by McBain, Ed
CARELLA: How did Muriel react to his suggestion?
PATRICIA: She said, Oh, come on, Andy. Something like that. To just tell him he shouldn’t be saying something like that, but at the same time not to hurt his feelings. Because they were very close, you know, everybody said they were just like brother and sister.
CARELLA: What happened then?
PATRICIA: He said…it’s really hard to believe this. I still can’t believe this was my brother saying these things, or…or doing what he—
CARELLA: All right, Patricia.
PATRICIA: I’m sorry.
CARELLA: That’s all right, take your time.
PATRICIA: I’m sorry, forgive me.
KLING: Here, use one of these.
PATRICIA: Thank you. It’s…it’s just, you see, I expected him to laugh or something, but instead he said, I’m not kidding, Mure, take off your dress. And when I turned to look at him, he was holding the knife in his hand.
CARELLA: You hadn’t seen the knife before then?
PATRICIA: No. He must’ve had it in his pants pocket or something. Or maybe in his belt. I don’t know. He just pulled it out and there it was in his hand.
CARELLA: The knife you identified for us earlier today?
PATRICIA: Yes.
CARELLA: Is this the knife, Patricia?
PATRICIA: Yes. That’s the knife Andy pulled out.
CARELLA: And he told Muriel he wasn’t kidding.
PATRICIA: Yes. About taking off her dress, he meant. He meant he wasn’t kidding about telling her to take off the dress.
CARELLA: What happened then?
PATRICIA: Well, Muriel, I guess she…I’m not sure about this, but I think she giggled. And he…he pushed the knife at her, and…and grabbed her by the wrist and she started to scream and he told her to shut up. Then, still holding her by the wrist, he forced her down on her knees and said…said things to her.
CARELLA: What things?
PATRICIA: He told her to…to…He was holding the knife on her. He said, Go on, take it, I know you want it. I was watching them, I didn’t know what to do or say, I just kept watching them. I was so shocked, you see. They were cousins. He was making his own cousin do this, his own cousin. It was still pouring. I could hear the rain outside and Muriel grunting, or moaning, on her knees there, with his…with the knife…with…with—
CARELLA: Okay, Patricia.
PATRICIA: I’m sorry.
CARELLA: Okay now.
PATRICIA: Then he…he started sticking the knife in her. He started stabbing her all over, I couldn’t… This was my brother doing this…my brother… I couldn’t…And then he turned to me, and he said, All right, honey, you’re next, something like that, and I said, Andy, you’re crazy, and he said, Get down on your knees, and I said, Andy, I’m your sister, and he said, So what, you’re going to…I can’t say it. I’m sorry, I can’t say it.
CARELLA: That’s all right.
PATRICIA: Do I have to say it?
CARELLA: Not if you don’t want to.
PATRICIA: He said…oh my God, I can’t believe it, I still can’t believe he said this to me…he said I was going to…I would have to…I would have to…to do what Muriel had done, and…I can’t say it, I’m sorry. I can’t use the words he used.
CARELLA: All right, Patricia.
PATRICIA: And then he began stabbing me. He slashed me on the hands and on the face, he just kept slashing with the knife, and I must have kicked him, I really don’t remember, but he was on the floor moaning, so I know I must’ve done something, and I ran away from him. I could only think he had lost his mind. I could only think my brother had gone crazy. I didn’t tell you any of this before because I…I still love him, you see, he’s my brother. But he’s got to pay for what he did, I know he’s got to pay. When I saw him at the funeral this morning, and he jumped on the coffin that way, I knew he had everybody fooled, saying he loved Muriel, beating his chest that way and yelling so everybody could hear, Muriel, wake up, say you’re not dead, whatever it is he was yelling there, I love you, Muriel, I love you. No, I had to tell you everything I knew, I had to make sure he got punished, the way Muriel was punished.
It was 8:07 P.M.
They had picked up Andrew Lowery at twenty minutes to seven, and now he sat in the squadroom with Detectives Carella and Kling, and Detective-Lieutenant Peter Byrnes, and an assistant district attorney named Roger Locke, and an attorney named Gerrold Harris, who was representing the nineteen-year-old boy. A police stenographer sat on Lowery’s left, waiting to record for posterity anything he or any of the others said tonight. Gerrold Harris had spoken to Lowery earlier, and then had told the police and the assistant DA that his client would waive his privilege to remain silent, and would voluntarily answer whatever questions they cared to ask him. It was the assistant DA who conducted the interrogation. He had talked to Carella and Kling and then had read the transcript of Patricia Lowery’s first account of the murder, and had listened to the tape she’d made just a little while ago. He sat on the edge of Carella’s desk now, and looked at Lowery, and said, “My name is Roger Locke, I’m from the district attorney’s office. Your attorney tells me you’ve waived your privilege to remain silent and wish to answer whatever questions we may put to you. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Are you aware of what your sister has told the police?”
