Worthy of Trust and Confidence

by Kara A. McLeod

  Dad just nodded in irritation and returned his attention to the silent showdown in the next room.

  Claudia appeared mildly bored now and pushed a piece of paper across the table at Mark, along with a pen. “Here’s the Miranda Warning you wanted. I don’t know about you, but I actually have things to do tonight, so the sooner we can get you processed and dropped off, the sooner I can get on with my life. Just sign this paper, invoke your right to counsel, and let’s be done with this.”

  Mark’s expression now was borderline panicked. I didn’t know which part of Claudia’s little speech had struck a chord with him, but it looked to me like he was on the verge of some sort of breakdown.

  “Wait,” Mark said quickly. “You can’t really send me to MCC for the night.”

  Claudia shrugged lightly and shot her colleague a meaningful glance. “What else are we supposed to do with you? I’m sure as hell not sitting here and babysitting you. Do you really want one of the NYFO agents to come do it? How do you think they’ll take it when they realize you’re responsible for all this?”

  Mark dropped his head heavily into the hand that wasn’t cuffed to the wall and started scratching his scalp. His ministrations made his hair stick up, which somehow added to the air of pathetic wafting off him. Couple that with the now-wild eyes, and he was quite the sight.

  “I can give you the names of the other guys involved,” Mark said. He was obviously quickly approaching desperate.

  Claudia was busy making notes on a notepad and didn’t even look up when he spoke. “You’re welcome to confirm them for me, if you like. But I already told you, we know who they are.”

  “Then what do you want from me?” Mark’s voice broke as he asked that, and it looked to me like he might be trying hard not to cry.

  Good, I thought, experiencing a surge of childish triumph at his distress. I was glad he was fighting tears. Scared was the very least of what I wanted him to feel.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Claudia told him absently, still focused on her notepad. “Not anymore. I was merely giving you a chance to clear the air and come clean about the other targets for the sake of your conscience because I thought you might have a shred of humanity left in you and want to preserve a life or two. But if you have no interest in doing that, we can move this right along.”

  Mark bowed his head and clenched his fists. He started taking deep, gulping breaths of air, and he was trembling. The contrast between the blowhard of a boss who’d made my life hell and the broken man before me was startling.

  Mark whispered something softly under his breath I couldn’t hear. I frowned and leaned closer to the glass, as though that’d actually help. Claudia stopped writing and looked up.

  “What did you just say?” she asked. Her voice was shot through with dark tendrils of warning.

  Mark cleared his throat but didn’t lift either his head or his eyes. He kept his focus on the Miranda Warning form in front of him. “I want to see her.” After a long pause, he uttered a barely audible “Please.”

  “You want to see who?” Claudia demanded, her eyes narrowing.

  At that, Mark did lift his head, his hollow expression mildly disconcerting. “You know who.”

  He turned his head and looked directly at the one-way mirror toward the exact spot where I was standing. I knew he couldn’t see me, couldn’t possibly know I was there, but the illusion was eerie.

  Claudia followed his eyes and then shook her head. “Out of the question.”

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” Mark said, his voice slightly louder, his eyes still locked with mine. “But I won’t say a single word until you get her into this room.”

  “You know why she can’t be here,” Claudia said.

  Mark continued to stare at the glass for an indeterminate amount of time, during which I held my breath. Not until he finally shifted his attention back to Claudia did I let it out. My lungs burned. I licked my lips and tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. Absently, I prodded the stitches still present in my left eyebrow, somewhat reveling in the ache the motion caused. It helped keep me grounded.

  Almost angry now, Mark picked up the Miranda Warning form and started scribbling on the bottom of it frantically. His brow was pulled down in a scowl, and his mustache was set in the line that indicated his lips were pursed behind it. After a time, he finished whatever he was writing with a grand, theatrical flourish and threw the pen on the table. He then slid the paper across the tabletop so it stopped in front of Claudia.

