Insidious (32 page)

“It was nearly one o’clock when I saw Dr. Richards at the nurses’ station, yawning. I was going to ask him where he’d been, but there was a call from the ER about an admission and things turned hectic. I didn’t think much about it until you called and asked me. I’m sure Dr. Richards can explain where he was. There was no harm done.”

Arturo turned off the video, sat back in his chair, crossed his arms. “Where were you, Dr. Richards, during that three-quarters of an hour?”

Doc blinked at him, cocked his head to the side. “I remember now. Nurse Simpson was right about Keith’s—Dr. Lyons’s—snoring being way too loud for me, so I went two floors up to the doctors’ break room and slept there for a bit.”

“The break room on the sixth floor?”

“That’s right.”

“Now that’s curious, Doctor. There’s a security camera right outside the door of the sixth-floor break room. We have video footage from eleven forty-five p.m. to one o’clock a.m. You are not on the footage, either going into the room or coming out.” Arturo leaned forward. “It’s time for you to tell me the truth. No more lies.”

Doc stared at Arturo straight on, and said, his voice eerily calm, “I understand all this now. You think I hurt Deborah. I couldn’t ever hurt her. I loved her more than my own life.”

Arturo waved that away. “I hear what you’re saying, Dr. Richards. But the fact remains you weren’t in the hospital. Are you ready to tell me where you were during those missing minutes?”

“Yes, all right. This is the truth, I swear it. I went out to get some air—I needed some time alone to think, it hit me that night that I was moving into a house with Deborah, one step away from marriage. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to marry her. I didn’t care if she ever succeeded in her acting career, I only wanted her to be happy. But I started doubting myself because with her role in
The Crown Prince
it looked like she would hit it big and I had to wonder if she’d still want me, want a family with me. How could I measure up to all those hotshot actors she’d be working with? And how would I deal with her fame?

“I jogged down to the beach and sat on the sand. Tuesday night was beautiful out, calm, nearly a full moon overhead. And it all came clear to me. I decided I wouldn’t worry if she fell out of love with me, I’d have her for a certain time, and that would be enough. If she
wanted to keep acting, I’d stop carping at her about it. I’d support her, completely, no more denigrating the industry. I’d do my best to help her, whatever it took. I wanted her, loved her; I wanted her to be my wife.” Tears ran down his cheeks. Arturo said nothing.

Doc swiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I ran back to the hospital. I don’t know exactly how long I was gone, but it wasn’t even an hour.

“Listen, Detective, I actually forgot about leaving the hospital when you first asked me, and then I realized Deborah was being killed the same time I was gone. I got frightened. I knew you suspected me of killing her, and so I kept quiet. I didn’t think anyone had noticed.

“Then early the next morning one of the nurses woke me. I’d fallen asleep at the nurses’ station, after all. She told me I had to get moving, it was a big day for me and Deborah. I was happy and I left and went home and found her.” He simply stopped talking, stared blindly past Arturo, at her, Cam thought, as if he knew she was behind the two-way mirror, watching him, listening to him, weighing his every word.

“That’s quite a story, Doctor. In my experience, innocent people don’t generally lie to the police to avoid arousing suspicion. Let me tell you another story, one a jury is more likely to believe.” Arturo sat forward, clasped his hands in front of him. “You and Deborah had a huge fight, maybe about that role she was playing in
The Crown Prince
, maybe about what she’d done in Italy for those two weeks she’d been gone filming, who’d she seen, gone out with, maybe slept with. Or maybe you fought about the producer, Theo Markham, the big shot you’d met at that party six months ago. How you despised him, thought he was a lecher, and here he’d hired Deborah to play this role. She’d be with him countless hours, here, in Italy, out of your sight.”

“No! None of that’s true, none of it!”

“Did you know, Doctor, that Theo Markham, the producer of
The Crown Prince
, Deborah’s producer, was sleeping with Connie Morrissey? Did you know he was about to give the role in
The Crown Prince
to her before she was murdered? And then Deborah got offered the role. Surely you had to wonder if she’d betrayed you, if she’d slept with that corrupt debaucher to get the role?

“Or did Deborah break, finally see you as everyone else did—always belittling her, making her career seem unimportant, even immoral, always trying to get her to quit. How long would anyone take that kind of abuse?”

