Pot of gold : a novel

by Michael, Judith

  that someone gave her enough additional Halcion to make it a fatal dose."

  Brix frowned. "I don't think she knows anyone in New York who would do that for her."

  "We have an idea that you did it for her, Mr. Eiger," said Sergeant Janowski casually.

  It took Brix a minute, but then he realized how perfect it was . . . and this idiot cop had just handed it to him. "Well, you're too smart for me," he said. "I guess you know what it is not to be able to turn a lady down." He smiled at them man to man. "I wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't brought it up, but Emma did ask me for more of that stuff—she was always asking, as if she was stockpiling it. Well, I mean, I didn't think that at the time, but now, looking back ..." Once again he shook his head sadly. "I should have watched out for her more; she really was—is—a child, those tantrums and everything ..."

  "So you provided her with Halcion," Sergeant Janowski said. "How much.?"

  "Oh, I don't know, over the last couple of months maybe ten, twenty pills."

  "What color were they.?"

  "What.?"

  "What color were they.?"

  "I didn't really look. Aren't all pills white.?"

  "And I seem to have missed something here. Where did you get them.?"

  "You mean . . . oh, well, a friend of mine gave them to me."

  "Without a prescription.?"

  "Well, yes, he knew he could trust me."

  "You told him they were for you.?"

  "Well, I . . ."

  "You said they were for you? You lied to him? You obtained a prescription drug by lying?''

  Brix wondered if there was a penalty for that. He was feeling dizzy; bubbles of Scotch were scooting through his brain, bursting on the edges of his thoughts, making them skitter away. "I didn't lie. I never lie. I told him they were for a friend."

  "I don't believe it," Detective Fasching said flatly. "Lenny, you believe this.?" he asked Sergeant Janowski. "No pharmacist

  would give drugs for somebody he's never met. Of course it's illegal either way, but even the ones who sometimes give drugs to friends, when they're caught they say they don't give them for third parties. No way they'd do that is what they say."

  "You're right; he's lying," Sergeant Janowski said. "Maybe he stole them,"

  "Oh, for Christ's sake," Brix burst out, "I told him they were for a friend and he didn't have to worry because there was no way she'd ever take too—"

  When he broke off his sentence, there was a long silence.

  Finally Detective Fasching sighed. "Because you knew she wasn't the kind who'd do that."

  "Well, I was wrong about her," Brix said a little wildly. "Women are hard to figure out; we all know that. And in a lot of ways she wasn't really honest, you know, she had her little games, little ways to pretend, to ... to seem like one person when, really, you know, she was . . . another ..."

  As Brix's voice ran down, Sergeant Janowski stood up and moved close to him, looking down at him. "What we think is, you didn't do a damn thing for Miss Goddard, Brix; we think you did it to her."

  Brix gave a little jump, hearing the officer use his first name. It frightened him; it changed everything in the room. He felt smaller, more at risk. They weren't treating him with respect anymore. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket for his coke, then, terrified, he yanked his hand out. But his fingers were twitching. God, I really need it, he thought.

  "Now, what we want you to tell us," Detective Fasching said, "is how you got Emma Goddard to take three milligrams of Hal-cion without knowing it. It's not likely that you could force her to swallow twelve or more pills at once, so what else could you do.'' You could have gone to that pharmacist friend—we'll get to his name a little later—and built up your own supply. And then you could have crushed them and dissolved them in something. In what, Brix.^"

  Brix was shaking his head; his dizziness was worse and he was having trouble thinking straight. "No," he said, and hated the weak sound of it. He forced himself to speak more loudly and his voice came out like a bark. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "What did you dissolve the Halcion in? It doesn't dissolve well in water, so we probably can rule out the coffee, but it dissolves very well in alcohol. Which means the wine. Or the cognac."

  "No. This is stupid. You don't know what you're—"

  "The waiter saw you doing something with the cognac, you know. He told us about it."

  "He did not! He didn't see a goddamn thing!"

  "How do you know.-'" Detective Fasching said. He looked at Brix without expression, and Brix had no idea whether he was bluffing or not.