“Yes, sir, I’m aware of it.”
“What do you think of her statement?”
“Sir, I think she must have lost her mind, sir. Everything she said was a lie. I didn’t even see her and Muriel on the night—”
“Your sister claims you caught up with them on the corner of Harding and Sixteenth—”
“That’s a lie.”
“She claims she and Muriel were standing under an awning—”
“No, sir.”
“…and you came running up—”
“No, sir, that’s a lie.”
“Well, I’d like to finish my sentence, if I may.”
“You can finish it,” Lowery said, “but I’m telling you right now that I didn’t kill my cousin. I loved my cousin, and whatever Patricia told you—”
“Well, Mr. Lowery, if you’re going to answer my questions, as you’ve agreed to do, then I’d appreciate it if you’d allow me to phrase them before you—”
“I don’t think you can blame the boy for interrupting,” Harris said. “He’s innocent of any crime, and his sister has made an accusation that—”
“Counselor, really, this isn’t necessary at this stage, is it?” Locke asked. “Your client has agreed to answer our questions, so why not allow me to ask them? Either that, or advise him to remain silent, and we’ll all go home, and save ourselves a lot of time.”
“All of us but the boy,” Harris said. “He’s not about to go home, is he? He’s been charged with homicide, Mr. Locke, and that’s pretty serious, I think you’ll agree that’s pretty serious. So, if you don’t mind, whereas I want him to answer all your questions, I want his answers in the record, at the same time I wish you’d understand that he’s amazed by his sister’s accusation, and frankly outraged by it. I do not feel that’s too strong a word to describe his reaction. Outraged. So—”
“All I’m suggesting,” Locke said, “is that I be permitted to put my questions to him.”
“Go ahead and put your questions,” Harris said.
“Thank you. Mr. Lowery, your sister claims that she and your cousin were standing under an awning on Sixteenth and Harding when you came upon them on the night of September sixth. She further claims that the three of you walked to Fourteenth and Harding, where you took shelter from the rain in an abandoned tenement—”
“None of that is true,” Lowery said.
“I still haven’t phrased the question,” Locke said.
“Mr. Locke,” Harris said, “if you’re about to premise your question on something my client states at the top is false—”
“Mr. Harris, perhaps you’d prefer asking him the question.”
“Thank you, no, Mr. Locke. But my client maintains he was not with Patricia Lowery and Muriel Stark on the night of the murder. It’s pointless, therefore, to ask him questions about anything that allegedly happened in their presence. If you wish to confine your questioning to where my client was at such and such a time, that’s another story. But to state as fact something that—”
“Let me just try a question, may I?” Locke said. “If your client doesn’t care for the question, you can advise him not to answer it. How does that sound, Mr. Harris?”
“Let’s hear the question.”
Locke drew a deep breath, and then said, “Mr. Lowery, did you find your sister and your cousin under an awning at Harding and Sixteenth at approximately ten minutes to eleven P.M. on Saturday, September sixth?”
“I did not,” Lowery said.
“Where were you at that time? Do you remember where you were?”
“I was looking for them.”
“Where were you looking for them?”
“In the street.”
“You had previously been to Paul Gaddis’s apartment, is that right? You’d been looking for them there.”
“That’s right.”
“What time did you get there?”
“Paul’s place? It must’ve been about twenty-five to eleven.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“Just a few minutes. Just long enough to find out the girls had left. Then I went out looking for them. And it started raining very hard, so I went back up to Paul’s, thinking maybe they’d changed their mind. Because of the rain. Because it was raining so hard. But they weren’t there, so I went out looking for them again.”
“And did you find them on Harding and Sixteenth?”
“No, sir. I never did find them. When I got home, my mother told me they weren’t there yet, and I said she’d better call the police. Which she did.”
“Why’d you suggest that she call the police?”
“Because they’d left Paul’s at ten-thirty, and here it was past midnight, and they still weren’t home. I was afraid something might have happened to them.”
“Did you have any reason to believe something might have happened to them?”
“Only that they’d been out in the street for almost two hours, and they still weren’t home.”
“And you’d been searching for them all that time, is that correct?”
“Not all that time. A few minutes of it, I was up at Paul’s.”
“But we can say roughly, can’t we, that from eleven-forty or thereabout—”
“Yes.”
“…to a quarter past midnight, you were actively searching for your sister and your cousin. Except for those few minutes when you went back to Paul Gaddis’s apartment.”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“We could say that you’d been searching in the rain for about ninety minutes. An hour and a half, is that right? You’d been searching—”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Where did you search?”
“Everywhere.”
“By everywhere, would you say your search included the corner of Harding and Sixteenth?”
“Yes, sir, I went past Harding and Sixteenth.”
“Did you see the girls there?”
“No, sir.”
“What time would you say you went past Harding and Sixteenth?”
“It must’ve been close to eleven. Either a little before eleven or a little after.”
