by Gary Braver
“Did you see the video?”
“The important parts. We got him. He’s going down.”
Reardon’s face was waxed with joy. He had something for the D.A. Steve latched onto his grin like a drowning man to a life vest. “Guess I should take a look if we’re going to court.”
“Be my guest.” From a pile of stuff on his desk Reardon handed him a CD.
Steve went to his office where he could watch it without interruption, his brain still on tilt.
The interrogation, which took place in the interrogation room on the second floor, had begun around nine that Friday morning and ended at one thirty with two brief breaks for Pendergast and Neil to use the toilet and have some takeout lunch.
Early on Neil sat across a small table from Pendergast. But he soon took to his feet, at times pacing and gesticulating with his hands, other times standing directly in front of Pendergast, his face pressed inches away. The tightness of the space created a forced intimacy as well as point-blank menace designed to create emotional confusion for a suspect.
From the onset Pendergast looked tired and distraught, even spacey. At times he didn’t seem to understand the questions and asked for repeats. He also muttered responses. At one point when Neil wasn’t looking he fingered a pill from his breast pocket and slipped it into his mouth.
Neil got them each a bottle of water. Then without any effort to put him at ease, he went right for the blood spot. “You’re on record saying you knew Terry Farina from the Mermaid Lounge. You also said you dated her. I want you to tell me about how many times that was.”
“Just once.”
“And when was that?”
“About three weeks ago.”
“And what did you do?”
“What did we do? W-we went to dinner then to the Regatta Bar in Harvard Square.”
“Did you pick her up at her place?”
“Yes. She met me at the door downstairs.”
“So you didn’t go up to her apartment.”
“No. I rang the bell and she came down.”
“Was the door locked—the outside downstairs door?”
“I guess. I didn’t try it.”
“And after the Regatta Bar then what?”
“I drove her home and that was it.”
“Did you go up to her apartment?”
“No, I just walked her to the door.”
“And said, ‘Good night,’ but didn’t go up.”
Pendergast nodded. “Yes.”
“And you still maintain that position?”
Pendergast nodded again.
Neil nodded back. “Uh-huh. The reason I ask is that our crime scene technicians found your fingerprints in Terry Farina’s apartment, including on a bottle of Oregon Pinot Gris and a wineglass. You want to tell me how they got there?”
Pendergast’s eyes fluttered for a moment, then he said, “Okay, I’m sorry, I went up for a glass of wine, but it was no big deal I swear, and it was just that once.”
“Well, Earl, I appreciate your being truthful. Thank you.” Neil had switched to Sergeant Good Guy. “Now we’re being honest with each other, and that’s good. Frankly, Earl, I can understand why you held back. I mean, you’re a popular professor and noted scholar, and given your situation, you wouldn’t want to be seen in the wrong company. If that were me, I’d feel the same way. I wouldn’t want it to get out.”
Pendergast looked at him with apprehension. “There’s no chance of that, is there?”
“If you’re innocent you can trust me it won’t leave this station.”
“I’m innocent.”
“Then you’re golden. So how many other dates did you have with her?”
“That was it.”
“Other visits to her apartment?”
“That was it. She was interested in going to grad school, and I was trying to encourage her.”
Neil stared at him hard. “Let me get this straight. You wanted to see her quit the pole, but you’re a strip-club junkie and one of her groupies. Isn’t that something of a contradiction, Earl?”
Steve could hear the furnace firing up.
“I suppose, but I think she liked stripping but wanted to become a psychologist.”
“Why do you think that was? Why dance naked for a bunch of strangers?”
“The money.”
“Yeah, the money.” Neil rubbed his face as if removing a mask. “Let me ask you this. When you were up there in her apartment, did you ever go into her bedroom?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Yes, never.”
“So, you confined your visit to what, the living room?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you wander into the kitchen or other rooms, or maybe she showed you around?”
“Maybe the bathroom, but that was it.”
“Good.” Pendergast took a swig of water and in a sympathetic ploy Neil did also. “The problem is your fingerprints were found on the headboard of her bed where she was murdered.”
Pendergast flinched. “That’s impossible. I was never in her bedroom.”
“Bullshit. You were in there the night she died.”
“No, I wasn’t. I swear.”
Neil bore down on him. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”
Pendergast looked more confused than frightened. The news accounts of her death made clear that she had not been sexually molested. “No. I never…had sex with her.”
He began to push himself away when Neil slammed the table with the flat of his hand. “Tell me the truth, you little creep, you had sex with her.”
Pendergast froze. “N-no, never. I swear.”
“How many times?”
“N-never.”
Neil hung over him like a boulder. “Look me in the eye and tell me you never had sex with her.”
“N-never, and I swear on my life.”
“But you were in her bedroom because that’s where you killed her.”
“No. I was never in her bedroom. And I didn’t kill her. I swear.”
“You also swore you’d never been to her place. So how am I supposed to believe you now, huh?”
