by Dana Donovan
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will,” he snipped. “But now let me ask you something.”
I granted acceptance with a simple gesture.
“If you’re so hell bent of pinning these supposed murders on Greg and me, then why did you haul my little brother downtown and harass him like a common thug?”
“We didn’t haul him down to harass him. We had a misunderstanding.”
“What, his stuttering too difficult to decipher?”
“No. One of our detectives interpreted a comment he made as a confession, which, under the circumstances, seemed justifiable.”
“Under what circumstances, intimidation and hot lights? Did he have legal council present?”
“He waived council after calling you and finding that you were busy helping a fugitive escape justice.”
“You should have assigned council for him. You knew of his special circumstances.”
“Yes, which brings us to something else. Did you know that your brother suffers from MPD?”
“No, he doesn’t. He might have an imaginary friend, but—”
“We’ve seen it.” I turned to Carlos, who nodded in agreement. “He has a dual personality, an alter-ego named Leo.”
“Leo?” Rivera laughed in that condescending way of his that I learned to hate. “Detective, Leo is Benny’s twin brother who passed away when they were just kids.”
“Twin?”
“Yes, identical. He died years ago. They were only boys when it happened.”
“When what happened?”
Rivera leaned back into the leather folds of his chair, crossing his legs and arms at the same time. I saw his eyes drift off into the corner of the room as his hand stroked against the whiskered shadow below his chin. “We don’t know what happened, exactly,” he said. “I have to tell you that from birth Benny was always a little…special. During his delivery, there were complications. Benny came out first, and while the doctor was busy delivering Leo, Benny stopped breathing. Someone noticed it eventually, but it had been a few minutes, and by the time they got him breathing again…well. But he did okay, and Leo was a good brother, looking out for Benny, helping him in situations where brothers can help, you know.
“But then things began to change around the time the boys turned seven. Leo became disorderly, over-rambunctious. I guess today you would call it Attention Deficit Disorder. Only Leo had it bad, and you didn’t dope kids up for things like that back then. It seemed he loved to get into trouble, and worse, he loved getting Benny in trouble, too. He knew that Benny was slow and that he would do anything he told him to do. So, it came as no surprise one day when Leo decided that he and Benny should climb to the top of the water tower downtown and throw stones down onto parked cars.”
“Wait. This happened when they were only seven?” I asked.
“No, no. This happened when they were nine. Leo had been bullying his brother for awhile by then.”
“I see.”
“So this day, the two boys climbed the tower and began pitching stones over the side. What happened next is unclear. The only witness was a homeless man that lived in a box under the Lexington Street Bridge. He told police he saw the boys fighting on top of the tower, and that it looked like one of them tried to toss the other over the edge. Naturally, we figured they were foolishly engaged in horseplay. Either way, Benny would never speak of it, and in short time we decided it was best for his sake not to press him about it.”
I edged up to the front of my seat, captivated by Rivera’s story. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Carlos on the edge of his seat, too, taking notes on his notepad. I said to Rivera, “You’re telling us that Leo went over the side of the tower?”
“They were on top,” he said. “You have to picture it. The water tower is dome-shaped. When Leo fell, he didn’t just go sailing over the side. He fell and slid down the dome a ways until he snagged onto a rivet or something, which caught his fall. But he slipped far enough down the curvature of the dome that Benny couldn’t reach him.”
“So, he was safe,” I said, “relatively speaking.”
“If he held on, yes.”
“He couldn’t?”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t,” Rivera answered. “According to the homeless guy, Benny got down on his belly and tried to pull Leo back up, but his arms weren’t long enough. He just couldn’t reach. Then, and this is what the homeless guy said, there’s no other account of it, something strange happened.”
“What?” Carlos and I said at once.
Rivera glanced alternately into Carlos’ eyes and mine. “Benny stood up, looked down at his brother and spread his arms wide. Then Leo raised his hand, as though pointing and he shot Benny in the chest.”
“With what?”
“His finger.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know. It’s the account of a drunken homeless man. What do you want? But that’s what he said happened. He said Leo pointed his finger at Benny, and a white light shot out, hitting him in the chest. Benny fell back, landing on his butt and then Leo…. Leo just sort of slipped off the side of the tower, as though he had fallen asleep.”
“You mean he gave up?”
“I mean he simply eased off the side without a fight. He didn’t try grabbing at anything. He didn’t flag his arms or scream or nothing. He just slid off the tower like dead weight.”
Carlos dropped his pen and notepad to the floor and uttered, “OBE.” The same thought crossed my mind, but I managed to suppress the urge to gasp it aloud.
Rivera said to him, “Excuse me?”
“What happened then?” I asked. “Did Benjamin start acting strange after that?”
“Strange? Detective, the kid had just lost his brother right before his eyes. What behavior do you consider strange after a thing like that?”
I acknowledge the validity of his question with a nod. “Let me rephrase that. Did strange things begin happening after that?”
