screwup."
"How bad?"
"Well, I found this lone bag of female hairs in your evidence collection. Lord only knows which case it belongs to. Someone's going to charge in here demanding to know what the hell happened to their evidence and we're not going to have the answers. Screw-ups are more frequent than we'd like to think. Some staffers just pass over them. Not me." Travers pointed to his chest. "I'm not going to further the disaster and make like my results are pristine. 1 just want to make sure the evidence you gave me is all accounted
for."
"Fine, Buck, I'm duly warned. The results?"
"I'm not stalling for the sake of stalling, Marge. I just don't want to name a person only to find out he's not the one you should be after. I'd like some more time—"
"Fine. Take as much time as you want, Buck. I'm perfectly
aware that you're giving me tainted results. Who's the prelim match?"
"Well..." Travers opened up the file again. "After careful consideration we find consistency between the hair collection taken from sheets on Case Number REb129847563 and a hair sample collected by you. We're still waiting for DNA banding results to come in using spermatazoa as the primary marker. Banding is more conclusive but the tests take a while. So you gotta take this with a grain of salt, Margie—"
"A whole shaker full! Buck, who is it?"
"Carl Totes."
The stable hand was as out of place as a cow chip on china, eyes darting from one wall of the interview room to the other. Decker figured it was claustrophobia that was giving Totes the shakes, more than the situation itself. Carl had seemed baffled by the arrest but not the least bit uncooperative. He'd readily offered samples of his hair for retesting—anything to help out Miz Lilah. He'd handled the car trip over to the station house pretty well although he'd been uncomfortable riding next to Marge. But once inside the small interrogation area, Totes's nervous system began to discharge. He fidgeted and drummed the table with his hands. He took off his cowboy hat and kneaded the felt rim with calloused hands. Clearly, this was not a man used to physical boundaries.
Marge was seated closest to the door, working the tape recorder. Decker wanted to do the questioning. He had seated himself next to Totes at the other end of the table. Totes had been working out the horses when they had presented him with the warrant. The stable hand's jeans were covered with dust, his shirt had soaked up lots of sweat. Guy smelled up close, but Decker could take it. He'd spent enough of his youth on a ranch and was used to nature's perfume. After being Mirandized, Totes was given a card that stated he had been advised of his rights. Marge asked him to read the card and sign it and he did so without reservation.
"How long this gonna take?" He wiped his face with his bandanna and stuck it in his pocket.
Decker said, "A long time, Mr. Totes."
"Don't like talking in a room." Totes's eyes were still jumpy. "Why couldn't we talk at the ranch? Like last time."
"Because you're under arrest, Mr. Totes," Decker said. "Do you understand that you're under arrest?" "Arrest fer what? I didn't do nothin'."
Decker tapped his foot. "I think we should get him a lawyer." "Don't need no lawyer," Totes insisted. "Jus' ask your dern questions and get this over."
Marge and Decker exchanged glances. Decker shrugged and told her to turn on the recorder. After reciting the identifying data into the mike, he began the questioning.
"Mr. Totes, do you remember last Monday, June twenty-third—"
"Don't remember no dates."
"Okay." Decker tried a different angle: "Do you remember the day after your boss, Lilah Brecht, was raped?"
"Yessir."
"Do you remember where you were the night Lilah Brecht was
raped?" "Yessir."
"Where were you that night, Mr. Totes?" "Where I always were. At the ranch." "Where?"
"Don't know the address of the place. Don't you got it?" Decker smoothed his mustache. "In which part of the ranch were you located, Mr. Totes?"
"Oh... in the stable."
"What were you doing in the stable?"
"What wuz I doin'? I wuz sleepin'."
"Why were you sleeping in the stable?"
'"Cause that's where 1 live."
"How long have you lived there?"
"Five years."
"And you were sleeping there the night Lilah Brecht was
raped." Totes didn't answer right away. His fingers tightened around
the rim of his hat. "Yessir."
Decker assimilated Totes's pause. "You were sleeping there all
night?"
"Don't you sleep all night, mister?"
Decker was impassive. "Were you sleeping there all night,
Carl?"
Again, Totes hesitated. "Yessir."
Two pauses within a minute of each other. Was he that slow a thinker or was he formulating consistent lies?
Decker said, "What time did you go to bed that night, Carl? When did you stop working and go into the stable?"
"Bout eight-thirty. Gets dark 'round then."
"You went into the stable around eight-thirty?"
"Yessir."
