Fourth Wall (An Anthony Carrick Mystery Book 8)

by Jason Blacker

  THERE were four interrogation rooms at the Hollywood Station. And two observation rooms. I liked to call them observation decks, but this wasn’t really a cruise. Though looking at Labecki as he sat in the room with his lawyer, I felt as relaxed as if I was on the open seas drinking a margarita. But let’s not count our chickens before they start squawking.

  So from the observation room you have a view into two interrogation rooms. The observation rooms are sandwiched between two interrogation rooms. You get the picture. As it turned out we had all started in the first observation room. From that room we could see Penman and Gudaitis. Gudaitis’ lawyer had arrived and was sitting with him. He was an older man in a gray suit with gray hair and gray skin. Penman didn’t have a lawyer or she hadn’t asked for one. That had made Roberts nervous. She just had to ask for one and he had to shut down his interview until he found one for her or she called for one herself. Beeves and I were sitting pretty.

  But there is a problem having lawyers in with your interviewee. You end up traveling a maze of unimportant questions in order to get the answers you want from your suspect. But before we head inside to chat with Labecki, let’s let him sweat a bit and see how Roberts is getting on.

  Sometimes you head into an interrogation with a large cream-colored folder. That’s the case folder. You’ve seen this approach on TV, but I’ve gotta be honest with you, it’s not always very effective. You see, if you’ve got a lot of evidence on your perp you’re usually not gonna need to interview them. Though that depends on the detective. Roberts and I usually didn’t go in with a file. The best we might do is take in a yellow scratch pad for some notes. This way the perp is wondering what you’ve got on them. You aren’t showing any of your hand. And unless your perp has been thoroughly schooled in the justice system he, or in this case she, knows only what they’ve seen on TV which is frankly, nothing.

  Roberts walked in and casually tossed the yellow writing pad on his side of the desk. He smiled at her. His schtick was always to play the pal.

  “Ms. Penman, I’m Captain Roberts. John Roberts. You can call me John. How are you doing this morning?”

  She looked up at him sullenly.

  “How do you think I’m doing?”

  He smiled a gracious smile at her. He nodded at her.

  “I understand,” he said. “This is very unfortunate. Can I get you a soda or a coffee or something?”

  He was leaning over the chair and looking down at her. He had a kind uncle sort of look to his face. I missed this part of our relationship. He and I taking on a case together.

  She looked up at him and stared for a while. She was trying to figure out if this was an act or a play. It was an act, but she wouldn’t know that. Johnny Rotten could be very patient and persuasive as a kind uncle. I’d seen it hundreds of times. He kept a soft smile on his face. Finally she broke.

  “I’ll have a coffee,” she said.

  He nodded warmly at her.

  “How do you take it?” he asked.

  “Cream if you have it or milk. That’s all.”

  She was broken but she didn’t know it. I’d forgotten how good JR was. We had similar styles. Now most of you were thinking he was only offering her a drink so he could grab her fingerprints. But you’d be wrong. It’s hard to get fingerprints off the paper cups you serve coffee in, and if it’s styrofoam then you’re out of luck. No, this was about developing rapport. He didn’t need her fingerprints. Those were a done deal. Remember, she’s already been charged and printed for capital murder against Ancher. Roberts is just going for the full meal.

  He left the room, leaving his yellow pad and a pencil he’d put on top of it in the room. That wasn’t the smartest move. He entered the observation deck where I was, grinning at me. I nodded at him.

  “I forgot your skills,” I said.

  He grinned.

  “You coulda been a contender, Johnny, a real movie star,” I said.

  “Yeah, my one trick pony, playing good cop,” he said.

  “I’ve seen you play bad cop.”

  “Except that’s not acting,” he grinned.

  We watched her for a while. She looked around tentatively before sliding the pad and pencil over to her side. She started doodling. We didn’t have a great view of what it was she was doing, but it was a drawing of some sort. Around ten minutes of watching her, Roberts left the observation deck. He’d snuck a peak at Beeves in the other room, but Beeves wasn’t getting anywhere. Gudaitis’ lawyer was as stiff as a board who wouldn’t let his client answer anything so it seemed.