“Well, your sister claims that she and your cousin were standing under an awning at Harding and Sixteenth at about ten to eleven, or five to eleven, she wasn’t exactly certain. But you’ve just told me you passed that corner at a little before eleven, and you didn’t see anyone standing there.”
“No, sir. If my sister was on that corner with Muriel, I must’ve just missed them.”
“I see. And when you continued your search for them, did you happen to wander past Harding and Fourteenth?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“Past the construction site there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The abandoned tenement there? Did you pass the abandoned tenement?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“But you didn’t see Muriel or your sister.”
“No, sir, I didn’t see either one of them.”
“What time would you say this was? When you walked past the abandoned tenement on Harding and Fourteenth?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. I know I got back to Paul’s at about a quarter past eleven, so it had to have been before that.”
“Before a quarter past eleven.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then you went up to Paul’s—”
“Yes, I went up to see if the girls had gone back there, but they hadn’t. So I went down looking for them again.”
“And did you go past the abandoned tenement again?”
“No, sir. I went in the opposite direction this time. I began searching in the opposite direction.”
“Mr. Lowery, when you were in Paul Gaddis’s apartment… you were in there twice on the night of the murder, were you not?”
“Yes, sir, twice.”
“Did you go into the kitchen on either of those occasions?”
“Yes, I was in the kitchen both times.”
“Both times.”
“Yes, I was talking to Paul in the kitchen.”
“Did you notice any knives on a rack above the counter top?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“There’s a cutting board, from what I understand, that forms one section of the counter top, and above that there’s a knife rack. You didn’t see that rack?”
“No, sir, I did not see a knife rack.”
“Do you recognize this knife?” Locke asked, and shook the knife out of the manila envelope and onto the desk top.
“No, sir, I don’t recognize that knife,” Lowery said.
“Never saw it before?”
“Never.”
“Your sister says it’s the knife that killed Muriel Stark.”
“I couldn’t tell you about that, sir.”
“Because you’ve never seen this knife before, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“But your sister did see it.”
“Then I suppose she knows what it looks like.”
“Do you suppose she also knows what the killer looks like?”
“If she says I’m the killer, then she’s crazy. That’s all there is to it,” Lowery said. “She’s just crazy.”
“You weren’t in that hallway with them, is that it?”
“That’s it, sir.”
“You didn’t force your cousin to perform an unnatural—”
“Sir, I loved my cousin and I did not kill her. I simply did not kill her. My sister has got to be crazy, that’s all there is to it.”
“Do you and your sister get along well?” Locke asked.
“Yes, sir, we do. I always thought we got along fine. But now I don’t know what to say, I honestly don’t know what’s got into her. Sir, if I may make a suggestion, I would like to suggest that you have a psychiatrist look at her, because, sir, she has got to be crazy to be making this kind of an accusation.”
“Mr. Lowery, I’m going to ask you some personal questions,” Locke said. “If you don’t want to answer them, just say so, all right? Is that all right with you, Counselor?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Harris said. “I want the record to show that my client has cooperated in every respect. He had nothing to do with this crime, and—”
“Mr. Lowery, where do you live, can you tell me that?”
“I live at 1604 St. John’s Road.”
“With your parents?”
“Yes.”
“And your sister?”
“Yes.”
“And your cousin, when she was alive?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.”
“How large an apartment is it?”
“There are five rooms counting the kitchen.”
“What are those rooms, can you tell me?”
“There’s the kitchen, and the living room, and three bedrooms.”
“How many bathrooms are there?”
“Two.”
“Mr. Lowery, can you describe the layout of those bedrooms to me?”
“Layout? What do you mean? The way they’re furnished?”
“No. The relationship of one bedroom to another. Where they are in the apartment.”
“What’s the point of this, Counselor?” Harris asked suddenly.
“If I may—”
“I just want to know what the point is.”
“He knows where the bedrooms are, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose so, but why—?”
“Will he answer the question or not?” Locke said. “It seems like a very simple question, but if you feel it’s in some way incriminating, then please let the record show that your client refuses to answer it.”
“He’ll answer the question,” Harris said. “Go ahead, please. Answer his question.”
“Well, the bedrooms are all in a hallway off the living room. My parents’ bedroom’s on the right, and mine is in the middle, and at the end of the hall the bedroom there is Patricia’s and…and Muriel’s, when she was alive.”
“Doors on all these bedrooms?”
“What?”
“Doors?”
“Yes, sure. Doors? Sure, there are doors.”
“With locks on them?”
“Yes. Well, the lock on my door is busted. But all the doors have locks on them, yes.”
“And where are the bathrooms?”
“There’s one where you come in. Between the kitchen and the living room. And there’s another in the hall outside the bedrooms.”
“So to get to the bathroom from any one of the bedrooms, it’s necessary to walk into that hallway.”
“Yes.”
“For either your sister or Muriel to have gone to the bathroom in the middle of the night, they would have had to walk into the hallway, is that right?”