Doc rose straight out of his chair. “No, no! Look, I did have my doubts, yes, but Deborah loved me, she always loved me!”

“Do you know Markham is convinced you murdered Deborah? That he’s even hired a private investigator to prove it? This man has a serious hate-on for you. Why? What is he to you, and what are you to him?”

Doc looked puzzled. Arturo would swear it wasn’t an act. “Markham? I only met the man that one time. He’s nothing at all to me.”

“Then why is he convinced you murdered Deborah?”

Doc shook his head. “I don’t know, but that’s why you came after me, isn’t it? Because of what this Markham says?”

“Do you know Deborah’s neighbor Mrs. Buffet?”

“What? Mrs. Buffet? The whole neighborhood knows her. She’s always watching everyone from her window. Why?”

“She saw the murderer leave Deborah’s house, after midnight. Tall and thin, wearing a ball cap, which, she said, he pulled off to rub blood off his bald head.”

Doc shuddered, touched his hair. “I’m not bald.”

“No, so you wore a cap over your hair to protect you from the blood splatter. And you’d know to protect yourself, Dr. Richards. After all, you’re a surgeon, you’re used to blood, right?”

Doc shook his head slowly, back and forth, licking his cracked lips. “
Why are you saying these things to me? This is all crazy.”

Arturo, his voice soft now, leaned forward again. “She’d already cut you loose, hadn’t she? Or was about to. You knew it and it burned you, destroyed everything you felt for her. She’d made you feel worthless, like less than nothing, but you held it together. You went to work as usual, but what she’d done festered. You’d given her two years of your life, supported her even though you hated what she was doing. So what if you wanted more for her, you were only being honest, right? That gave her no right to kick you aside. It gnawed at you, deep down, and then you remembered the serial killer who’d just killed again in Las Vegas and how you’d worried about him attacking Deborah. And then it came to you—what better cover was there? You knew he cut their throats. You could do that easily.

“I know you didn’t take your car. There are cameras in the parking lot. Your car stayed put, which means you ran back to Deborah’s house, not a problem for you. You’re an athlete, a surfer, you can run. You gathered everything you needed, waited for your chance to tell everyone you were taking a nap in the on-call room, but you ran home, instead, and broke in like a burglar would, like the serial killer did. Deborah was asleep, as you expected her to be. She must have looked beautiful lying there, but I guess it didn’t matter anymore, you hated the faithless bitch’s guts.”

Arturo leaned close, his voice dropped to a near whisper. “Tell me, Doctor, how did it feel when you sliced open her throat?”

Doc was shuddering like a palsied man, sobbing, shaking his head back and forth.

“Before you closed her eyes, did you see her confusion, her horror, her terror?”

Doc was no longer shuddering, no longer sobbing. He sat silent, frozen, tears pooling in his eyes, and yet again he started shaking his head. “Why are you saying these things to me? I did nothing to her—I loved her; she loved me. I did close her eyes, I told that agent I did, I couldn’t bear looking into her eyes and knowing I’d failed her, I wasn’t there to protect her. I did not kill her. If you don’t believe me, I don’t know what else I can say or do.”

“I know what you can do. You can take a lie detector test.”

The pain left Doc’s eyes, replaced by—what? Fear? Doc said, “I didn’t think you were using lie detectors anymore, not accurate enough.”

“Maybe not for court, but accurate enough for us. You’re in our crosshairs now, Doctor, our prime suspect. You could save yourself and us all a lot of trouble if you take it and pass.”

Doc said, “Yes, all right, I will. I did not murder Deborah and I’ll prove to you I’m not lying.”

“Good choice, Doctor. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You want a cup of coffee?”

56

Cam shook Arturo’s hand. “Good job getting him to go for the polygraph. I thought he’d be too smart for that.”

Arturo gave her a twisted smile. “It’s possible he might beat it. He’s a doctor, knows how it works, knows the physiology. But if he’s hiding something that might not be enough.”

“You have someone good?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah, I do. Buzz Quigley, and he’s here in the building. I’ll bring him back with his machine, set him up in the interview room. I’ll need a few minutes, though, to write out some questions he needs to ask.”

Cam called after him. “We’ll get Doc the coffee, talk to him a bit.”