“Do you mean is that when Ben starting talking to his imaginary friends?”
“Yes, something like that.”
“Detective, in my mind, Benny has always been strange. When he was eleven, he told me he could tickle people from the inside. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? Around that same time my father brought him to an institute where they studied supposed paranormal attributes and other anomalies of the human psyche in people.”
“Was that in Doctor Lowell’s studies?”
“Yes. Do you believe it? They thought my brother was some kind of freak.”
“Mister Rivera,” I said. “The participants in those studies were not all freaks.”
“I know one who was.”
“Are you talking about Bridget Dean?”
“No. Why? Was she in Benny’s group?”
“Yes, and so was Ana Davalos and Karen Webber.”
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Really? It’s funny Benjamin never mentioned it. Kind of puts a whole new spin on things, doesn’t it?” He shook his head. “Makes no difference to me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just coincidence.”
“Coincidence? Do you suppose it’s also a coincidence that the woman who stepped off the train platform today was also in Benjamin’s group?”
Rivera’s face fell into a droop. It was difficult to tell if the look he gave was genuine or not. He seemed truly surprised by the news and not just a little upset. But a good actor can pull that off, and I had seen my share of good actors in this business. I looked at Carlos to gauge his reaction to Rivera’s performance, and he, too, seemed nearly convinced. Rivera collected his thoughts and sorted them out before us, as methodically as anyone possibly could under the circumstances.
“Detective Marcella,” he said, unfolding his arms and uncrossing his legs. “What you’re telling me doesn’t make sense. The implications here are more than suggestive. They’re downright overwhelming.”
&nb
sp; I knew he had me there. “Excuse me?”
“Come on! You haven’t a case against me, and you know it. The very fact that all four of those women were associated with Doctor Lowell’s studies casts not a reasonable doubt, but an overwhelming doubt that Piakowski or I had anything to do with their deaths at all.”
“Not so,” I countered. “That they were all associated with the studies at one time doesn’t take away from the fact that you and Piakowski, together, had a motive, the wherewithal and opportunity to kill three of the four women. And that Piakowski stood right next to the fourth victim when she died, regardless of her associations to the other three, makes him suspect by proximity. I trust that if I dig further I’ll find a valid connection between Carol Kessler and one or all three of the other women that does not concern Doctor Lowell’s institute.”
“Do you want to bet?” he said, almost daring me.
“I’m willing,” I replied, quickly. “Are you?”
He stood up and settled a look upon me like my welcome had worn thin. I reached over and tapped Carlos on the knee. We stood up and I extended my hand out of respect. Rivera shook it loosely. It felt cold and wet from perspiration. I saw Carlos began to reach as he rose, but seeing me wipe my hand discreetly on my trousers, he feathered the move to make it look like he lost his balance and was merely regaining his footing. Afterward, he preoccupied his hands by patting down his pockets in search of his car keys while finding just the right place to stash his notepad and pen. Rivera’s impatience quickly dismissed him. He turned and ushered us to the door on heavy heels.
“I’m growing tired of your visits, Detective,” Rivera said, as we stepped outside. “Your manors of illations are crude and transparent. Should you feel it necessary to interrogate me again on this or any other matter, I suggest you stop by a judge’s chamber and secure a warrant for my arrest first.”
I looked him in the eye and smiled coldly. “I can arrange that.”
His smile came back, colder. “Do, and I’ll slap a lawsuit on you and this city so fast it will make your jaw drop.” He leaned around me to steal a glimpse at Carlos. “You got that shinny new justice center paid for yet, Rodriquez?”
I looked over my shoulder at Carlos, knowing inside that all he could think about was the precinct’s budget for the DNA lab next year, and how a frivolous false-arrest lawsuit might jeopardize that. But Carlos maintained a level head. He stepped partially around me and kept his voice low and deliberate. “Don’t you worry about that, Rivera,” he said, jabbing his finger in the air to make a point. “When we come to get you, we won’t need a damn warrant, and you’ll see then how that new justice center will pay for its self.”
“Yes,” Rivera replied, almost under his breath. “We’ll see.” He returned to the house with no valedictions. After the door shut I tapped Carlos on the chest and grinned at him proudly.
“Nice comeback with that justice center remark. Did you learn that from me?”
“Nah, just the part where I said damn.”
“Damn?”
“Yeah.”
“All those years we worked together, and that’s all you learned from me?”
“Ah-huh, that and how to eat on the fly because you never want to stop for a bite.”
“You mean like that hamburger and fries you had earlier tonight?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Hey, how did you—”
“Forget it. Look, why don’t we move the car over there, out of sight, and watch the house for a while?”
“Watch for what?”
“Piakowski. I think he’s still here.”
“Because of the cigarettes?”
“You noticed, too?”
“That Rivera is obviously not a smoker? Yes.”
“They’re Piakowski’s brand.”
“They’re also Benjamin’s brand…or is it Leo’s?”