“I-I mean it. But that was weeks ago and nothing happened. We sat on the couch and had wine and talked. That was it. I was there for maybe an hour. If I admitted it, you’d be more suspicious. But I never stepped foot in her bedroom.”
“Then you did it on the couch.”
“No, we only talked.”
“You mean to say you watched her spread her legs a hundred times on the bar and you didn’t want to dive in?”
“I was attracted to her, but she said she didn’t want to get involved with anyone, that she had broken up with a guy and just wanted to hang loose.”
“Hang loose, right. She go down on you on the couch?”
“No, we only talked about her going back to school.”
The video went on like this for another half hour, but Pendergast would not yield in spite of Neil’s dogged attempts to get him to admit to having had sex with Terry. Neil then shifted tactics. “You come clean with me and I promise to make this easy for you, okay? You’re not here by accident. This is serious shit, because we’ve got more matched-up evidence.” He glared at him to let it sink in. “We found both your prints and your DNA on her bed.”
“What DNA?”
“Your hair.”
“That can’t be. I was never in her bedroom. It must have gotten in there some other way—on her clothes or the laundry. Or…”
“Or what? Somebody planted it? Is that what you were going to say?”
Pendergast looked too terrified to respond.
“You think the police broke into your apartment, removed hairs from your brush then headed off to the lab to stuff the evidence bags. That what you’re hinting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen to me, buddy, nobody planted a fucking thing. Okay? Your hair was on the sheets they brought to the state crime lab. Your hair. Your genetic marke
r. Period.”
Pendergast started to get up again. “I’ve had enough.”
“You leave, and you’re not going to want to see the evening news.”
“You’re threatening me.”
“I’m asking you to tell me the truth.”
“I told you the truth.”
“Bullshit.”
“If you’re going to continue interrogating me, I want a lawyer. That’s my constitutional right.”
Neil looked at him blankly, knowing full well that he was obligated by law to provide Pendergast the opportunity for counsel, but he said nothing. Instead, he left the room for more than fifteen minutes, during which time Pendergast squirmed in his seat, got up, went to the door and listened, then opened it, closed it again, and returned to the table, where he rested his head on his arms. Clearly he was too intimidated by Neil’s threats of exposure to walk. He also seemed determined to convince Neil that he was neither a lover of Farina nor her murderer.
Steve paused the DVD and went out for another coffee.
35
When Steve returned, he hit the play button again. On the monitor, Neil had entered with two coffees and donuts. He said nothing about Pendergast’s request for a lawyer. Instead, he stood sipping and glaring down at him, waiting for him to break the tension. And he did.
“Look, I don’t want to leave the wrong impression. I didn’t mention being at her place because I knew how it’d look.”
Either he had dismissed the lawyer option in hopes of winning Neil’s approval or deep down he felt he deserved the punishment. What he did not know was that as soon as a request for legal counsel was made, the interrogation was legally over; and the only way to continue was for the witness to reinitiate it. Pendergast had done that, and Neil was off the hook.
“I hear what you’re saying, Earl.” Neil now sat across from him again. It was well into the second hour. “Let me ask you a question. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A Porsche.”
Neil looked at his notes. “A red 2006 Boxter, Mass plates 919 WMD. Well, I have news for you,” he said with wide gotcha eyes. “A witness out walking his dog saw your car down the street from Terry’s apartment. It’s a hot set of wheels he hadn’t seen there before.”
“That can’t be. I was in my apartment and didn’t leave until the next day.”
“We have no verification of that. And we’ve got a sworn affidavit you were on Payson Road.”
“I’m telling you I was home.”
“No, you weren’t home, Professor. You were at Terry Farina’s where you drank half a bottle of white wine, tried to fuck her, but something went wrong—you couldn’t get it up or whatever, so you killed her.”
For a terrible moment, Steve felt as if Neil were interrogating him.
Pendergast began to stand up. “I’ve had enough of this.”
Before he could take a step Neil stabbed his finger in Pendergast’s face. “You walk out of here and that tells me you’ve got something to hide. Sit your ass down and tell me what went on up there.”
Pendergast stood staring at Neil, probably wondering why if they had his DNA and a witness they didn’t arrest him. He lowered himself into the chair. Again he protested that he was home nursing a headache. But under Neil’s coercion, mental exhaustion crossed with medication to turn that protest into mush. His voice weakened and the fight waned, which only encouraged Neil to slam away that once a liar always a liar, that he suffered from pathological denial, which was why he didn’t remember actually killing Terry. He reviewed his sexual offenses and all the adult Web sites, showing him downloaded images, including men engaged with underage girls. It was less a review than a stoning.
Pendergast denied interest in child porn, but under threat of a charge Neil got what he was after. “I really feel bad about all that,” he said, trying not to break down.
“It’s okay, Earl. I understand.”
“I’ve got problems I’m trying to deal with. I don’t like some of the things I’ve done. I’ve hurt women.”
