeiri’s interview room and found him pacing back and forth. His hair was damp, his face covered in sweat.
Sinclair read him his rights and Nadeiri said he understood them. “Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?” Sinclair asked.
“I’d like my father present,” Nadeiri said.
Sinclair pulled Nadeiri’s printout from his notebook. No CORPUS, so no arrests since he was eighteen. His JUVIS showed arrests for shoplifting, vandalism, and possession of marijuana at fourteen. Possession for sales of marijuana and joyriding at fifteen. No convictions. Not
hing since.
“You’re an adult now. Having a parent present is a right for kids.”
Nadeiri wiped his eyes with shaky hands. “Okay, let’s talk.”
Just as with Shaw, Sinclair allowed Nadeiri to deny everything, took a taped denial statement, and then confronted him with his lies. Nadeiri’s story was similar to Shaw’s, but he claimed he didn’t know what kind of drugs Shaw gave him and the girls. He said he was high and probably not thinking straight. When he took Samantha into his bedroom, she began crying. She said she didn’t want to have sex, but she didn’t resist. Although she said she was older, once he saw her naked, he realized she wasn’t much older than fourteen.
Nadeiri began describing his father’s entrance into the apartment when Sanchez cracked the door and handed Sinclair a note. Jankowski encountering major problem with BPD and an Atty over the warrant. When you can break, he needs to talk to you.
Sinclair got more out of Nadeiri than he had expected, and after four hours in the interview rooms, he and Braddock needed a breather anyway.
“We’re going to take a short break. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“Water would be nice.”
Braddock grabbed two cups and headed to the water cooler, and Sinclair called Jankowski’s cell.
“I hate to bother you with this shit. If it was my case, I’d just tell ’em all to fuck off, but since it’s yours—”
“What’s up?”
“First of all, this is a big ass house, so I brought O’Connor and Larsen with me. I called Berkeley since we’re in their city. They sent two uniforms over. We knock and announce and your kid’s father answers the door. I give him a copy of the warrant and he shows me the kid’s apartment over the garage. Larsen’s babysitting him back in the main house. It’s on the warrant too, so we’ll search it next.”
“Sounds good so far,” said Sinclair.
“Soon a Berkeley PD sergeant shows up, starts nosing around. Then Larsen buzzes me, says a lawyer showed up and talked to the father. Larsen orders the lawyer to stay with him so he can keep an eye on him along with the father. Lawyer ignores him and heads straight to my location. Guy walks right in on us. You ever heard of Robert Zimmerman?”