“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”
We moved the car around the bend in the driveway, which put it just out of sight from the house. Then we got out and took up positions on the garden side of the house, outside the library’s three large windows. From there, we could see Rivera on the phone, having what looked like a heated discussion involving lots of hand gestures and arm waving. On occasions, both Carlos and I heard Greg’s name used, which we took to mean Piakowski, though whether talking to him or about him, we couldn’t say definitively.
I tapped Carlos on the shoulder and said in a whisper, “What do you make of it?”
“My gut says he’s talking to Piakowski.”
“Yeah, mine, too.”
“So, he lied to us.”
“Not necessarily,” I said, and then ducked when I thought I saw Rivera look toward the window. “We asked him if he knew where Piakowski went, not if he knew how to get a hold of him.”
Carlos shook his head. “Dirty stinking lawyers.”
“Uh-ah, Carlos. Not all lawyers are bad.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Some are dead.”
I ignored the comment, though I wanted to remind him that some of our best friends were lawyers. “Carlos, what do you think about the story Rivera told us?”
“About Benjamin and his twin brother?”
“Yes.”
“Freaky, ain’t it?”
“I heard you say, OBE when you dropped your pen and notepad. Do you think that’s what happened?”
He smiled slyly, as though I had asked him a trick question. “Think what happened?”
“You know. Do you think—”
We both jumped half out of our boots then when my phone rang. I yanked it from my pocket on the second ring and answered it, thankful and amazed that Rivera had not heard it. Carlos blinked at me with owl’s eyes, too surprised to hit me for the oversight that would have undoubtedly cost him a shot to the arm if it happened to him.
“Yes!” I said, in a whisper. “What is it?”
“Detective Marcella? Is that you? It’s Dominic.”
“I know that, Spinelli. What do you have?”
“Lots. It’s almost too much to sift through in one night. But I wanted to call you with what I found so far.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“First off, there are lots of pictures. Most of them are of Rivera and Piakowski, but some here are of Benjamin and Courtney, too.”
“You mean, together?”
“Yes, together, and close.”
“Romantically close?”
“Yeah, if you call hugging and kissing with hands on each other’s rear ends close.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and whispered the details to Carlos. His jaw dropped like a trap door and stayed that way until I gave him his next update.
“Nice work, Spinelli. What else you got?”
“More pictures,” he said, “and you’ll never guess of who.”
I took a stab at it. “Lilith?”
“No. Leona Diaz.”
“Leona? Why her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Benjamin in the photos with her?”
“Some, all innocuous, though, and the rest are of her alone.”
“Interesting,” I said, and with that Carlos perked up, demanding to know what I heard. I pulled the phone from my ear and covered the mouthpiece again. “Spinelli’s got pictures of Leona and Benjamin making out in the coffee shop,” I told him. It was all I could do not to laugh. He settled back with those owl’s eyes and gated mouth. I put the phone back to my ear and heard Spinelli rambling on about documents and research papers and whatnot. “Whoa, Spinelli. I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. Carlos distracted me. Start over.”
“The bulk of the documents,” he said, “are mostly research papers about out-of-body experiences and episodes of spontaneous bilocation. They suggest that autistic savants possess the ability to control the metaphysical disposition of the soul at will.”
I shook my head at that, leaving Carlos to believe I heard more of the juicy dirt on Leona. “Spinelli, in English. Wha
t does all that mean in English?”
“It means that Karen Webber must have given real credence to the possibility that Bridget Dean and Ana Davalos met their deaths through supernatural manifestations.”
“You saying she believed that a non-psychical entity directly influenced the actions of those women, forcing them to commit suicide?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“It certainly supports the idea we’ve been kicking around about OBE.”
“Except that Karen’s surveillance pictures suggest she didn’t just narrow her list of OBE candidates down to Benjamin. Because of Leona’s ability to bilocate, it earned her a spot on that list, too.”
“I know, but I don’t for a minute believe Leona had anything to do with it.”
“Regardless, it’s a theory Karen considered strong enough to follow to the end.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t rule out the more obvious explanations altogether. Karen had no other way of looking at it. She didn’t know about the attic access to Ana’s room, or the possible video tampering of the Dean tapes. She may have been looking at this case through only a peephole.”
“It does make you think.”
“Sure does. So, what else you got?”
“That’s it for now, except that Karen did a ton of research on nearly everyone in the HP&P circle. I’ve already pored over documents that suggest the principals, Hartman, Pierce and Petruzelli had no involvement in this mess whatsoever—if that helps.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said. “We already have so many players in this game, I need a scorecard to keep track.”
“I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”
“Wait, Spinelli, let me ask you something. You’re an expert in the supernatural, right?”
“I wouldn’t say expert…aficionado maybe.”
“Close enough. Look, have you ever heard of one person co-possessing the body of another?”
He paused so long I thought I lost the phone connection. “Spinelli? You there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“What do you think?”
“Excuse me, Detective, but I thought that’s the theory we were working on. Maybe I don’t understand your question.”