“Silverbush read my report, huh?”
“Three hours, Jay. Do you understand?”
Justin told her he understood. And unfortunately he did.
11
At 6 P.M., exactly three hours after speaking to Leona, Justin arrived at the East End Harbor Town Hall on Main Street. Reporters—maybe ten or twelve of them—crowded around the front of the building. Justin had driven past his house before coming into town but hadn’t bothered to stop there. Inches outside his driveway—just off the official property line—was another group of reporters. Also two news vans parked across the street, one of them with a satellite dish perched on top of it. A helicopter hovered overhead, circling the house. So he just kept driving, found he couldn’t park at the station because there were more reporters there, too, tucked his car in an illegal spot behind the old-fashioned five-and-dime, the one that had the 1960s mechanical horse ride in front of it—put in a quarter and it rocked back and forth, holding a small child on its back, for several minutes—and headed up Main Street on foot.
Justin pushed his way past the reporters at Town Hall and walked into the mayor’s office. Leona was waiting for him, along with DA Silverbush and a uniformed police officer. No one looked very happy.
“You goddamn piece of shit” was how Larry Silverbush greeted him. “You were balling the victim’s wife?! You were fucking one of our key suspects?!”
Justin kept his voice steady and low. “If you want to be technical,” he said, “my relationship with Mrs. Harmon was prior to anyone being either a victim or a suspect.”
“I don’t want to be fucking technical,” the DA screamed. “I want you to know that you are this close to being indicted!”
“On what charges?” Justin asked.
“Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a homicide, possible conspiracy to commit murder—how many fucking charges do you want?”
“I understand you’re a little pissed off, but what the hell are you talking about? Who am I aiding and conspiring with?”
“Abigail Harmon.”
“Don’t be an asshole. I put the whole thing in my report. How can you turn that into a conspiracy?”
“I told you not to fuck with me, Westwood. I told you to play along. But no, you had to go on being a stupid cowboy. You let her spend the night in your own goddamn house last night?!”
“It’s what I would have done for anyone in her position. She couldn’t spend the night at home, so she stayed upstairs and I slept on the couch. There was nothing improper about it.”
“Bullshit.”
“There’s nothing about our relationship that would hinder me from doing my job the way it should be done.”
“You’ve already screwed up your job, you asshole.”
“Since when is Abby a real suspect?” Justin asked. “What is it you think you know?”
“I don’t think I know anything. While you were out screwin’ around and pretending to be a cop, my men solved the whole goddamn thing already! And guess what, cowboy? You were played for a sucker. Big-time. At least you better hope that’s all we find out was going.”
“What are you talking about?”
The Long Island district attorney turned to the uniformed cop who, up until this moment, hadn’t uttered a word or changed his expression. “This is Captain William Holden of the Riverhead PD. Captain Holden. If you don’t mind . . .”
The captain turned to Justin. “We’ve ascertained that Mrs. Harmon was having an affair . . .” He didn’t let a smirk cross his face, but the sense of satisfaction was unmistakable when he continued, “. . . another affair with a man named David Kelley. I believe you know him.”
Justin’s face was blank for a moment. Then he said, “Dave Kelley? The contractor?”
Holden said, “That’s right. He operates here in East End.”
Justin nodded. “I know who he is.”
“You’ve never met?” This was Silverbush jumping back into the conversation. His tone made it clear that he felt he knew about every moment that Justin had ever been in Dave Kelley’s presence.
“We’ve met.”
“You spent time with Abigail Harmon and Kelley together. At Sylvester’s Restaurant.”
Justin started to shake his head. Then he remembered. Maybe a month ago, he and Abby had had lunch at Sylvester’s, a kind of general store that served good sandwiches. They’d sat at the small counter and, while they were eating, Kelley had come in. He saw Abby, sauntered over, and said hello. Justin picked up a strange vibe. He’d met Kelley before, seen him around town, nodded to him at Duffy’s, but didn’t really know him. Abby had said that Kelley was a contractor, was doing some work on her house. Justin remembered now because she’d said “my house,” not “our house.” He always noticed when she went out of her way to avoid any mention of her husband. Kelley had looked on edge when he’d come over, seemed uncomfortable in his presence. At the time Justin wasn’t sure why. Now he was.
“Yeah. I was with Abigail having lunch and Kelley came over and sat with us for a few minutes.”
“A few minutes? That’s all.”
“That’s all.”
“What’d you talk about?” This was Silverbush again, not Holden.
“Nothing very interesting. Something about the work he was doing for the Harmons.”
“Anything about the security system?”
“What?”
“It’s more interesting than you think. Or at least than you’re pretending to think. That’s one of the things Kelley was doing, overseeing the security system that was being installed in the Harmon house.”
“That didn’t come up.”
“Did Mrs. Harmon ever talk to you about it separately?” This was Holden. His tone was less hostile than the district attorney’s. In fact, it showed no emotion whatsoever. Justin decided that Holden could go one of two ways: Either he was probably a very good cop, capable of digging up the truth, or he could be in Silverbush’s pocket, in which case he was a very good cop capable of doing a lot of damage.