  A few minutes later Roberts reentered the interrogation room and Penman slid the pad away from her very quickly. Roberts was carrying two cups of coffee. They were in paper cups and looked like kids’ sizes you might get from Starbucks.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking a seat opposite her and offering her the cup. “I wanted to make a fresh batch, you know how these cops are. They’ll drink warmed car oil if they think it’s coffee.”

  She smiled at that.

  “But no promises,” he said. “I’m afraid, it’s not Starbucks.”

  She picked it up to take a sip but then stopped.

  “Are you giving me this so you can get my fingerprints or DNA?” she asked, putting the cup back down and pushing it away from herself.

  Roberts laughed.

  “No, I think you’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV. Fingerprints can be difficult to get off of paper, and anyway, we have yours already. As for the DNA, unless you’re spitting into that cup it’s incredibly hard to get enough just from the rim where your lips touch. In fact, I’d say it was probably not worth it to try. But more than that though, this isn’t the sort of crime where we’re looking to get DNA evidence from you. And if we were, it’s far easier to get a DNA warrant than to try and fool you. Anyway, if you’re worried, take the cup with you when you leave.”

  That seemed to calm her mind and she picked up the cup of coffee and took a sip.

  “How is it?” asked Roberts, as eager as a puppy for a pet. I didn’t think she could resist.

  “Not bad for warm motor oil,” she said.

  This was it, the camaraderie was developing already. She was being reeled in like a fat fish. I started to get nervous. JR was better at this than I had remembered. I exited the observation deck and went to visit my interviewee.

  “That’s a nice drawing,” said Roberts, looking down at what looked like a female anime figure. “I think my daughter likes her. She’s a popular anime character. I just can’t remember her name…”

  Roberts looked at Penman hopefully.

  “She’s The Snake Princess, Boa Hancock. She’s the only female character of the Shichibukai.”

  Roberts nodded.

  “Yes, I remember now, she’s the one who likes to beat up on men, right?”

  “Yes, but that’s only because she has good reason to do it. She’s tall enough too. Six foot three inches and when she gets angry everyone needs to watch out. But she’s not really a man hater. In fact she’s found true love with Luffy.”

  Roberts nodded like he was going along. What he was thinking was how similar this character was to Penman herself, though Penman was not a tall woman.

  “My daughter thinks it’s a riot that Boa here gets to beat up on the boys. I think that’s part of what she likes best about the character.”

  “Well, she’s a very strong woman. Physically and mentally and emotionally. What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Gloria,” said Roberts.

  Astute readers will realize that is not his real daughter’s name. But you never give out accurate personal information to suspects. But you stick close to the truth if you can. That’s interrogation 101.

  “She’s thirteen,” said Roberts. “Takes after her mother who is also a very strong woman.”

  “I suppose she would have to be, being married to a cop,” said Penman.

  “You’re right there,” said Roberts, nodding, and smiling and playing
the kind uncle as if he really were one.

  “You’re a good artist,” he said. “I wish I could draw that well. I used to have a partner who was an artist. We worked well together.”

  “Was he killed in the line of duty?” asked Penman.

  Roberts thought for a moment if he should pretend that Carrick had died. It’d create a great sympathetic bond. But he decided against it.

  “No, though he left to try and pursue a career as an artist.”

  “How is that going?”

  “Not well,” said Roberts, smiling. “We hire him back on now and then as a civilian consultant.”

  “You do that?”

  “Now and then when the need arises. We hire all sorts of outside consultants, especially when we have specific cases we need help on. Perhaps we need someone to identify minerals or other soil matter on the bottom of a shoe for example. If our lab isn’t up to the task we can bring on outside help. But they have to be vetted though.”