“How’ve you hurt them, Earl?”
“Led them on then broke things off. I’d like to find someone and settle down, but I can’t. It’s a curse.”
Neil patted Pendergast’s shoulder. “I understand, pal. Really. Lots of guys are like that.” He purred with false compassion as tears rolled down Pendergast’s face.
“I know what my problem is. I’m looking for someone to fill a void.”
“An old girlfriend?”
Pendergast shook his head and didn’t elaborate.
“It’s okay, guy. It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t like what I’ve done.”
Neil handed him a box of Kleenex then produced photos of Terry naked at the pole and laid them out on the table. “Look, Earl, I’m going to tell you something you can take to the bank. Right now I’m the best friend you have in the world. Okay? You’ve made some mistakes—we all do. But at this point I just want you to know that I’m here to help you from making worse mistakes that could send you to prison for the rest of your life. Okay?”
Pendergast nodded.
“Good.”
Neil was putting Pendergast in a long yes mood, creating a mind-set where he’d be less likely to lie. Four hours had passed, and Pendergast only wanted to get it over with, no matter what. Neil asked about his medications and Pendergast named antidepressants and tranquilizers, which Neil latched onto with claims that known side effects included violent fits and retrograde amnesia. “Let’s talk about the last night you were with her—last Saturday. You went over to her apartment for a little visit….” And he trailed off to let Pendergast fill in the blank.
Pendergast snapped alert. “I wasn’t at her house last Saturday.”
“Then tell me about the other time.”
“I told you. We went out to eat, then to the Regatta Bar. And I took her home.”
“Then what?”
“Then she asked me up for a glass of wine. And we talked about her application.”
“White wine. Which you’d brought, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bring anything else with you? A gift or anything? Flowers or a pair of stockings?”
Pendergast shook his head.
“How many glasses of wine did you have?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two.”
“There was only half a bottle of Pinot Gris found.”
“Maybe it was three. I don’t remember.”
“Did she drink the white wine also?”
He thought for a moment. “I think she had red.”
“And how many did she have?”
“I don’t recall. Maybe two.”
“Good. I like how it’s coming back to you. Then you began to make out on the couch, but that wasn’t very comfortable so you went into the bedroom.”
“No, we didn’t go into the bedroom.”
“Did you have sex?”
“No.”
“You mean you didn’t even get a kiss for all you did?”
Pendergast glared at Neil for a long moment. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You mean you made out.”
“A little.”
“A little? Why didn’t you go all the way? You had that gorgeous woman with the flaming red hair and hot bod. Mean you couldn’t get it up?”
“We didn’t have any condoms.”
“Ah, so you would have, but you didn’t want to take the chance, right?”
Pendergast nodded.
“Because she was a stripper.”
“Yeah.”
“But she wanted to have sex.”
“Yes.”
Neil pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to squeeze back the possibilities. “It’s all coming back.” Neil seemed crazed all of a sudden. “Did you initiate it or did she?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then maybe I can help you. You began to make a lot of kissy-face and you nuzzled your fa
ce into that thick red hair and stroked her breasts, which fired her up and she began to rub your bulge, right?” Neil’s face was bright red.
“I want to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to tell me what you did.”
“I-I’m tired. I don’t remember.”
“Sure, you’re tired and forgot stuff. I wasn’t there or anything, but let me guess. She then got up and went into her little routine, peeled off her dress like she was at the pole. Stripped down to her bra and thong and fancy black stockings that made your eyeballs smoke, right?”
Pendergast shook his head, too afraid to leave with Neil pacing like a leopard, narrating.
“Then she peeled off her stockings one by one and dangled them at you, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And you know what I think?
I think you killed her but it wasn’t your fault. Really. You know why? Because she made you do it. I think it was really an accident.”
“No,” Pendergast pleaded.
“Yes. And it’s because she wanted to make you bad.” He snapped up a photo of her wearing only black stockings. “The thing is, Earl, Terry Farina was nothing but a little tramp. She preyed on men like you and me for money. And that’s what it was all about, money. You and a thousand other guys got suckered into laying down good money to watch her strip. But she went too far and tried to recruit you, told you you could have the real thing, right? I mean look at her.” And he spread the photos while Pendergast gaped without expression.
“I know what you like: pretty women, clean women. What normal guy doesn’t? But not the scullery maid even if she’s got gorgeous red hair. You were looking for Ms. Right, not her, because she was bad.” Neil nudged his shoulder. “Right?”
Pendergast nodded.
“You bet. She was dirty and she tried to make you dirty, and you got mad. And you know what? Maybe she got what she deserved.”
Pendergast grunted.
“Thing is, women like that get you to drop your defenses, make you act against your better judgment—create illusions and denial. It happens to me. Happens to everybody. Do something dumb and you repress it from your memory. It’s perfectly human. You’re a college professor, I needn’t tell you.”
