Conflict of Interest

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Understanding the criminal mind was fascinating, Eli thought. What made perfect sense to the criminal would seem like insanity to the average person. “Why only target chain stores? The larger companies usually have more sophisticated security systems.”

  “We didn’t want to hit mom-and-pop stores,” Tom said, a look of pride on his face. “Those people work hard for their money Not only that, what with insurance, those chains we hit probably made money off us. We might have been crooks but we weren’t scum. We didn’t hurt anyone. It wasn’t like we were robbing old ladies.”

  Eli started to say something and then stopped. The fewer questions he asked, the more Rubinsky would tell him. He’d seen criminals in this state of mind before. Tom’s demeanor had changed completely. Instead of being guarded and hostile as he’d been at the beginning of the interview, he seemed relaxed and eager to talk. Eli waited for him to pick up where he’d left off. After some time had passed, and Tom’s eyelids seemed to get heavy, Eli changed his mind. He had to be aggressive, or his subject would fall asleep. The most important question had yet to be answered. “How many robberies do you think you and your brother committed?” Eli held up a palm. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just trying to put everything into perspective. To challenge your brother’s statement, we need as many facts as possible.”

  Tom sucked in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Around fifteen,” he told him. “Like I said before, things were moving pretty fast. It might have been less, and then it might have been more. These are the type of things you’d rather not remember, know what I mean?”

  “Was Ian involved in all of the crimes?”

  “No,” Tom told him, shaking his head. “Only the last three. Ian was our driver. As soon as we saw him at the mall that day, Gary jumped on him right away. We needed a fast car, and Ian’s Firebird had a big engine. Gary traded our Jeep for that gun that looked like a cell phone. He had this big idea that we could sell it to a gunsmith who had friends in the mob. He thought the mob would pay us a fortune for it because no one had ever seen a gun like that. Then they would manufacture the gun and sell it on the street.”

  “Where is the gun?” Eli asked. “Does Gary have it?”

  “I certainly don’t have it,” Tom said, crackling his knuckles.

  Tom suddenly became agitated, fidgeting in his seat. “This is when I started getting spooked. We’d never used a gun before. As soon as Gary put his hands on that gun, I knew something terrible was going to happen. I never thought he’d shoot Ian, though. I thought it would be a clerk in one of the stores. Ian was my friend. We played together when we were kids. He wasn’t smart, but he was one of the nicest guys I ever knew. He’d give you the shirt off his back. God!” Tom exclaimed, covering his face with his hands. “How did this happen?” He collected himself, then continued, “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter if they send me to prison. They can even execute me. I’m going straight to hell. No court, no fancy lawyer, no one on earth can save me. You want to know the truth? I’ll tell you the truth. I’m already in hell. They don’t have to kill me. Hell isn’t someplace you go to after you die. Hell is waking up every morning and remembering all the awful things you’ve done.”

  “Tell me about the night Ian died,” Eli said, watching as tears Streamed down Tom’s face. “Help us put the real killer behind bars. Forget that Gary is your brother. From this moment on, Ian Decker is your brother. Gary would let you rot in prison to save his own neck. Ian would walk on water to help you. The only thing that will defeat Gary is the truth. Tell me everything you can remember about the night Ian died. Then draw me a map to Ian’s grave. This is your chance for redemption, Tom.”

  Tom’s face froze like a statue, his eyes open but unseeing. Eli glanced at his watch and saw that it was after midnight. He had already stayed longer than he’d intended. The longer he stayed, the greater the risk. Tom’s confession wouldn’t be admissible in court, but Eli could drop the recording in the mail to the Ventura PD, then pull anchor on the Nightwatch and disappear. When Tom didn’t snap out of it, Eli waved his hand in front of him. Nothing, not even a blink. The man was doing more than remembering.

  Tom Rubinsky was reliving the murder.

  Eli had no choice but to wait. The prize at the bottom of this Cracker Jack box was far from a trinket. If he just sat tight, he told himself, he’d walk away with a gold medal—a full confession and a map to Ian Decker’s grave.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Thursday, February 8, 2001, 8:30 P.M.