  Claudia raised one eyebrow at him and perused whatever he’d written there. Then she pinned him with an intense stare. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m absolutely serious,” Mark informed her.

  Claudia inhaled long and slow as she reverted her attention to the paper so she could reread whatever he’d written. Then she inclined her head to her partner, and they both stood up.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Claudia told him as she exited the room.

  “That’s all I ask,” Mark murmured softly as the door clicked shut.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The door to the viewing room was flung open seconds later, and Claudia strode in looking positively vengeful. Her free hand, the one not clenching Mark’s Miranda Warning form, was balled into a fist. The muscles in her jaw jumped as she ground her teeth together hard enough to shatter her molars. Her partner opted to stay in the hallway. I couldn’t blame him. I kinda wanted to join him myself.

  “What did he write?” my dad demanded almost immediately.

  “It doesn’t matter. He isn’t getting it,” Claudia almost snarled.

  “I’ll go talk to him,” I said softly. Both Claudia and Dad fixed me with matching incredulous stares. I ran one hand through my hair, feeling self-conscious.

  “No.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It isn’t that big a deal,” I said. “Besides, he’s handcuffed to a wall. What else can he do to me at this point?”

  “It’s out of the question.” Dad’s tone made his words less a statement and more of a command.

  I didn’t dignify his outburst with a response. Instead, I met Claudia’s eyes. “That’s what he wrote on the paper, isn’t it? That he’d waive his right to counsel if I sat in on the interview.”

  “Yes.”

  “Call the AUSA,” I told her. “Clear it with him, and let’s go back in there and get this done.”

  Claudia studied me intently for a long moment, then rested a gentle hand on my good shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. We don’t need his confession. We’ve got enough without it.”

  “I know,” I said. “But aren’t you curious what he has to say that he’ll only say to me?”

  The corners of Claudia’s lips twitched like she wanted to smile. “If you want the God’s honest truth, I’m extremely curious.”

  “Okay. Then let’s do this.”

  Claudia nodded. “Give me a second. I’ll make the call.”

  She stepped out into the hall to use the phone in relative privacy, leaving my dad and me alone in the viewing room. I couldn’t have said what he was thinking. I wasn’t paying much attention to him. I was too busy playing over all conversational paths this discussion could possibly take and promising myself I wouldn’t give Mark the satisfaction of losing my temper.

  After several long minutes of silence I announced to no one in particular, “We should tape this.” When Dad didn’t answer, I looked up at him. “You know, just so he can’t make any wild accusations about what went on in there later.”

  Silent, Dad continued to glare at Mark through the one-way glass. I glanced toward the door Claudia had disappeared through a few minutes ago. What was taking her so long? For lack of anything better to do, I started setting up the video equipment.

  “I can’t tell whether you’re inventing things to worry about or whether you’re worrying about things you can’t change,” I remarked as I crawled on the floor to plug the c
amera in. “But I have it on good authority neither of those activities will get you anywhere.”

  I stood up and brushed my hands off on my suit pants as I waited for Dad to respond. He blinked at me in mild surprise before allowing a tiny smile to play at the corners of his mouth.

  “That’s some pretty good advice,” he said, having realized immediately that I was quoting him.

  “It’s all right,” I shot back with a grin of my own.

  “Whoever told you that must be an absolute genius.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, he certainly thinks he is.”

  The door to the room opened, and Claudia poked her head in. “We’re all set. You ready?”

  I motioned to the video camera and sound equipment I’d set up. “Is it okay if we record this?”

  “Sure,” Claudia replied with a slight shrug.

  I took a deep breath as I turned to follow her out into the hallway.

  “Ryan.” My dad stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  “Yeah?”

  A myriad of sentiments played out across his features, none of them particularly pleasant, and each of which made me wish I was good with words so I could comfort him or put him at ease. Since I wasn’t, I merely waited in silence for him to compose himself enough to speak.

  “Give him hell,” Dad said finally.

  My earlier grin came back. “Count on it.”

