by Deanna King
Jack had an idea of what was fixing to happen. In her heart, she knew too. Evidence was circumstantial now, and one thing he did know, Forensics told the truth, and he knew there was a story to put together. He would wait until he had the proof in his hands, right now all it was, was conjecture.
“Ma’am, what I need right now is a copy of any paperwork signed by your mother, a letter or any document you have that we can do a handwriting analysis of.”
“I have a letter here in my purse she wrote to me about a month ago.”
A sad expression crossed her face. “I know, silly, huh? I mean, we can talk free on our cell phones anytime. My mom, she loved sending me things to surprise me, and her letters always brightened my days. Now I’ll never get another letter, another phone call, nothing. I never thought that would happen, not until she was too old to write or call.”
Jack took the letter, promising her she would get it back. He made a mental note to himself to call his mother and father; one never knew what the future had in store for the days you had left that God had given you.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lucky headed over to the Houston crime lab, dropped off the guns for fingerprints, and then asked them to send the guns to ballistics. He took the suicide note, with the trust form documents, along with the documents Shayla Burdett had supplied for analysis to the handwriting analysis department. He had a slew of departments, all jumping into action when he told them it was a high-profile case with a possible double murder. No one wanted Dawson Luck to have to call the captain, who would then get the chief of police, Darren Pratt, involved.
Back at the station, Jack had not yet read him his rights and Sean was cooperating. He had no doubts that Sean was the doer. He expected the jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes would yield the forensic evidence and the fact that his father had not one, but two bullets put through his head. But, he wanted to hear the kid’s lame story. If he was fortunate enough, the kid would confess. He wasn’t sure how much strain the boy could take.
“Sean, let’s go in here so we can talk.” He led him to an interview room, and the boy took a seat. He was feeling confident by the look on his face.
“You want some water or a soda? I’m going to grab some coffee before we start.”
Sean thought for a minute. “Sure, I’ll take a Diet Sprite if you have one.”
“I can round that up, be back in a minute.”
Closing the door to the interview room, he wondered if Sean understood that he was here of his own choice and free to go anytime. He would remind him again.
“Here you go, one Diet Sprite.” He set the plastic bottle on the table and then a tape recorder and legal pad at his side.
Taking the Sprite bottle and unscrewing the cap, Sean eyed the tape recorder.
“You’re gonna tape our conversation, why?” His voice was steady, but his face said otherwise.
“This way I can’t twist your words. You know, in case you say something and I was to take it out of context in any way, this tape backs you up, understand? And if you want to leave, we can do this a different way.”
“I don’t want anyone to mess up what I say, and I want to get this straightened out. I’m glad we’re recording it.”
He knew he would be able to explain the reason he was trying to cover up the incident. Besides, he was positive he had done everything to cover up his involvement. It was smooth sailing at least in his small mind, but that was overconfidence to the nth power. He sat up a bit straighter, he could handle this. He knew he could.
“Okay, tell me, Sean, what happened last Thursday night.”
“Nothing, I worked late, and I didn’t want to go home, I, uh, slept at my office.”
“Were you home Friday night?”
Sean shook his head—no verbal answer—and he didn’t say where, so he had to ask.
“Where were you Friday then?”
“Uh, at my office again, I had work to do, and it got late. I decided to spend the night there.”
“Can anyone verify this, Sean, can anyone corroborate your story?”
“No, I was alone, my secretary doesn’t sleep there, and I stayed in the building all night.” He got indignant and raised his voice a half degree, but Jack gave him a look that said, “keep your cool.”
“Did you go home Saturday?”
“No, man, I didn’t. I told you before that I needed to get away, I didn’t want to be home.”
“But you said you have your own place, the pool house, you have a nice bed and food there, why not just go home?”
“You don’t get it, do you? It might be my room,” he used air quotes, “but I don’t like it because it is my parents’ place and they freaking drive me nuts, okay.”
“What about friends, don’t you have any friends who’d let you crash at their place?”
“Huh, friends, fair-weathered they are. I mean, when I have money, they’re around, and when I’m broke, they’re invisible. It’s been that way my entire life. Christ, I had friends because of the money I tossed around to impress them or buy them. Dude, look at me, I’m a washout, not tall, not handsome, and to top that off, I am a freaking geek.”
He played the “Pitiful Polly” routine and Jack wasn’t buying it. He knew Sean wanted him to see the poor lonely rich boy, a boy without friends unless he was tossing about money—that was bunk. He didn’t feel sorry for him. The kid should’ve tried to work on his personality, there was no money involved to do that. He saw a crybaby, wet blanket, and a coward. He went back to the questions about the relationship with his parents.
“Tell me what drives you nuts. I have parents and stuff so tell me.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and took on the persona of a man talking bullshit about parents. He wanted Sean to think he understood how parents drove you bonkers. He wanted to work up to the real reason he had brought him in…he had to bide his time… He needed to show him that it was finally over once Lucky handed him the evidence.