  “WE’VE GOT to take the stuff out of the locker,” Tom told his brother. They were standing on the landing in front of their motel room at the Economy Inn. Gary flicked his cigarette ashes over the side of the railing.

  “Why?”

  “Because the last time I went over there,” Tom said, “the manager stopped me on the way out. I think he’s afraid I’m a child molester. He said he’d seen me at the rink several times, but he’d never seen me skate.”

  Gary dropped the cigarette on the concrete walkway, then snuffed it out with his boot. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him my sister skates,” Tom said, running his hands through his hair. “And that I usually come and pick her up. Then he asked me who my sister was, and I pointed at some girl on the floor. The manager gave me a suspicious look and walked away. The rink is open until nine tonight. I still have time to clean out the locker.”

  “Do it,” Gary said. “I’ll keep my eye on Ian.”

  Tom started to go inside for the car keys, but Gary stopped him. “Don’t leave the sack in the trunk. We’ll have to keep it with us now.”

  “What are we going to do while we’re in court?” Tom said, exasperated. “We can’t carry a gun into the courthouse. We’ll never get past the metal detector.”

  “When the time comes, we’ll figure it out. We can always bury the gun somewhere. We’ve spent most of the money The bills weren’t marked, so carrying what’s left of the cash with us won’t be a problem.”

  Tom returned approximately thirty minutes later, the brown sack containing the money and the gun stuffed inside his leather jacket. “Hey, Ian,” he said, “there’s a rerun of Saturday Night Live on at ten. Go take your shower, and we’ll watch it together.”

  Depressed and restless, Ian was getting bolder every day. “You guys are the ones who need to take a shower.”

  Tom had to find a way to get Ian out of the room, or at the very least, distract him in some way The only place he could think to hide the gun was between the mattress and box spring. Gary was stoned. Sitting on the floor next to Ian, both of them were leaning back against the foot of the bed. Tom saw the remains of three joints in the ashtray. Gary was tossing handfuls of peanut M&M’s into his mouth while he watched TV. “We’re watching Liar Liar with Jim Carrey,” Gary said, glancing over his shoulder at his brother. “I liked him better in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, but this is pretty good.”

  “You stink,” Ian said. “Either take a shower or sit somewhere else.”

  Gary was so drugged out, all he did was laugh. “I stink because I’m a man,” he said, lifting his arm and shoving his armpit into Ian’s face. “Bet you never smelled a real man before, huh?”

  “Get away from me,” Ian said, swatting at him.

  Gary was in one of his unpredictable moods. Tom had seen him like that before. One minute he was the life of the party, then someone would say something and he’d flip out. He watched as Gary pinned Ian on the floor. “Want to smell my crotch, asshole?” he said, laughing manically. “I know why you were pissed off about Trudy. You’re into guys, aren’t you?”

  Ian wrenched one of his hands free and tried to gouge Gary’s eye with his finger. He missed Gary’s eye, but managed to rake his nails across his face. “You little punk,” Gary shouted, touching his cheek and seeing the blood on his fingers.

  Tom saw his brother pull back his fist just as he was folding the gun and cash inside his jacket to place it between the mattress. He
rushed over to break up the fight. Gary was too quick, though, and had already punched Ian in the mouth, breaking off one of his front teeth. Tom grabbed his brother around the waist, but Gary threw him off. While the brothers wrestled, Ian rolled across the floor. He saw Tom’s leather jacket and the stack of bills, along with what appeared to be a cell phone. Ian seized the phone, pushing himself to his feet. Tom saw him out of the corner of his eye. “Get off me, Gary,” he shouted. “Ian’s got the gun!”

  Ian was about to depress one of the keys when Gary sprang to his feet. “Give me that right now.”

  “No,” Ian said, clasping the decoy gun to his chest. “You never told me you had a cell phone. I want to call my mother. I’m sick of both of you.”

  Gary and Tom knew they had to act fast. “It’s a gun,” Tom blurted out. “They made it to look like a cell phone.”