“Have at it,” Arturo called back. “The recording equipment’s still running.”

Cam and Daniel walked in together, said hello to Doc as if nothing unusual was happening. Cam placed a cardboard cup of black coffee in front of Doc. “You like it black, right?”

“Yes, sure.” He looked exhausted. He took a wary sip, nodded to himself, and drank more. He paused, seemed to collect himself, and drank again.

Daniel said, “Here at the Santa Monica Police Department, you get to drink Peet’s,
not the usual bitter burned stuff so popular in cop shops. Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Doc looked back and forth between them. “I’m going to take a lie detector test. Of course you already know that. You were standing on the other side of that mirror, watching and listening, right? That’s the way you do things.”

“Right,” Cam said, and pulled out a chair and sat down. “Doc, I know this is a really tough time for you, and I’m sorry we have to ask you these questions. But there’s still a killer out there, and you did withhold information from us, so now we have to follow up. You understand?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tell me, Doc, how well do you know Gloria Swanson?”

A small smile bloomed, briefly, then fell off his face. “Deborah knew her, thought she was a kick, and smart, too, as focused as Deborah is—was. I mean, she kept that name of hers. She was actually going to try to trade on it.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Daniel said.

Doc drank more coffee. “Sure, I guess. Anyway, she’s a nice girl. I’m sure she competed with Deborah on lots of parts. I myself don’t know her that well at all.”

“Have you seen the news that she barely escaped being the seventh murder victim?”

He gaped at them. “Gloria? When? Is she all right?”

“Last night,” Cam said. “And yes, she is.”

“So she escaped? Good for her.”

“You didn’t know?” Daniel asked.

“No, I haven’t been watching much news lately. Since Deborah died, I’ve been on leave from the hospital, at home in my old place, mostly. I haven’t paid much attention. I spoke to Deborah’s parents this morning, Agent Wittier, about her body being released on Monday. They’re making funeral arrangements.” He shook his head. “Isn’t it
odd how your world can come to a dead stop and the world outside keeps on going around you? I’m glad Gloria’s okay.”

Cam said, “Do you know where Gloria lives?”

Doc frowned, stared down into the cup. “I remember Deborah saying she lived close by, because her parents wanted her to be safe.” He laughed, shook his head. “A good area, a safe area. Well, that didn’t work. Who saved her?”

Cam said, “She saved herself. She had a gun. Did Deborah like her?”

“Yes, I guess so. I only met her a couple of times. We didn’t talk about all that much. She wasn’t really a part of our lives, you know? I’d say she and Deborah were like so many of the other young women out here trying to scratch their way into the movies or TV.”

“What would ‘scratch their way’ mean exactly?” Cam asked.

Doc shrugged. “Some of them would probably run their own mothers down to succeed in the business. Was she different? Sorry, I really don’t know.”

He broke off, became statue still.

“Is that how you thought about Deborah, Doc?” Daniel was lightly tapping his fingers on the table. “When all was said and done, did you believe Deborah was so determined to make it big she’d hurt anyone she believed was an obstacle? Even you?”

“Of course not! Deborah wanted to succeed badly, sure. And she wasn’t perfect, I mean, no one is, right? But”—he broke off, tears pooling in his eyes. He swallowed—“for me she glowed. She had this special light that shined on everyone she loved, including me.”

Arturo walked into the room with a guy built like a linebacker, massive chest, maybe six five. The lie detector machine looked like a toy in his big hand.

“Everyone, this is Buzz Quigley, our examiner. Buzz, this is Dr. Mark Richards.”

Buzz greeted everyone, found an electric outlet for his machine and
started unpacking his kit. He asked all of them to witness Doc agreeing to taking the test voluntarily, without any undue pressure, and then he told everyone to leave the room, to watch and listen through the two-way mirror. When they next got a view of the room, Buzz had pulled out some sheets of paper, no doubt including the questions Arturo had prepared for him. As he hooked up the electrodes, Buzz began to tell Doc how everything would work, his voice matter-of-fact.

When Quigley was finished, he looked across the table and said in a calm deep voice, “Is your name Maxwell Mark Richards?”

“Yes.”

“Are you thirty-three years old?”

“I am.”

“Are you a pediatric surgeon at Children’s Hospital here in Santa Monica?”