“I don’t know, my dad’s always coming out there to talk to get out from under my mom, and he likes to drink with me. He thought he was a cool dad, you know, one of the fellas. My mom, no worries there, she doesn’t come out to the pool house ever, and I’m glad.” Hatred permeated the air when he spoke about his mother. He had never met a kid that hated his mother as Sean hated his.
He tried to hide his own disgust pretending to agree, with a nod.
“Parents can be a drag when you’re an adult and you feel like they are holding you back.”
He relaxed and leaned back in his chair, hoping Sean would believe that was a “friendly” move; he would relax and get chattier. Sean nodded, contented, thinking Jack understood him.
“You stated that you didn’t want the stigma your father’s murder/suicide would bring, so when did you find the bodies?”
Sean took a long drink of Sprite, and Jack noted that the boy had sweat on his brow, although the room was cool.
“I, uh, found them, uh, Saturday night, it was late. I didn’t get home until around midnight.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Sean looked at Jack then the tape recorder, and he paused.
“How should I know, I wasn’t there, I found them that way. My m-m-mom,” he stuttered, trying hard to conjure tears. “She was lying there, blood all over her, it was coming out of her mouth and nose, and she wasn’t breathing. I called out for my d-d-dad, and he didn’t answer then I went into his bathroom, and that’s where I found him sitting by the tub. He shot himself in the head.” His fake tears never appeared, and that pissed him off.
“I am sure that was an awful scene to see, I mean, that would
upset anyone and I am sure you panicked, is that what happened?”
Sean bobbed his head like a bobble doll, and then leaned back in his chair, a posture of “so, I don’t care.”
Jack noted his posture. “Then what happened?”
Sean gulped and took in a large breath of air before he began trying to act like a grief-stricken son, but Jack wasn’t buying it, although he put on a face that said, “I am so sorry,” to pretend he was empathizing with him.
“When I saw the gun I was upset.”
“Where was the gun before you removed it?”
“It was, uh, in his lap, his hand was lying on top of it. Blood was oozing from his head, his mouth, and nose, it was a-a-awful.”
He feigned his despair again, but not convincingly.
“I am sure it was a horrifying sight to see. Where was the note when you found it?”
“It was…he left it on the countertop, and I didn’t see it at first. I was upset that he would do this to me. I mean, I have my own problems. Why couldn’t he have talked to me before doing such a terrible thing? I mean, why did he have to kill her too?”
He let out a wail that was so phony even he didn’t believe himself, but he couldn’t back down so he laid his head on the table, and his shoulders lifted, moving as if he were crying.
“Pull yourself together.” Jack rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous, and his acting was piss poor. Good thing that wasn’t his life’s calling, he would have starved to death long ago.
The boy banged his head, not very hard, on the top of the table, trying to make a show if it. He raised his head and covered his face with his hands to pretend to wipe nonexistent tears from his face. Oh, he had wetness on his face, and he knew he was perspiring. He was wiping his salty sweat into his eyes hoping the salt would cause them to tear up.
“That was about when on Saturday night?”
“Uh, it was, I think about one in the morning.”
“What did you do next?”
“I…” Sean stopped talking when Jack’s cell phone beeped. He looked at the text, it was from Lucky, and he was back at the station.
“Sean, wait here. Let me go see what this is about. I hate to be interrupted, but,” he smiled, “this happens in my line of work. Makes me darn mad to be in the middle of such a vital interview and get pulled away by my own boss.”
Sean looked at Jack with a self-confident grin. “Messes you up, I can understand. I’ll be here when you get back, and, uh, you think I can get another drink, Detective?”
No remorse, the boy was callous.
“I can get you another, here, let me take that empty bottle, them buggers don’t even put trash cans in here.”
He took the plastic bottle by the bottom and scooped it up.
Sean believed he was making a new friend. Most importantly, that was what he wanted him to think.
Lucky was in the hallway. “Interviewing the titbag?”
“Yep, got it started. How’d it go over at the crime lab, are they rushing?”
Lucky let out a short bark of laughter. “Yep, looked like a beehive swarming when I left. What, have you gone to drinking Diet Sprite? I thought you were a Diet DP man?” He pointed to the empty bottle.
“Naw, got Sean a soda, gonna get him another. I pretended to complain that we don’t even put trash cans in the room. I’m taking him another soda but wanted this, I have his fingerprints and DNA. Get someone from CSU to pull prints.”
“Way to go, bud. You want me to come in with you and stare at him, make him nervous?” Lucky smiled and patted his gun, who he named Greta…Greta Glock.
“No, call Bennie. Get the time of death from him, and get a copy of Marcus Stegwig’s skull showing the second bullet. Get the pictures from where CSU removed the bullet from the doorjamb and a picture of the bullet. Then get a copy of the report stating that there was just the one shell casing found at the scene in the bathroom. Get pictures of Marta Stegwig’s broken ribs, and get me the prints off that bottle.”
“Do you want me to get you a sandwich and the winning Lotto numbers while I am running all your errands?”
The look he gave his partner would have disintegrated anyone else but not Dawson Luck.