  My nerves jangled as I followed Claudia into the interview room where Mark waited, but I tried to tell myself any number of things in an attempt to soothe them. I had a hard time convincing myself this wasn’t just a new facet of my recurring nightmares. Briefly, I wondered why Mark had never appeared in any of my dreams.

  So many strong emotions were battling for dominance in the forefront of my mind there wasn’t enough room for me to feel any of them completely. As I settled into the chair across from Mark, I decided I was grateful for the phenomenon. I wouldn’t be able to fully concentrate on interviewing him if any one of those feelings were any more vivid.

  The three of us sat together in absolute silence for what felt like an eon. I could actually hear the faint ticking of Claudia’s wristwatch. I raised an eyebrow at Mark as we continued to stare at one another.

  The familiarity of the situation hit me, amusing me. Mark and I had been here before, countless times, which helped keep me composed. Made it easier for me to breathe, to think. I folded my arms across my chest and stopped trying so hard to keep my delight off my face.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Claudia take a breath and open her mouth. Without turning my head, I lifted one hand in a silent request for her to stop. She and I were on the same side here. As far as I was concerned, her actions were my actions. If she spoke first, we lost the upper hand. That’s how this game between me and Mark had always been played.

  Mark’s stare never wavered. He and I had engaged in innumerable staring matches throughout the time he’d been my direct supervisor, and during those times, I’d seen all sorts of emotions lurking beneath his gaze. But today was the first time I’d ever seen him look even remotely unsure of himself. It gave me the creeps.

  Claudia’s hands dropped to the tops of her thighs under the table and started tapping out a restless rhythm against the fabric of her pants. This little power struggle was getting to her a bit, probably because she was irritated that we’d essentially capitulated to Mark’s demands. I didn’t like the idea of giving him anything he asked for either, but that merely strengthened my resolve not to be the first one to speak. I was unbelievably grateful Claudia was allowing this to play out without interfering and made a mental note to thank her later.

  “It’s not what you think,” Mark murmured in a low voice. He’d spoken without warning, and his statement struck me as odd. That hadn’t been what I’d thought he would open with. Not even close. Already, all of the conversations I’d played out in my head were out the window. Story of my life.

  “Why don’t you tell us what it is, then?” Claudia drawled smoothly.

  Mark and I continued to maintain our charged eye contact. Claudia might have been the one asking the questions, might have been the one engaging him, but he was definitely talking to me.

  “I know the media and the public are going to say I did this because I’m unpatriotic, anti-American,” Mark said slowly. “I know you’ll think I did this because I hate you.”

  I smirked and slightly lifted my eyebrows, simultaneously amused and intrigued that he was cutting to the chase so quickly. I’d been prepared to pull this out of him slowly and painfully, one loathsome revelation at a time. My, my, but he was full of surprises today.

  Both Claudia and I continued to watch him quietly, allowing him the time to map out what he wanted to say to us without pressure or intrusion. I was interested to hear what was about to come out of his mouth. Frankly, the two theories he’d already dismissed had been the only two I could come up with. To hear there was a third, alternate reality fascinated me.

  I could see the muscles in Mark’s throat working as he swallowed several times in rapid succession, as well as the tears forming in his eyes. When he finally broke eye contact with me in favor of staring at his hands, I shot Claudia a puzzled look. By the matching expression of confusion on her face, neither of us expected such raw emotion from him. At least not emotion of that variety. I couldn’t speak to what Claudia had been prepared for, but I had thought we’d see anger or defiance. Heartbreak and despair hadn’t even occurred to me. I wasn’t sure how to react.

  Part of me was furious, of course, that he’d dare break down like this in my presence. I wanted to grab him by the back of his head and smash his face repeatedly against the table, wanted to revel in the murderous satisfaction as I heard the crunch of bones breaking and saw his blood smeared across the pale wood. He’d tried to have me killed. He’d succeeded in causing the death of an NYPD detective, who’d also been my lover at one time. He had no right to feel remorse, let alone parade his guilt in front of me like this.