  “So it’s not like in the movies?” she asked. “Where every police agency has all the tools they need for everything.” She smiled at the irony of only figuring this out now.

  “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t make for good TV. Police work is often slow and tedious most of the time. And the cost of a lab that could do everything they do on TV would just be onerous. No community would allow for that sort of a budget. Though the FBI does have three world famous labs that we can access. But you can imagine the time constraints on them.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?”

  “Well, it’s not top secret information. Most of it is available on the net if you searched hard enough. But I guess I understand you, Gina. You remind me a little of my daughter.” That was a lie, but it was said with such honesty anyone would have believed it. “I know why you killed Anna and Orpen and Beale.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t hurt any of them, they were my friends.”

  And the waterworks came. She was convincing too. She was a better actor than the other three combined. Roberts reached his hand across the table and put it over hers.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “It can be hard to accept what you’ve done after something like this.”

  “But I didn’t do it!” Penman was getting visibly angry now. Roberts was losing his connection. So he got up.

  “I’ll get you some tissue,” he said.

  “Why won’t you let him answer any questions?” asked Beeves looking at the gray, unflinching, unsmiling lawyer.

  “Because you’re asking inappropriate questions,” said the lawyer.

  Beeves looked at him and then back at Gudaitis.

  “You’re not making it any easier on yourself,” said Beeves. “Your lawyer is not helping you. You’re facing life in prison.”

  “Only if he’s found guilty,” said the lawyer. “And without looking at the evidence I hardly think that’s a slam dunk.”

  Beeves ignored him.

  “We have you in the gift shop giving the poisoned bottles of juice to the saleswoman to pack up and send to Beale from her husband. Only thing is, you’re not her husband.”

  Gudaitis looked over at his lawyer. His lawyer nodded.

  “I was doing a favor for a friend,” he said. “She wanted to surprise Mary with her favorite pomegranate products, and she wanted it to come from Mary’s husband. She knew he wouldn’t mind. So that’s why I was using Emmett’s credit card. I don’t know how those juice bottles got filled with poison.”

  “And who was this friend?” asked Beeves.

  “Gina, Gina Penman,” said Gudaitis.

  “We understand you’re more than friends,” said Beeves.

  Gudaitis shrugged.

  “What has that got to do with his charges?” asked the lawyer.

  “You’d know exactly what that’s got to do with it counselor. It speaks to motive.”

  “I’m not sure what else my client is willing to discuss with you,” said the lawyer.

  “Maybe I can help persuade him then,” said Beeves. “You know Cliff, we have your two friends in the other rooms being interviewed as we speak.”

  “Who?” asked Gudaitis.

  “Your girlfriend Penman and her father Kyle Labecki,” said Beeves. Gudaitis betrayed his calm manner as a shadow of astonishment crossed his face.

  “That’s right,” said Beeves, seeing the blink of panic in Gudaitis, “you might think that you and Gina are thick as thieves, but I wonder if you feel as comfortable with Labecki not spilling the beans.”

  “He doesn’t know anything,” said Gudaitis.

  “You willing to bet your life on it, because that’s what it comes down to if you’re wrong. The first to spill is the only one to get a deal with the DA.”

  “Can you give me a moment with my client?” asked the lawyer.

  Beeves nodded and stood up. He took his pad and pen with him and left the room. He entered the other observation room to see how Anthony Carrick was doing.

  Roberts came back into the room. He was carrying a box of tissues. He put them down on the table in front of Penman. He could tell she was faking it. It was the most common fake amongst female suspects, bursting into tears. But still, he chose to play it calmly and friendly. He wasn’t sure if he had lost her or not. He gave her some time to grab some tissues and dab at the wet crocodile tears.

  “I know it’s upsetting, Gina, but if you start to face the truth it will get easier, I promise.”

  “The truth is you’ve got me in here on trumped up charges.”