  "You're accusing me of murder!" Brix cried, finally putting it all together in his mind.

  "Attempted murder, Mr. Eiger, unless the young lady dies; then it would be murder. Of course you don't have to talk any more, without an attorney; you know that, don't you.^ Hold on." Sergeant Janowski took a small card from his pocket and read it aloud, rapidly and tonelessly. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and to consult with an attorney before questioning ..."

  Brix heard the reading of his rights, all six of them, as if they came from far off. He was breathing in short bursts. Don't say anything. The waiter hadn't seen him doing anything with the cognac; how could he.^ There was no way . . . Don't say anything. They were bluffing. But they seemed to know so much. Halcion didn't dissolve in water.'' Brix hadn't known that. It dissolved well in alcohol.^ He hadn't known that either. But you re still smarter than they are; they're a couple of clods. Dont say anything.

  The silence went on and on. There was a roaring inside Brix's head, like the ocean surf, or an approaching storm. I'm afraid, Brix thought, and that scared him most of all: that these bozos could make him afraid. Somebody's got to help me, he thought. I'm all alone here. "I'm calling my father," he cried.

  Sergeant Janowski pushed the telephone across the desk so Brix could reach it. No one spoke. "Dad," Brix said when Quen-tin answered. He could hear sounds of a party in the background; women laughing, ice cubes in glasses, a man and woman singing a song from some Broadway musical. "Dad, you've got to help me! I'm at the police station in Westport. I'm all alone here and

  they're accusing me of mur—attempted murder. I'm all alone here, Dad! You've got to come down and help me!"

  The man and woman finished their song and the party guests applauded. The couple began another song. "Dad.-^ Dad!"

  'Tm not coming down," Quentin said tonelessly. "You got yourself into this; you'll have to get yourself out. You can't come running to me like a college kid; you're a grown man. You're on your own; you're not my son anymore."

  The music was cut off as Quentin hung up. Brix started shivering. He held the telephone to his ear for another moment, trying to think.

  "How soon will he be here.?" one of the officers asked.

  Brix hung up and turned around. "He won't. Fucking son of a bitch!" he burst out. Suddenly he realized he was about to cry. Christ, he couldn't cry! He sat with his head down, fighting back the tears that rose in his throat.

  He couldn't let them think he was weak. He couldn't let them think he was stupid. He was smarter than all of them put together, and that included his father. He'd take care of himself. He didn't need anyone.

  "We didn't finish with those rights I read you," Sergeant Janowski said. "Do you want me to read them again.'"'

  "What for.?" Brix growled. He was still pushing back tears and getting himself together.

  "We have to know if you understand them. Did you understand them.?"

  "For Christ's sake, a baby could understand them!"

  "Then"—he was reading from the card again—"keeping your rights in mind, do you wish to waive your right to remain silent and answer our questions.?"

  Brix gave an angry bark of laughter. "I've been answering your questions for half an hour."

  "But you can stop anytime," Detect
ive Fasching said. "You can remain silent."

  Brix shrugged.

  "Then sign here." Sergeant Janowski placed a form in front of Brix printed with the six rights and a space at the bottom for his signature and the names of witnesses.

  Brix looked at it. He shouldn't sign anything, he thought. But then he glanced at the list of six rights, and thought, what the

  hell, they didn't have anything to do with him. They were for criminals. They were for people who didn't know anything. They were for people who weren't as smart as he was.

  He scrawled his signature at the bottom and made a slashing check mark beside the "Yes" below the question about waiving his rights. "Now what.'"'

  "You can still call a lawyer," Detective Fasching said.

  Brix shook his head.

  "You're sure.''" Sergeant Janowski asked. "Even though you signed this, you could still—"

  "I don't want a goddamn lawyer," Brix shouted. "Stop dragging it out. Get it over with!"

  "Mr. Eiger does not want a lawyer," Detective Fasching said, and then the two officers began taking turns, like a vaudeville team tossing a ball back and forth. "He has refused to call one. That's right, Mr. Eiger.'"'