Decker stood and leaned against the table. "Okay, Carl, you went into the stable around eight-thirty. Did you leave the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?"
Totes shook his head.
Decker said, "I need a yes or no answer, Carl. Tape recorder won't pick up a headshake. Did you ever leave the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?"
"Nossir, I never left the stable."
"Not once?"
"No."
Decker walked slowly from one side of the room to the other, then back again. He sat on the table, facing Totes, and frowned. "Carl, I'm confused about something. How do you explain your hair on Lilah Brecht's sheets?"
Totes was quiet.
"Carl?"
"I... I don't know nothin' 'bout that."
Decker sighed. "See, Carl, your hair was found on Lilah Brecht's sheets. How do you explain that?"
Totes shook his head, his expression was pained.
Decker said, "You don't have any idea how your hair was found on Lilah Brecht's sheets?"
"Nossir."
"Well, Carl, if you didn't visit her the night she was raped, maybe you visited her the night before..."
Totes looked up. "I don't get what you're asking me."
"Have you and Lilah ever had sex, Carl?"
Totes turned angry red. "That's a tumble question."
"I've got to ask you these questions, Carl. Have you and Lilah ever had sex?"
"Nossir!"
Decker ran his hands through his hair. "Now, you got me confused again, Carl. If you've never had sex with Lilah, how'd your semen get on her sheets?"
Totes was still scarlet. "Like you said, mister, you're confused. So why should I answer your questions, if you don't even know what you're talkin' about?"
Totes folded his hands across his chest, his mouth hardening. Decker appraised him. Totes was the kind of guy who mistook soft-spokenness for weakness. Decker liked the good-cop approach to questioning, but it wasn't going to work here. Time to
shift gears.
"Carl, you said you were in the stable the entire time on the
night Lilah Brecht was raped."
"Yessir."
"The entire night."
"Yessir."
"You never left once?"
"Nossir."
"Not to go to the bathroom?"
"Nossir, I got a horse's bladder."
Marge tried to stifle a smile, but was only partially successful. Decker said, "So you never left the stable that night. Not even once?"
"No... nossir."
"Carl, how did your hairs get on Lilah Brecht's sheets?" Decker kept his voice even. "How did your semen get on her sheets?"
"I... I don't... I—"
"Carl, where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?"
"In the stable."
"C'mon,
Carl, stop giving me a hard time. Tell me, how did your semen get on Lilah's sheets?"
Totes squeezed his hat until his knuckles turned white. "I didn't
rape her."
"Okay, you didn't rape her. How'd your hair get on her sheets, Carl? How'd your semen get on the sheets?"
Totes didn't answer.
"Carl, where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?"
"In my stable—"
Decker pounded the table so hard, both Totes and Marge jumped. He waited a beat, then calmly resumed. "Carl, how'd your hair get on Lilah Brecht's sheets if you were in the stable the night she was raped?"
Totes looked down.
"Have you ever had sex with Lilah Brecht, Carl?"
"I already told you no!"
"So you never had sex with her—"
"Why're you repeatin' yourself?"
"Cause you're not explaining to me how your semen got on Lilah Brecht's sheets. How'd that happen, Carl?".
Totes didn't answer.
Decker said, "Where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?"
"In my stable."
"The whole night?"
"The whole night."
"You didn't go out and no one came to see you?"
Totes started to speak, then turned silent. Decker picked up on it.
"Someone came to see you the night Lilah Brecht was raped, Carl?"
Again, Totes didn't answer. Decker reseated himself next to the stable hand. "Who came to see you the night Lilah Brecht was raped, Carl? Who came to your stable?"
There was a long hesitation before Totes said, "I cain't tell you that."
Decker ran his fingers through his hair. "Who came to see you, Carl?"
"I cain't..."
"How'd your semen get on Lilah Brecht's sheets, Carl?"
"I... I don't know."
Decker said, "Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
Totes shook his head.
"Carl, answer yes or no. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
"Nossir."
But Decker knew he was lying, and that made him feel like an ass. All this time he'd been sure Totes was innocent. His gut had told him that. The old gut had been wrong. The stable hand had suddenly turned pale. Decker said, "You want something to drink, Carl? You look a little funny."
Totes's expression became mulish. "I'm fine, mister. Be more fine if you'd stop confusin' me."
"Then just answer the questions one at a time, Carl. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
"I told you no."
"Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped, Carl?"
"Goldern it!" Totes said, "I told you I don't remember."