“No. Never.”
Silverbush sneered. “So, you being a supercop and all, she never even asked your advice about it?”
“No.”
“Hard to believe.”
“I can’t help that. It’s true.”
“When you were with Kelley,” the Mid-Island police captain said, his tone still calm and smooth, “having lunch—”
“We weren’t having lunch together. He sat down for two minutes, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. In those two minutes, did you talk about Evan Harmon?”
“No.”
“Never came up?”
“No.”
“It never came up, let’s say, how to set up various ways to establish alibis for all three of you while Harmon was being murdered?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“No,” Larry Silverbush said, jumping forward to stick his finger in Justin’s chest, “he’s not out of his fucking mind. And you want to know why?”
“Okay. Why?”
“Because you know those burns that were all over Evan Harmon’s body? Well, they came from a stun gun. And when we searched David Kelley’s house, you want to know what we found?”
“Can I take a wild guess?”
“You got it, cowboy. A stun gun.”
“How’d you know to search Kelley’s house?” Justin wanted to know. “How’d you know about his relationship with Abby?”
That threw Silverbush for a moment. His eyes shifted from side to side, and he wasn’t sure exactly how to respond. Holden saved him the trouble, stepping in, quietly saying, “We had a tip.”
“From who?”
“Doesn’t matter who it was from. We’re not ready to reveal that. It proved accurate. Kelley even used the stun gun in front of both Evan and Abigail Harmon. There’s a witness. The son of a bitch liked to use it on animals. I guess your part-time girlfriend figured out if it worked on them, it’d work like a fuck
ing charm on her husband.”
Justin started to say something, realized he didn’t have all that much to say at this point. He decided he was better off being quiet and listening.
“You want to know what else is gonna prove accurate?” Silverbush asked. And without waiting for Justin to answer, he said, “Kelley’s fingerprints all over the crime scene. And phone logs that show Kelley talking to your girlfriend the morning of the murder. And another witness who heard Kelley say that that same girlfriend of yours had talked to him repeatedly about killing her husband.”
“And what has Kelley said about all this?”
“So far nothing. But we’re confident he’ll roll. And when he does, he’ll give us the lovely Mrs. Harmon as the one who planned the whole thing.”
“You thinking of giving him a deal?”
Holden spoke up now. “We’re thinking of doing whatever it takes to put two murderers in prison. Maybe three.”
“Three?”
Silverbush’s eyes flashed angrily. “That’s right. ’Cause you want to know what else we’re thinking, cowboy? We’re thinkin’ she couldn’t have gone through with this unless you were involved. We think you helped her plan it.”
“Do you have even the remotest shred of evidence to back that up?”
“Not yet. But we will.”
“Where’s Abby now?” Justin wanted to know.
“Over at your police station. Behind bars, waiting for her lawyer.”
“And where’s Kelley?”
“Mid-Island,” Holden said. “In one of our jail cells.”
“You have anything else to say to me before I go talk to Abby?”
“Yeah,” Holden said. “If you have a weapon, surrender it now.”
Justin looked at the police captain curiously, but Silverbush was the one who answered the silent question.
“You’re suspended from your job as of this moment.”
“You’re making a mistake. You don’t even know what I learned—”
“I’m not interested. We’ll need your firearm.”
“I’m not carrying one,” Justin said.
“What the hell kind of cop are you?”
“In my experience, especially in a town like this, carrying a gun doesn’t solve too many problems, it just causes them.”
“Well, you do have a gun, don’t you?”
Justin’s eyes didn’t waver as he took Silverbush’s sneer head-on. “Yes, I have one.”
“Where is it?”
“In my office. In the desk. Upper right-hand drawer. It’s locked, but Officer Haversham’ll have a key.”
“I’ll take your badge, as well,” Silverbush said. “Or you keep that under lock and key, too?”
Justin looked at Leona Krill, said, “Leona? You have anything to say? I work for you.”
She sighed. “I don’t have much of a choice here, Jay. DA Silverbush is in charge of this investigation.”
Justin didn’t look over at the district attorney, just said to Leona, “I’m telling you he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Silverbush snorted. “I’d say the evidence proves I know a helluva lot more than you do. Now, you gonna hand over that badge?”
Justin reached into his left pant pocket, withdrew his EEHPD badge, handed it to Silverbush, who said, “Captain Holden will accompany you over to the police station. As a courtesy we’ll let you talk to your lady friend for a little bit. But after that, I’m telling you to stay away from her or we’ll have you locked up for obstruction of justice faster’n you can scratch your rapidly diminishing balls. You got anything to say to that?”
“Yeah,” Justin said and turned to the police captain. “Is your name really William Holden?”