  "Right, right, right. Why the fuck can't you just leave it alone.^"

  "Because we're not through. You haven't told us what you dissolved the Halcion in."

  "I didn't dissolve it in anything, for Christ's sake; I didn't do anything!"

  "Then how did she get three milligrams of Halcion in her stomach.''"

  "I told you, I—" Brix stopped as a thought came to him. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it earlier. "How do you know it was three milligrams.-^ If Emma told you, then you ought to know that she took it. Nobody could know how much she took."

  "The doctors know; they've had experience at this. It's an estimate, Brix, but it's probably pretty close, based on the estimated time since she took it, her symptoms, and the recoverv^ time. What we still don't know is how you got her to take it."

  "She did it herself! I told you I gave her—"

  "You said she'd never take an overdose. You told the pharmacist that. Did you tell the pharmacist that.'"'

  Brix was silent.

  "Was there a pharmacist.^"

  Brix was silent.

  "Well, there was somebody, wasn't there, Brix.'' Somebody gave you the pills and then you crushed them or ground them up.

  What did you do, go to this company you and your daddy own and use somebody's mortar and pestle? Do they still use mortars and pestles, like in the old days? Or did you go home and put it in your coffee grinder? Or your spice grinder? Or your Cuisinart? Probably wouldn't work in a Cuisinart, would it? I never tried to grind up pills in a food processor; can you tell us anything about that, Brix?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "How you ground up the Halcion before you put it in Miss Goddard's cognac or wine or whatever."

  "I didn't do it. I didn't do anything."

  "The waiter saw you."

  "Nobody saw me!"

  "He saw you. He wondered what you were up to, but he figured it wasn't his business. He thought it might be to help her sleep. He was right, wasn't he? Wasn't he, Brix?"

  "I didn't do anything. Nobody saw me."

  "We'll call him; he can be here in twenty minutes." Sergeant Janowski reached for the telephone. "A lot faster than your daddy. Does your daddy think you tried to kill Miss Goddard? Is that why he isn't coming down to hold your hand? Maybe we should talk to him, too." He was punching numbers on the telephone, very slowly. "We could go to his house if he doesn't want to come here. I think we should do that, talk to your daddy."

  "Keep away from him!" Brix screamed. He grabbed the telephone from the officer. "I did it to help her sleep. That's what the waiter said, right? He was right; it was to help her sleep. That's all it was. I was always taking care of her; she couldn't take care of herself; she was a mess. And at dinner she was all worked up, screaming and yelling and I thought she had to get out of there and go to sleep and then she'd be fine."

  Sergeant Janowski pried the telephone from Brix's grasp and put it on the desk. "Fine," he repeated. "Fine. Fine. Fine. What does that mean, Brix? Does it mean not able to talk about what you did at this company you and your daddy own?"

  Brix jerked backward in his chair. "I don't know what you're—"

  "Oh, sure you do, Brix, come on, we all know what's going on here. Miss Goddard found out you were involved in a crime and you had to kill her to shut her—"

  "I wasn't! I wasn't involved in a crime! What the fuck is going

  on here? First you accuse me of putting stuff in her cognac and then you start talking about my company; you're so mixed up you don't know what the fuck you're doing."

  "But you admitted you put the stuff in her . . . was it the cognac? I guess it was. You just said it was. And the test reports on PK-20—"

  "You don't know anything about PK-20! Nobody outside the company does! That's ail confidential!"

  "We do, Brix. We know everything. And so does the State's Attorney. The test reports, the first ones, are in his office. So are those memos from your friend Kurt. Everybody but you knows everything, Brix. How does that make you feel? Left out? You won't be, if you just tell us the truth. Then we'll be together on this thing. Everybody knows, Brix. Everybody knows."

  "Does my dad know?" It came out in a whisper.

  "The State's Attorney called him tonight."

  Brix crumpled in his chair. It did not occur to him to doubt that the State's Attorney would call his father on Christmas night; it did not occur to him to doubt anything. He was alone and everybody knew why.