  Gary marched over and tried to pry Ian’s fingers off the decoy gun, but Ian jerked away and shoved the gun into his left pocket.

  “Leave him alone,” Tom shouted. “Let me handle it.”

  Gary slouched in a chair, one leg thrown over the armrest. Tom cautiously approached Ian. “We weren’t pulling your leg, Ian. It’s not a cell phone, it’s a gun. You don’t want to shoot your leg off, do you?”

  “No,” Ian said, pouting. “I want to go home.”

  Tom held his hand out. “Give me the gun, and we’ll take you home. Deal?”

  “No,” Ian said, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s it,” Gary said. He walked over and twisted Ian’s left arm behind his back, then he reached in Ian’s pocket and yanked the gun out. Ian spun around and slugged Gary in the face. Gary pointed the gun at Ian just as Tom jumped in between them.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Tom told his brother. “Let it be for right now.”

  “That’s the gun they were talking about in the courtroom,” Ian said, his face flushed with rage. “Everything you said about the robbery was a lie. There weren’t two other men. You and Gary robbed the Quick-Mart. You thought I was so stupid I wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “Calm down,” Tom said, seeing the sinister look in his brother’s eyes. “Let’s go outside and get some fresh air. I’ll explain everything. We have to stop making so much noise or someone will call the police.”

  Gary tucked his shirt back into his jeans. “Maybe it’s time to take a drive.”

  Ian started inching his way toward the door. “I want to go home. Take me to my mother’s house. I promise I won’t tell anyone about the gun. Please, let me go home.”

  “Come on now,” Gary said, smiling as he walked over and draped his arm around Ian’s shoulders. “We’re buddies. Friends have spats every now and then. You don’t want to go running home to your momma like a baby. Just because we have a gun doesn’t mean we robbed the Quick-Mart. Maybe the gun belonged to the robbers, and we just happened to find it.”

  Ian reached for the door handle. Gary body slammed him against the door “You’re either with us or you’re not, understand?”

  “Why can’t you ever tell the truth?” Ian asked. “You didn’t find the gun. You robbed that store.”

  “Hey,” Gary said. “You leave, and we’ll tell the police you skipped town, that you were the one who robbed the Quick-Mart. Then every cop in the world will be looking for you. Stick with us, and we’ll beat this thing. Dreiser doesn’t think the DA has enough evidence to prove the case.” He flicked his finger against Ian’s forehead. “Think. Use your brain for a change. You’re not that thickheaded. Without us, you ain’t got nothing.”

  Ian felt a throbbing inside his mouth. When he touched his front tooth, he winced in pain. AH that was left of his tooth were a few jagged fragments protruding from the gum line. “You broke my tooth off,” he told Gary. “It hurts like a bitch. I should break your tooth.”

  “Gary was wrong to hit you,” Tom told him, wedging his body between the two men again. “You were wrong too, Ian. You shouldn’t have insulted Gary by telling him he smelled.”

  Ian sulked a few moments, then spoke out again, “Why didn’t you tell me about the gun?”

  “We were trying to protect you,” Tom said. “We were afraid you’d panic. Another reason we didn’t tell you the truth was so you wouldn’t have to lie on the witness stand. That’s called perjury. Perjury is a serious crime.”

  “Robbery is worse,” Ian argued. “I’d rather go to jail for perjury than for robbery.”

  “A witness saw you in the parking lot of the market,” Tom reminded him. “No one will believe you didn’t know what was going on. Maybe we did rob the Quick-Mart. We need money to live. Gary and I don’t get checks from the government like you. Forget about what happened. We’re still your friends.”

  “You’re not my friends,” Ian said, scowling. “You’ve never been my friends. I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to see my family, listen to my music, eat a home-cooked meal. I’m sick of this disgusting motel room. I can’t breathe half the time because of the marijuana smoke. No one treats their friends the way you treat me. You act like I’m your slave.”

  “You want to go home?” Gary said, hissing the words through clenched teeth.

  “Are you deaf?” Ian said defiantly. “I’ve been telling you I want to for weeks.”