When the officer didn’t answer, and Silverbush just snorted in disgust and anger, Justin decided it was better if he didn’t say another word, so he just turned to the door and headed out. Holden had to hustle a bit to catch up to him. Neither spoke during the two-block walk to the police station. Even if they’d wanted to, they couldn’t have—the swarm of journalists was upon them, peppering them with questions and taking photos. Justin looked straight ahead and kept walking. There was usually a reasonable amount of traffic on Main Street—typical summer resort town traffic: cars driving slowly while their drivers desperately searched for a place to park—and what traffic there was now stopped cold as mass rubbernecking took hold. Pedestrians stared and people started coming out of shops to check out the commotion. Justin thought the whole scene looked like something out of a bad comedy: two stiff-as-boards cops, striding as fast as they could; a jabbering group of reporters surrounding them like a cloud of dust; the whole town watching in astonishment. Farce or slapstick, he thought. Hard to tell which.
When they reached the station, the reporters were barred from coming inside and Justin welcomed the sudden silence. He didn’t much welcome the gaping stares from the young officers working the station, though. And the staring eyes only bulged farther as they watched Justin go to his desk—escorted by Captain Holden—pull out his gun, and hand it over, barrel first.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Harmon. And I’d like a few minutes of privacy.”
Holden thought it over for a moment, then nodded. Mike Haversham led Justin to the one jail cell at the back of the station. As he did, he slipped a piece of paper into Justin’s hand. The paper was carefully folded. Justin didn’t acknowledge the exchange, nor did Haversham as Justin slipped it into his pocket.
Justin peered through the bars at Abby. She looked remarkably calm. Haggard, a bit drawn, but still cool and in control. It was hard to look as if you were in control when you were behind bars, Justin thought. He knew that from personal experience, when he’d been imprisoned and had been anything but in control.
Haversham opened the door to the jail cell and Justin stepped inside. Mike closed the door behind him, eyes aimed at the floor rather than at his now-suspended chief. The young cop shuffled back toward the central room where all the cops except Justin had their desks. He looked as if he were in mourning.
“We do meet in the strangest places,” Justin said. It got a brief smile from Abby. “You all right?”
She nodded. “My lawyer should arrive soon. I’ll be better when I’m out of here.”
“You should probably stay in the city for a while. It’ll be a lot easier on you than being out here.”
Abby nodded again. “That’s my plan. I’ll stay in our apartment for a while, until this gets cleared up.”
Justin couldn’t help but notice the word “our.” Now that Evan was dead, she was sharing her possessions with her husband again.
“Are you in trouble?” Abby asked.
“Depends on how you define trouble,” he said. “If you mean, do I care what people think and how they’re responding, no.”
“Must be why we get along so well,” Abby said. “We’ve got so much in common.”
“With a few differences,” Justin said.
“A few.”
He reached out, took hold of both her hands. She relaxed at his touch, then tensed a bit when she realized he wasn’t holding her strictly for affection. His hands felt for her forearms, and his thumbs pressed down lightly just above her wrists. She tried pulling back, but he held tight.
“I want you to relax,” he told her. “And I want to ask you a few questions.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded.
“Did you kill Evan?” The question was casual, as if being thrown out in cocktail party conversation.
“Jay, what are you—?”
“Answer me, please. Did you kill Evan?”
“No.”
“Did Dave Kelley?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
“Will you let go of me, please?”
“No. Take a guess. Did Kelley murder Evan?”
“No.”
“Did you know that Kelley had a stun gun?”
“What?”
“Jus
t answer the question.”
“I don’t actually know what a stun gun is, but, yes, I know he had one.”
“How?”
“Because he talked about it a couple of times. And he showed it to me. But it was before—”
“Before what? Before you began sleeping with him?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“How did it come up in conversation?”
“Oh, god, I have no idea. I think we’d been having some problems with animals or something—you know, digging up plants or doing something with the compost heap at the back of the property, I’m not sure.”
“And?”
“And Dave said something about how he liked to take care of whatever they were, those big things with masks and ringed tails.”
“Raccoons.”
“Yes. Dave said that he had a stun gun. He said it was fun to use it on the raccoons.”
“He had a strange idea of fun.”
“Yes. He used it in front of us once, me and Evan. He showed us how it worked.”
“Did you think it was fun?”
“No.” She looked directly in Justin’s eyes now, not flinching. “Dave could be extremely cruel sometimes.” He met her stare. Finally she turned her head away and said, “Jay, what does this have to do . . . Oh my god . . . those burns. Those burns on Evan’s body.”
“Yes. It looks like they were from Kelley’s stun gun.”
“Oh my god.”
“Do you still think he couldn’t have done it?”
Now there was a real hesitation. This wasn’t defiance, this was confusion, maybe even a touch of panic. “I don’t know.”
“Did you ever tell anyone you wanted Kelley to kill Evan?”
“For god’s sake! No!”
“Even joking?”
“No!”
“Was Evan gay?”
“What?!” He had pushed her over the edge. Abby tried to stand up and jerk her hands away, but he refused to let go. He pulled her back down beside him, waited until she stopped resisting.
“Was he bi? Did Evan have homosexual affairs?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“So you think it’s impossible?”
“Jay, I’m starting to think that nothing’s impossible. How can I know if Evan was doing something he didn’t want me to know about?”
Hades Page 11