  The roaring in his ears was louder; it sounded like a train coming through the room, aimed at him. Slouched in the chair, he looked up, to see what was happening. Nothing was happening. Sergeant Janowski sat on the windowsill; Detective Fasching sat on the desk. They were watching him with interest, and all the patience in the world. No one else was in the room. Nothing was in the room that would make a sound like the roaring inside his head. He was alone, with that awful noise. Alone, alone, alone, alone. Because of his fucking father.

  "I did it because he told me to." The words were out and Brix shrank a little from them, but then he thought, the hell with it; it's true—it's the goddamn truth—and he wouldn't come down and help me and why the fuck should I protect him anymore? I risked everything to protect him and the company, and he threw me out anyway. I don't owe him a goddamn thing anymore.

  "You did what because he told you to?" Sergeant Janowski asked.

  "Oh, you know, fixed the test reports. He wanted me to change the percentages of women who'd had problems, and up the ones who liked the stuff, it was an eye cream, and take out the

  one who went blind in one eye—I mean, nobody could really blame that on us, but my dad wanted it out anyway so nobody'd have anything to talk about. So I did all that; I did everything he told me. I always did what he told me, you know; whatever he wanted, so he'd be proud of me."

  There was a pause. Detective Fasching stood up. "And you didn't want him to know that Emma had found out about it, is that it.^ You thought he'd be mad at you."

  Brix nodded. The roaring in his ears had gone. He sat in absolute silence, slumped over in exhaustion.

  "Okay, Brix, we'll want you to sign a statement," said Sergeant Janowski. "We'll have it in a minute."

  Brix looked at him dully. What was he talking about.-'

  "And here it is," the sergeant said as the young woman behind the screen handed him a sheaf of papers. "Wonderful things, computers; like instant replay in a football game. You'll want to read this before you sign it."

  Brix looked at the pages in his hand. He ignored the first ones and went to the end, reading what he had said about his father. / did everything he told me. I always did what he told me, you know, whatever he wanted, so he'd be proud of me. Well, if anything did in the old man, it would be that. Brix didn't give a damn wha
t happened to him as long as his old man got it, too. Lost the company. Went to jail. Went broke. Whatever. He'd see what happens when a man kicks out his son. He leaned forward and put the last page on the desk and signed it.

  "You didn't read all of it," Detective Fasching said.

  "I don't need to."

  "You don't want to read the other pages.'"'

  Brix shrugged.

  "Then would you please initial each page at the bottom."

  "F'or Christ's sake," Brix mumbled, but he went through them, scrawling his initials in the bottom corner of each page. Slowly he sat up, then stood, stretching his stiff muscles. "I'm going home now."

  "Fm afraid you can't do that," Sergeant Janowski said. "We've charged you with attempted murder. Until a judge sets bail, you'll have to stay here."

  "You can't do that! Who the hell do you think —^'ou can't keep me here; I don't even have a lawyer!"

  "I'm sure you will tomorrow," Detective Fasching said. "I'm sure you know many lawyers and they'll be glad to come down when you call. You could have called earlier, but you weren't interested." He took hold of Brix's arm. "So, at least until tomorrow, you'll stay here."

  Brix stared at him. Slowly, through the bubbles of Scotch that still shot like little missiles through his brain, he understood that he was under arrest for the attempted murder of Emma Goddard, and that he would be spending Christmas night— and how many other nights; Jesus Christ, how the hell did this happen? —in jail.

  Quentin sat in his study, working on strategy. His window looked out on Long Island Sound, gray and as still as glass this time of year, the sailboats put away, the swimmers gone. The beach was windswept and abandoned. Lonely, Quentin thought, and then wondered why that had occurred to him; he seldom had fanciful thoughts. March, he said to himself, to bring his mind back to his work; he wanted to have everything organized by January 2, when everyone was back at work, and that only gave him three days. "March," he said aloud. "Release the PK-20 line with extra advertising, with two models instead of one, about ten years difference in age, to reach different targets. We should have thought of that earlier. But first the series of memos for the company, maybe a newsletter, undermining the rumors without referring to them directly, since to repeat them would be, in a way, to legitimize them. ..."