[2017] It Happened at Two in the Morning

by Alan Hruska

  “Helping more,” Tom says. “No harm will come to her.”

  “Like that Jacob creature,” she says, with acrimony.

  “Christ, El.” He looks at her sternly.

  “Forget it.”

  “What he got from me,” Tom says, “and we’ve been over this—is life imprisonment.”

  “He should burn in hell,” she says.

  “Beyond my skill set,” Tom says.

  “Or,” adds Mike, “mentioned anywhere in the penal code.” He turns back to Tom. “Get in there, she’s waiting.”

  Sofi Harding says, “I can see why you wanted to question me downtown—all this paraphernalia, recording devices, and so on—but does it have to be in one of these—” she looks around—“rooms? With the two-way glass or mirror, whatever you call it? And people staring at me from behind it?”

  She turns away from him, and he observes her outfit: cream-colored turtleneck blouse and light tweeds, as if for a day in the country—an odd selection, Tom thinks, and wonders whether her mental association had been with hunting. But her oval face has a formal composure, especially in profile, as though she were sitting for an ivory silhouette.

  “I don’t have an office on this floor,” Tom says.

  “What’s so important about this floor?”

  “The reception room,” Tom says, “and the direction in which you left it.”

  She turns back toward him. “You wanted the others in that room to know you’d be questioning me?”

  “I did.”

  “Meaning you suspect them. Or some of them.”

  Tom says nothing.

  “Are you aware,” Sofi says, “one of them is a relative of mine?”

  “Lawton Sergeant. Your sister’s son.”

  “Yes,” she says and studies him. “Elena mention that?”

  “No,” Tom says. “I looked it up.”

  “Why?” Sofi asks. “Why in the world would you have?”

  “Something you said. About Teddy Stamos. That he would happily work for both sides and approach either. I’m trying to figure out whether he approached Lawton and Constance, or they him.”

  “Why would you think they’d want the services of a Teddy Stamos?”

  “Ah,” Tom says, and nothing more.

  “You’re not going to tell me?” she says.

  “I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”

  “And what difference does it make?” Sofi asks, somewhat defensively.

  Tom says, “Let me ask you straight out. Did you ever discuss Stamos with Lawton or Constance?”

  She lets out a sigh. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Teddy had called them, and they thought I might have some idea who he was.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Harding. That’s all I need.”

  “You called me down here for that?”

  “You haven’t saved your nephew, Ms. Harding, but believe me. He’d be in for much worse without it.”

  Interrogation room two.

  Logjam.

  Both Lawton and Jasper Kane trying to get in at once, with Harrison Stith right behind them. Lawton is the tall one: slender, groomed, face a fine oval like his aunt’s.

  Tom says, “I asked for Jasper.”

  “I know more than he does,” Lawton says.

  Tom turns to his former boss. “And whom do you represent, Harry?”

  The older lawyer, suited, vested, gazes inward for guidance. “The family,” he says.

  “Looks like you may have a conflict.”

  “Looks like, yes.” He turns to his now-former clients. “It’s Constance who called me, and it’s she I will represent. I advise both of you to say nothing until you each have your own representation.” Whereupon Stith departs.

  Neither young man seems to notice. Lawton grabs the witness chair and Jasper, also slender, but short, bird-like, curly-haired, perches on the edge of the table. At a deliberate pace, Tom resettles in his seat, then stares at both of them. “You two want to do this together? A bit unconventional, but it’s okay with me.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Lawton says. “I’ve seen the cop shows. First in, first out, right?”

  “You’re a little late for that,” Tom says.

  “Whatever you got, I can add to it.”

  “And you want to?”

  “Sure.”

  “No waiting for a lawyer?”

  “Don’t need one. I’ve been to law school.”

  “And what about you?” Tom says to Jasper. “You been to law school too?”

  “No, but I’m fine. Frankly, I’m just curious what he’s—” pointing at his brother-in-law, “—got to say.”

  “All right,” Tom says. “Floor is yours, Lawton. Tell us what you know about the murder of Robbie Riles.”

  “Sure,” says Lawton, as if he’d been waiting impatiently to tell his tale. “It was entirely the idea of Teddy Stamos. He thought it up, and he carried it out.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because he propositioned us.”

  “Us?”

  “The four of us. My wife, Jasper’s, him, and me.”

  “Propositioned meaning—”

  “He tried to sell us on the whole idea. Get us to finance it. Assassinating Robbie.”

  “And?” Tom prompts.

  “We threw him out of the room.”

  “But he carried it out anyway? The killing?”

  “Presumably, yes. It happened just as he said it would.”

  “So if you refused to pay him, why’d he do it?”

  “Presumably someone else paid him,” Lawton says, as if explaining the obvious.

  “Definitely not you.”

  “Definitely.”

  “When he approached you the first time,” Tom asks, “why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “No point. He would only’ve denied it.”

  “Would have stopped him from doing it.”

  “Who knew he’d actually do it?” Lawton says. “We thought we had stopped him.”

  “By refusing to pay for it?”

  “And because we knew about it. Before the fact, as it were.”

  “But you didn’t warn Robbie?” Tom notes.