"No, you didn't, Carl. You told me nossir, you didn't see her. That's what you said. But now, you're telling me you don't remember—"
"Cause you're mixin' me—"
"You're mixing yourself up. Which is it, Carl? Nossir or you don't remember? Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
Totes was breathing heavy. "Nossir."
"How did your semen get on her sheets, Carl?"
"I don't remember."
"Did you rape Lilah Brecht, Carl?"
"I don't... you're confusin' me!"
Silence.
Decker said, "Carl, how did your hair get on her sheets?"
"I... don't know."
"Who came to your stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?"
"No one."
"Before, you said you couldn't tell me. Now you're telling me no one. Which is it? Who came to see you at the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped? Who?"
"I... I... I cain't tell you."
"How'd your hair get on Lilah Brecht's sheets?"
"I'm mixed up."
"I know you're mixed up because you're not answering my questions. How'd your hairs get on Lilah Brecht's sheets? How'd they get there, Carl? How?"
"I don't know."
"They didn't walk by themselves. How'd they get on Lilah Brecht's sheets?"
"I... I... don't know."
"Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
Silence. Decker repeated the question.
"You're confusin' me," Totes answered.
"Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
"I... I'm mixed up. You're askin' too many questions."
"Just listen to them one at a time. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?"
"I don't..."
"Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped'" Totes was panting. "I... mebbe I did "
"Maybe you did," Decker repeated. "Carl, did you rape Lilah Brecht?" "Mebbe I did."
The manila envelope was waiting at Marge's desk when she and Decker walked into the squad room. They exchanged quick glances. Decker lifted his eyes and said, "Please, God, let us not have made asses out of ourselves."
Marge smiled nervously as she ripped open the seal and pulled out the piece of paper. Then she brought her hand to her chest. "Phew!" "It's Totes?"
Marge nodded and handed him the paper. "Travers says he passed his tests with flying colors. One down."
Mike Hollander walked into the squad room and over to the coffee urn, his fingers clutched around a paper sack. "How'd the questioning go?"
"No neat and clean confession," Decker said, flipping through pages of lab analysis.
"But we did get a confirmation from Buck Travers. I'll take that over a confession any day of the week."
"We've either got one very confused stable hand," Decker said, "or one excellent bullshit artist."
"They're all bullshit artists. Rabbi." Hollander carried his mug back to his desk and sat down. "Shame on you for turnin' soft in your old age."
Marge sat down. "I vote with Pete. I think Totes is very confused... you know, one of those true weirdo types who gets mental blackouts when committing a crime."
"Dissociative reaction..." Decker said.
Marge laughed. "Oh, my, we've been hitting the books."
"Nah," Decker smiled. "Remember my weirdo friend, Abel Atwater? His shrink used to call his blackouts dissociative reactions."
"Yeah, shrinks use that kind of language so they can bilk Medi-Cal out of big bucks." Hollander liberated a doughnut from his bag and took a bite. Crumbs sprinkled his lap. "Government ain't gonna pay for a diagnosis of blackout. Otherwise head docs would be cleaning up on drunks." He took another bite and spoke as he chewed. "Your daughter called, Rabbi. I left the number on your desk."
"Thanks, Mike." Decker crossed his' arms over his chest and leaned against Marge's desk. He wasn't happy with the outcome of Totes as bad guy, and he couldn't explain why. In past cases, he'd gone to the DA with a lot less material than he had here and felt righteous about it. But it wasn't his job to pass judgment, just collect and present evidence. "Interrogation only took forty minutes; no one can charge us with tiring the suspect or police brutality. I think we have enough for the grand jury."
"I'll call the DA," Marge said.
"In the meantime, now that we have the test results, someone's got to handle the booking."
"I can do it." Hollander licked his fingers. "You want me to get him a lawyer?"
Decker said, "Court'11 automatically appoint him one once he's been formally charged. I want to call Cindy first. Then I'll phone Burbank and find out where they're at with the Merritt murder. We've got Totes for Lilah's rape, but that doesn't explain the thefts or Merritt's murder."
"I'll get a warrant to search the stable," Hollander said. "Could be Totes stashed some of the goods there." He lifted his sizable buttocks out of his chair. "Glad to help just so long as the jobs don't tax my heart."
"Why don't you go on a diet?" Marge said.
"I'm on a diet, Margie."
"A diet?" Marge wrinkled her brow. "Mike, you just polished off a doughnut in three bites."
Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet Page 28