  “Fine,” Gary said. “Then we’re going to take you home.”

  Ian’s face brightened. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah,” Gary said. “Get your things.”

  While Ian was stuffing his belongings into a pillowcase, Gary and Tom spoke privately on the other side of the room. “How can we take him home?” Tom asked. “You know how he is. He never lies. I don’t think he can lie. Lying is beyond his capability. You have to have a good memory to lie, especially under pressure.”

  “‘Lying is beyond his capability,’” Gary repeated, making fun of Tom. “What in the hell is that all about? Are you studying to be a shrink? Did you think I was serious when I said we were going to take him to his mother’s house? You’ve got a screw loose, man.”

  Tom’s face blanched. He grabbed his brother’s arm. “You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do!” he said. “Give me your word you won’t hurt Ian. I can’t let you hurt him, Gary. You’ve already ruined my life. I’m not going to stand by and watch you kill someone.”

  “I’ve ruined your life, huh?” Gary said, twisting away in fury. “I didn’t hold a gun on you and force you to rob those stores. Take whatever stuff you want to keep. Right now, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about Ian. I do know one thing. We’re not coming back to this room.”

  Tom was behind the wheel of the Chrysler, Gary was in the passenger seat. Ian was riding in the backseat behind Gary. “You have to take the car back,” Ian told them. “That was the deal. You said you were only borrowing it, remember?”

  “Excuse me,” Gary said, jerking his head around. “How can we take you home without a car?”

  “I can walk home from the lot,” Ian said. “You guys will have to call a taxi. There’s a pay phone on the comer. My mom is responsible for this car. You have to take it back, or I’ll call the police and tell them that you have that gun. Then they’ll know you robbed the Quick-Mart.”

  Tom slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street. A car behind them screeched to a halt, the driver blasting his horn. Didn’t Ian realize what he was saying? Now wasn’t the time to butt heads with Gary. “We don’t have that much money left, Ian. It might have looked like a lot, but most of those bills are fives and ones. We can’t rent a car. We don’t have a credit card.”

  “Stop all the baloney,” Gary barked. “The kid wants us to take the car back. We’ll call Willie. He’ll come and pick us up. Drive us to ABC Towing and Storage. I can’t stand listening to Ian whining.”

  Tom made an illegal U-turn and steered the Chrysler in the direction of the storage lot. Gary sounded rational, but there was enough tension inside the car to cause an explos
ion.

  They pulled up to the back gate to the ABC Towing and Storage lot. Ian got out and unlocked the gate with the key he’d stolen from his mother. He pushed the gate open and then motioned for Tom to drive the Chrysler into the lot. Tom felt the hairs prick on the back of his neck. Now that Ian was safely out of the car, he moved his foot from the brake to the gas pedal and slipped the gearshift into reverse.

  “Drive into the lot,” Gary told him, the nose of the decoy gun pressed into Tom’s ribs. “Once we’re inside, do exactly what I tell you. Brother or not, you’re a breath away from a bullet.”

  Ian walked up to the driver’s window. Tom asked him where he wanted them to leave the car.

  “Over there,” Ian said, pointing to an empty parking spot. “I think that’s where it was parked when we took it.”

  The three men parked and exited the Chrysler.

  “Look over there, Ian,” Gary shouted. “There’s a light burning inside the office. It might be your uncle.”

  Ian was approximately five feet away As soon as he turned around, Gary shot him in the back. Tom didn’t move or speak. His feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground. He watched as Gary shoved the decoy gun back inside the waistband of his jeans. He picked up one of Ian’s lifeless hands and began dragging him toward the Chrysler.

  “Here,” Gary said, tossing something to Tom. “That’s the key to the office. Find us another car. Make sure it has a current license plate.”

  Tom held up his palms, his whole body trembling. “No way,” he said, watching as the key struck the ground. “I’m not going to leave my fingerprints inside the office. Robbing stores is one thing. Ian didn’t deserve to die. You threatened to shoot me too. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a brother.”