  “Connie may have said something, I don’t know. Robbie and I were not on the best of terms. But y’know how many death threats that man got? Probably two a week. Why add another one?”

  “Okay, then,” Tom says. “Why didn’t you call the police when Robbie was murdered?”

  “Me? Because I thought the person Stamos got to finance the killing was Elena.”

  “That’s your story?”

  “Yeah,” Lawton says, apparently disappointed it didn’t seem to be going over that well. “Everyone knew she and Robbie didn’t get on, and, of course, she had the most to gain.”

  “You decided to say nothing out of concern for your sister-in-law?”

  “That’s right. You heard the press reports. All the evidence pointed to her.”

  “Okay,” Tom says. “So now I want to talk to Jasper. Alone.”

  Lawton looks from one to the other. “That’s not happening.”

  “We’ll let Jasper decide, shall we?”

  Sergeant gets up, then says invitingly, with his hand extended, “Jasper? Coming?”

  Tom asks, as if really curious, “Do you have a dog, Lawton?”

  The only one laughing is Jasper. “I’m ready to continue the conversation,” he says.

  “Conversation?” says Lawton. “Are you fucking crazy? This guy’s trying to nail your ass.”

  “I kind of doubt it’s my ass you’re worried about.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving,” Lawton proclaims.

  Tom gives him a wan smile, picks up the phone and says into the receiver, “Ask someone to come in, please. Witness removal.” He looks at Lawton with a benign expression.

  “Fuck you,” says Lawton. As if having made some sort of point, he leaves.

  Tom goes to shut the door. “So
, let’s just start with who called whom.”

  “Stamos called Constance,” Jasper says. “Lawton wasn’t lying about that.”

  “What was he lying about?”

  “Is this really going to matter? I mean to me.”

  “Yes. We get the truth from you, it will help. In sentencing, definitely. In the charge against you—if there is one—maybe.”

  “You realize, I don’t believe I’ve committed any crime.”

  “Tell it honestly,” Tom says, “we’ll see.”

  “Okay.” Jasper slides into the chair. “I’m going to trust you on that.” He nods for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. “The idea—to … take out her father—came entirely from Constance. It shocked the hell out of me, Patty, even Teddy Stamos. Lawton said nothing, but I could tell—he wasn’t surprised, maybe even ready to go along with it. Teddy—well, after that first reaction, you could just see his mind clicking away, starting to figure out how much money there was in it for him and having trouble not showing excitement.”

  “Did he tell you he had other clients willing to pay him for the same result?”

  “No,” Jasper says, “and I don’t think he did, at least then. He had other clients on the takeover. He told us that at the start, but put it forward as a plus. He thought we owned a big block of Riles stock, and he had some idea of brokering a deal between us and his other clients. That’s why he called in the first place. But then Lawton and Connie started to work on him. Asked how well-connected he was, not simply to businessmen, but to mob figures, and she sort of taunted him into admitting that he actually knew an assassin-for-hire. I tell you—when she finally came out with what she wanted him to do, he was floored. Like the rest of us.”

  “Did he mention a fee?”

  “Not then,” Jasper says. “Not to me, ever.”

  “Do you know what it was?”

  “No. I know nothing about the fee.”

  “Did your wife pay any part of it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did anyone ever ask you to?”

  Jasper laughs. “No.”

  “What’s funny?”

  “I’ve no idea of the fee, as I said. But it’s hardly surprising no one would mention it to me. I have no money. The rich son-in-law is Lawton.”

  “Okay,” Tom says. “Anything else? Any other conversation with or about Teddy Stamos?”

  “I never saw him again, until he showed up this morning. Nor did I ever talk about him. With anyone. Patty included. Connie especially. I wanted to get as far from that subject as possible.”

  “How ’bout after Robbie was killed?”

  “Particularly then,” Jasper says. “She raised it, Connie did. Said it looked like Elena had dealt with Stamos or done it herself.”

  “To which you said?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Why do you think Constance raised the subject with Stamos while you were there? You and Patty?”

  “I think she wanted us implicated, but to understand that, you’d have to know the sisters. It’s not simply that Connie is the dominant one. She treats Patty as some kind of alter ego, like a special lobe of her own brain constantly telling her how wonderful she is. And even weirder—from the first, she’s treated me the same way.”

  “You’ve given her cause?”

  “Why not?”

  “And she trusted you?” Tom suggests.

  “Obviously.”

  “Or maybe she just wanted to share the blame, if there was to be any?”

  “Also possible.”

  Tom thinks about that, then picks up the phone. “Constance Riles,” he says into the receiver. “Room one. And bring in another chair.”

  “Off you go, Jasper,” Tom says. “But others will want to talk with you before you leave the building, so sit tight outside.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Constance glides in, as if on a runway modeling her designer skirt and trim jacket. Right behind her, her lawyer, the large, fleshy Harrison Stith, with an expression of perpetual pout. Then, his tight-lipped nod, and, with shuffling of feet, all take their seats at the table.

  “For the record,” Tom says, “you are Constance Riles and are represented here by your attorney, Harrison Stith?”