  A deep, ragged inhale from Mark interrupted my brooding. It was followed closely by the clearing of his throat and indicated he was finally about to speak. I snapped my attention back to the present and did my best to school my face into an impassive expression. I didn’t want him to know I felt anything at all or that I was interested in what he had to say. I wanted to come across as coolly detached. I figured it was my best hope of making it through this interview without an outburst. When I was younger, I’d once heard someone say, “Act as if,” and that’d stuck with me. I’d employed that technique numerous times throughout the years and prayed it’d come through for me now.

  “I know this doesn’t justify anything,” Mark said. His nose was stuffed up now, and his voice was thick with unshed tears. “I know what I’m about to tell you isn’t any kind of excuse for the horrible—” He cleared his throat again, sniffling pathetically as he struggled not to cry.

  Claudia shot a meaningful look toward the one-way glass and inclined her head once. I assumed she was telling her still-nameless partner to bring us some tissues. Obviously, neither she nor I had any, and it appeared we needed them. Either that, or Mark would have to wipe his nose on his sleeve.

  Mark sniffed again and shook his head a little roughly, as though attempting to shake some sense into himself. This waiting for him to speak punctuated by his small flare-ups of sentiment was starting to grate on my nerves. I took a deep breath of my own and clenched my teeth together hard.

  “My wife,” Mark tried again, his voice wavering. “Dharma. She…she has a…rather serious…” He opened his eyes wide as though he could dry the tears through sheer will alone. He also stretched his jaw and let out a heavy sigh.

  What? I screamed on the inside as I tried to ignore the tendrils of pity threatening to work their way into my hardened heart. What does your wife have? My mind ran swiftly through all the possibilities I could come up with. Cancer? Lupus? An obsession with Hummel figurines? What could his wife possibly have
that would result in all of this? I couldn’t figure it out.

  “Gambling problem,” Mark spat finally, as though he’d been attempting to choke back the words, but they’d broken free anyway. I could see by his expression how much that’d hurt him to say. “Dharma has a very serious gambling problem. We’ve lost everything. We have no money. Our house is mortgaged to the hilt. Our oldest daughter started college last year, and my youngest goes next year. We struggle to pay our regular bills, to say nothing of the gambling debts she’s racked up. We’re beyond flat broke.”

  As Mark lapsed back into silence, I considered what he’d just said. And while that new revelation certainly explained the screaming phone call I’d unwittingly heard between him and his wife a few weeks ago, it still left several unanswered questions. Primarily, how could his wife’s gambling problem land him in a place where he’d felt homicide was the only available option? Maybe I was a little bit biased—okay, I was definitely biased—but I was having a lot of trouble wrapping my head around whatever thought processes might’ve made him conclude that I needed to die.

  Claudia’s partner, who I decided in that moment to call Bob, quietly crept into the room and handed over a box of tissues. Claudia pulled a few out and pushed them across the table to Mark, who took them without a word. He ducked his head and scrubbed at his nose, violently. Claudia nodded her thanks to Bob, and he left as noiselessly as he’d come in. After the door had clicked shut, silence reigned again, broken only by the occasional sounds of Mark’s sniffling and clearing his throat as he attempted to compose himself enough to go on.

  Mark coughed once. “A few years ago, she started getting involved in sports betting. High stakes, high dollar. She got in pretty deep with some bookies and ended up taking out a loan from some loan sharks to pay off the debt. That wouldn’t have been too bad if she’d just stopped betting, but…” The implications of his sudden silence were abundantly clear.

  I didn’t have much real-world experience with loan sharks. I’d met only two during the course of one of my investigations—my target had owed them money and had put up some of his personal effects as collateral against that debt, personal effects that I’d had a search warrant to go through—and they’d seemed like nice enough guys. They’d given me permission to search the property and had been completely cooperative with my investigation. But, to be fair, they’d had no reason to be anything except perfectly pleasant to me. I hadn’t been the one who’d been unable to pay them back.