  She was a tough nut to crack. Her personality had almost done a one eighty from the shy, quiet Director’s Assistant they had met just a couple of days ago. Roberts was starting to feel like he might have to come on a lot stronger. And he wasn’t sure that would get him anywhere either. It was a difficult balancing act.

  “You know we have you on Ancher’s murder, Gina. We have an eye-witness who saw you making hot chocolate for her and we have the forensic evidence of the drugs in that hot chocolate. Enough Percocet and Lunesta to put a horse to sleep.”

  Penman’s once pretty face took on a sullen gray look, and it wasn’t pretty. But she didn’t say anything.

  “The NSA has helped us crack into JollyRogerLockerdotcom,” continued Roberts, “and guess what they found?”

  He was still smiling gently at her, trying to get back into her good graces. It wasn’t working. Penman shrugged. What Roberts couldn’t figure out was why she hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet.

  “They found that a username of Millstonesrevenge had ordered arsenic and ethylene glycol from that site and had it shipped to Kyle Labecki’s place. Tell me, Gina, did Kyle know what he was having shipped on your behalf?”

  “What does Millstone’s revenge have to do with me?”

  “Everything, it points to you as the purchaser of those poisons. The account name at JollyRogerLocker was Carrie N. White. Do you know who that is?”

  Penman shrugged again, pretending that she didn’t. But it was an obvious fake.

  “Carrie N. White is from that iconic Stephen King novel, Carrie.”

  “Then whoever purchased those poisons was well read, I guess.”

  “But Millstone Academy. That’s where you’re from. And we know what happened to you there. We know about the rape at the hands of Orpen and the involvement of Beale and Ancher in that rape. Millstonesrevenge sounds like the sort of username of someone who’d suffered such abuse might choose.”

  “Or it might be the username of an unhappy baker,” said Penman with a straight face.

  Roberts took a sip of his coffee. He was starting to get frustrated, but it wasn’t showing. It wouldn’t show. He was a consummate professional at his work. Penman on the other hand had given up on drinking her coffee. The rapport was long gone. Roberts was starting to resign himself to the fact that he might have to escalate his manner to that of bad cop sooner rather than later. Especially if he wanted to beat Carrick.

  “Do you bake much, Gina?” asked Robe
rts, going back to the circuitous route he had started off with.

  “Not much, takes too long,” she said. “How about you?”

  Roberts shook his head slowly, still smiling at her.

  “My wife does though. Mostly sweet things like cakes and muffins and cupcakes. She doesn’t bake breads or things like that.”

  Penman twirled the half empty cup of coffee on the table with her fingers. She looked bored.

  “Just between you and I,” said Roberts, “do you think you can trust Labecki to keep his mouth shut about the murders you’ve committed?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. You say that Labecki received a package from a user on a website. And you think that user was me. Well, why don’t you ask him?”

  “We will,” said Roberts, “in fact, that artist friend of mine is in there with him right now. And he’s good. Do you think that just because he’s your father, he’s going to help you cover up three murders?”

  Penman’s face went white.

  “How, how do you know he’s my father?” she asked.

  “Ah,” said Roberts, “a tiny bit of honesty from you. We are the police and we should be worth at least half as much as what the city pays us.”

  “He won’t say anything,” she said.

  “And why’s that? You got something on him?”

  Penman looked down and twirled her cup. The milk had started to cool and a thin cloud of skin was forming on the hazelnut brown face of it. Penman shook her head.

  “Because there’s nothing to say.”

  “You’re pretty confident for someone who’s already facing one murder charge.”

  “So you say, but I’ve heard that witnesses can be unreliable.”

  “We don’t need the witness,” said Roberts. “Your prints were on the mug of hot chocolate and the bottle of pills you got the drugs out of. I just don’t know why you don’t want to help yourself. We might be able to get a deal done with the DA. Maybe you’d get out of prison before you start cashing pension checks.”

  “If what you say is true, Captain,” said Penman, “I’m sure there isn’t a DA in this country who’d want to make a deal with the kind of murderer you just mentioned.”