  “That’s correct.” No resemblance to Elena, Tom is reminded, in manner or appearance, and little capacity for fun, although this is hardly the occasion for it. Constance is a solemn, high-cheeked beauty whose humor, on any occasion, comes mainly at others’ expense.

  “As he’s doubtless explained, you need not say anything to me, and anything you do say may be held against you.”

  “I understand that, yes.” She looks at Tom sharply. “And what do you understand, Mr. Weldon? Do you understand how conflicted you are? Investigating a murder in which the woman you’re involved with is the principal suspect?”

  “Well, that’s changed, you see,” Tom replies. “You’re now the principal suspect.”

  “Me?” she says, managing to look both surprised and amused. “Whose nonsensical notion is that? My weaselly brother-in-law’s? Or did you come up with this on your own?”

  Tom says, “So, when was the first time you talked to Teddy Stamos?”

  Stith intervenes. “Constance, this is a good time to reiterate that you need not say anything to this man. He’s just accused you of murdering your father. An appropriate response to any of his questions would be for you to decline to answer on Fifth Amendment grounds.”

  “Of course, Harry. And I will take your advice. After I’ve made short shrift of his ridiculous accusation. The fact is, Mr. Weldon, that evil little man came to my home some weeks ago and made a grotesque proposal. I threw him out and have never spoken to him again. Including this morning when I saw him in your reception room.”

  “Did he just arrive on your doorstep unannounced, or did you invite him?”

  Stith breaks in. “All right, Weldon. No more questions along this line. My client declines to answer on grounds specified in the Fifth Amendment.”

  “That the answers might tend to incriminate her?”

  “If it pleases you to put it that way.”

  “Not my pleasure that matters here. I’m reciting the accepted interpretation of the constitutional amendment you’re relying on, and simply asking whether it accurately describes your client’s position. And she should answer that herself.”

  “You won’t bait me, Mr. Weldon,” says Constance. “I did not hire anyone to kill my father, and it’s hateful what you’re doing here. I’m taking my lawyer’s advice. No more answers to these trick questions of yours.”

  “Hired?” Tom muses out loud. “What gave you the idea that someone had been hired?”

  “I’m not answering,” Constance states. “Fifth Amendment!”

  “Then you should know this,” Tom says. “There are ample grounds to conclude that you were responsible for the murder of your father and the kidnapping of your sister. If you have something to say in your defense, we will listen. If not, you will be taken into custody and arraigned.”

  “Yes, you’re trying to pressure me. It’s all right. I’ve been warned. I’ll be out of your … custody within the hour. And as for any trial, Mr. Weldon, you’ll never prove that absurd charge. I see who your witnesses are. They won’t stand up. Every one of them has a motive to blame me. Mainly to take blame away from themselves. My lawyers at trial will destroy them. And they will destroy you.”

  “You know who the witnesses are?” Tom asks innocently. “Would you care to name them?”

  “Just one minute—” Stith starts.

  “See!” Connie breaks in. “More trick questions!”

  Tom sits back. “You will take advice from your own people, Connie. But when they see the evidence against you, I doubt seriously they’ll let you have this case tried.”

  Stepping into the observation room, Tom asks, “Where’s Elena?”

  “Left,” says Mike. “As soon as you brought in Connie.”
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  “She say anything?”

  “Nope. Just took off.”

  “Upset?”

  “Very.”

  “Hmm,” Tom says.

  “Look.” Mike stands. “You’re doing great. Really fine job.”

  “One more witness.”

  “You really need him? There’ll be a cost.”

  “A slightly reduced sentence? Does it really matter whether this guy spends four years in prison or two?”

  “He cooperates,” Mike says, “he’ll get out in less than one.”

  “Even better,” says Tom.

  Interrogation room three. Across from Tom sits Horace Moon in his best clothes. “Where’d you get the suit?” Tom asks. “Looks like Saville Row.”

  “Mr. Riles,” Horace says with pride. “We were friends.”

  “That so?”

  “That’s a fact. And I’m here to tell the truth. Don’t even need a Miranda.”

  “You could have a lawyer, Mr. Moon. Paid for by the state.”

  “I know that kind of lawyer. Not what I need.”

  “What is it you need, do you think?”

  “A deal. What you think? No time. Community service, okay, but no prison.”

  “Can’t promise that,” Tom says.

  Takes Horace aback. “Should I be talking to you? Seems to me you’re personally involved.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Come on. I watch TV, man.”

  “You’re right,” says Tom. “I am personally involved. But you give me what I need, I can be your best friend.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, Horace. I mean it. I’ll get you the lightest sentence I can, but it will involve time.”

  “Like what?”

  “Months. Instead of years.”

  Horace goes into a thoughtful head shake. “I don’t know why I trust you.”

  “Glad you do,” Tom says. “And you should.”

  “Yeah, hmm, well … I know I owe you.”

  “Yes,” Tom says, “you do owe me.”

  “Okay. I know what you want. Who paid me to say what I said.”

  “That’s right.”

  “ ’Cause it wasn’t true.”

  “What you said here? To Sammy Riegert, the man questioning you? About the shooting of Mr. Riles?”