“Hey, ease up, Jack, we got this. That boy ain’t going anywhere, you and I both know that, and even if he saunters out of here thinking he has pulled one over, we know the truth. Once we get all of the forensic results we’ll have everything we need, so stop fretting and stressing.”
“We’ve already got him here and I’d hate to worry about trying to find him later. I’m going to let him stew for a few minutes. I am running out of reasons to keep leaving him alone. The sooner we get this stuff, the faster we can take this boy to Booking.”
“Then I am wasting valuable time standing here jawing with you.”
With that, he darted out and went to do everything Jack had asked of him or at least get all he could.
“Text me when you got it,” he hollered and Dawson gave him the thumbs-up.
Jack headed back to the interview room. Sean was waiting, and he was sure the foolish self-confident brat thought he was in no trouble at all. He hoped to keep him at ease, talk himself into a corner, and then he would shed real tears. The waterworks not meant for his dead mother or dead father, Sean would be sobbing for the life he would no longer have. What a change in his lifestyle—a six by six room, with a cot and a hole to pee in—to be rich, Sean was just the lucky boy.
. . .
“My apologies, Sean, here’s a Diet Sprite and a package of crackers. I have to go back out, my captain has me working on a call. I’ll be right back. Will you be okay in here for a few minutes until I get back?”
He was throwing up a smoke screen; he needed to buy Lucky some time. He wanted to get this done and place Sean under arrest.
“You bet, and thanks for the crackers. I didn’t eat today, my stomach was growling a bit.” He laughed nervously. He had an appetite, which was not a sign of him having a conscience. If a person was under strain or stress because of guilt, their stomach knotted up, and eating or drinking was the furthest thing from their minds. Sean was, right now, cool and overly confident.
“You know, Sean, if you want to leave you can, but we need to get this over with, don’t you think?”
He made him aware that he was free to go anytime he wanted. He wanted to make sure Sean knew he was at the station of his own volition.
“Oh, no, I want to get this cleared up, I’ll stay, then we can finish when you get back,” Sean replied as he opened the crackers.
Jack left him alone to eat his crackers and drink his soda and hoped he choked on the crackers.
. . .
Lucky had been gone for over forty minutes. He couldn’t keep stalling, or Sean was going to get suspicious and lawyer up or leave. Jack had to keep this controlled and rolling in his way.
He’d wait for five more minutes then go back into the interview room and do what he needed to do. Lucky would show up, he just wished he would hurry.
Five minutes passed in what felt like a blink. As Jack headed back to the interview room, a text sounded on his phone. In the hall headed to you right now, was all the text said.
He stopped, relieved that Lucky was back, and he geared himself up. He was ready for what was to occur.
“Sorry,” Lucky said out of breath. “I ran up the stairs. Bennie had it all ready for me, and since traffic stalled, I put on the Kojak lights cuz I knew you were waiting.
Sean’s volatile behavior in the pool house was a concern, and this was even more serious. Jack decided that they would need to cuff the boy, just to k
eep him in check.
“Lucky, I think he is more scared of you than cuffs.”
“Yep, I’d say he’s a change-your-shorts kinda scared of me now.”
“Come on, pard, let’s go nail this guy’s nerdy ass to the wall.”
Sean sat up straight when he saw Detective Luck. He didn’t care for him much, the crazy cop held him at gunpoint.
Jack set the folders on the table and looked at Sean, then Dawson Luck walked behind the chair the boy was sitting in.
“Stand up,” he told the boy. “You’re under arrest for the double murder of your parents, Marcus and Marta Stegwig. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” Jack continued while Sean Stegwig stood dumbfounded.
While he read him his rights, Dawson Luck cuffed the boy’s hands behind his back.
“Hey, wait, I thought we were just talking, and I agreed to talk to you, why am I under arrest, I told you what happened?” He talked over him, but Jack ignored him.
“With these rights in mind, Sean Stegwig, are you willing to continue talking to me?”
“Yeah, let’s clear this up before it gets any worse. Being cuffed and having him”—he gestured with his head to Detective Luck—“Quick Draw McGraw, next to me, dude, that’s as bad as it gets.”
Jack had him sit with his cuffed hands behind him. He hadn’t lawyered up and the tape recorder had been rolling…now he was going to make his play.
Dawson Luck stood with his back against the side wall, his eyes boring into the boy. Sean began to sweat, and Lucky’s glare was penetrating into his deepest fears.
“If you want to tell me the truth, Sean, you better do it, because this is your last chance.”
“I have told you the truth, I mean, what else can I do, make up a different story?” His voice was near pleading.
“There are some facts you aren’t being honest about. Isn’t that right? Let me fill you in. First, a witness puts you at the house on Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday night, and Monday morning. You say you were at your office sleeping but you have no witnesses and no way to corroborate your story. That means you don’t have a solid alibi. Secondly, the time of death that the medical examiner noted was within a 72-hour window. That means that your mother and father were both dead by last Thursday night to very early Friday morning and no one has seen either of them since Thursday night, no one. Thirdly, I want you to take a look at a few pictures.”
