Justice (17 page)

“Sergeant,” Moody interjected.

“Did Cheryl have other sexual partners?” Decker asked.

Whitman remained impassive. “Yes.”

“And that didn’t bother you?”

“No. She wasn’t my girlfriend.”

Decker said, “You have names for some of Cheryl’s sexual partners?”

Whitman said, “You want me to do your job for you, Sergeant?”

Moody squeezed Whitman’s arm. The boy immediately stiffened. “What is the point of this?”

“Your ex-sex friend is dead, Chris. You’re a suspect. I would think you’d want to help me out.”

Whitman said, “I heard rumors. I don’t incriminate anyone based on rumors. That’s your department.”

Again Moody touched Whitman’s arm.

“Tell me, Chris,” Decker said. “How do you know she had sex with other guys…if all you have is rumors…and you and Cheryl never talked about anything personal?”

Whitman paused. “Sometimes when I did her, she had semen in her.”

Decker paused to assimilate his words. “From a previous sexual encounter?”

“Obviously.”

“And this didn’t bother you?”

“As long as I was protected, what did I care?”

“I realize Cheryl wasn’t your heartthrob, but still, that’s pretty damn tolerant.”

Whitman shrugged.

Decker said, “Just maybe you were more affected than you’re letting on?”

“It didn’t bother me. In fact, I liked—”

Moody interrupted, “Chris, just answer the questions.”

“You liked what?” Decker said.

“Christopher—”

“I liked the fact that she had other guys,” Whitman interrupted. “It meant I could walk away without a scene.”

“Didn’t quite work out that way. You seem to have created a real big scene—”

Moody broke in. “Sergeant, this is a fact-finding interview, not a forum for groundless accusations.”

“Groundless, Counselor?” Decker said. “Your client admitted having sex with the victim in the hotel room, not once but twice—”

Whitman broke in. “So what?”

Moody said, “Chris, let me—”

“Yes, I
fucked
her. But I didn’t
kill
her.”

“Christopher—”

“You know, to me, sex is just no
big deal
,” Whitman blazed on. “I don’t carve notches in my belt, I don’t have a little black book, I don’t get jazzed about conquests, I don’t gossip, I don’t flirt, I don’t talk indiscreetly, and even though girls fall in my face, I don’t feel the need to put my dick into everything that moves. While we were together, Cheryl had other partners.
I
didn’t. I was loyal, not because Cheryl was any great shakes but because it wasn’t worth the hassle to break in someone else. A pussy is a pussy—”

“Not overloaded with passion, are you, guy?” Decker broke in.

“I have more passion in a single hair on my ass than—”

“Don’t
answer
him, Christopher!” Moody said. “What’s
wrong
with you?”

Abruptly, Whitman’s fair complexion took on a pinkish hue. He stopped talking, sat back in his seat, and looked at his lap. Then his eyes returned to Decker’s—flat and cold.

Decker stared back, keeping his own face impassive. No doubt that this time the kid was telling the truth. Behind that practiced inanimate facade lay a hotbed of pent-up emotions. Decker bet it all came out in his cello playing.

“So you’re a passionate guy, Chris,” Decker said. “What turns you on?”

Whitman looked at Moody.

The lawyer said, “Tell him what you like, Chris.”

“Music,” Whitman said. “Art.”

“Literature?”

“Sure.”

“Are you a good student?”

Whitman paused and Decker took it in. Something flashed through the teen’s eyes, then died in a flat mask of nothingness. He said, “I get by.”

“Really,” Decker said. “I’d think you’d love school. That you’d be a natural since girls aren’t much of a distraction for you.”

Whitman didn’t answer.

“What are you? Like a B student?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s your GPA?”

“I really don’t know.”

Decker stared at him. Nothing concrete had changed in his demeanor, yet Whitman was uncomfortable.

“You’re in orchestra?”

Whitman nodded.

“You like that?”

“S’right.”

“Too advanced for the group?”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re pretty damn stoic for being so passionate.”

Whitman didn’t answer. He had learned his lesson.

“How long have you played cello?”

Whitman turned to Moody. “Why am I answering these questions?”

“A good point.” Moody checked his watch. “It’s been a little while. Why don’t you contact Ms. Reuter and see if she has the results of the polygraph.”

Decker said, “I’ll give her a little more time. But even if he did pass, we all know that polygraphs are notoriously unreliable, Chris. That’s why they’re not admissible in a court of law.”

“Fine,” Moody said. “So now I know that Christo
pher passed an unreliable test. Can he go over the night of the prom for you so we can get out of here before the witching hour?”

“All right,” Decker said. “Tell me your story, Chris.”

“Where do I start.”

“What time did you leave the prom?”

“Around midnight.”

“With Cheryl?”

“Yes.”

“What did you two do?”

“We went to some parties.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Did you have sex with Cheryl at the parties?”

“No.”

“What did you do after the parties?”

“We went to a hotel.”

“Which hotel?”

“Grenada West End.”

“Go on.”

“We went to a room. The gang was there.” Whitman named names. “We partied a little more together.”

“What does that mean?”

“Drinking…doping. Someone put some porno on the VCR.” Whitman shrugged. “That’s about it. Eventually they all left the room in pairs. Maybe that was around two-thirty, three in the morning. When Cheryl and I were finally alone, we had sex twice. Real quick. One, two and it was over.”

“Porno turn you on, Chris?”

“Don’t answer that,” Moody said.

“You wear a condom that night?”

“Yes. I wore two. I put on a fresh one after I came the first time.”

“When did you leave the hotel, Chris?”

“Maybe three-thirty or four that morning. I drove home. I went to sleep. End of story.”

“You forgot the pregnancy part.”

“Oh, yeah.” Whitman rubbed his eyes. “Cheryl told me she was pregnant while we were still at the prom. She told me I was the father. I told her that was impossible.”

“How was it impossible?”

“I’d rather let your lab do my talking. I’ll give you a sample. Fair enough?”

“You’re offering to give us sperm and blood samples—”

“He’s doing nothing of the kind,” Moody broke in.

Decker said, “What did Cheryl say when you told her you couldn’t be the father?”

“Don’t recall. I
do
remember thinking that the bitch was lying. Telling me she was knocked up just to hold on to—”

Whitman stopped talking.

“What?” Decker said.

“Nothing.”

Decker said, “Cheryl told you she was pregnant to hold on to you, didn’t she, Chris? She didn’t want the relationship—the sexual friends relationship—to end. Her clinging to you like that…making
demands
on you…that wouldn’t sit well with the Benedettos or your uncle, now, would it, guy?”

Whitman said, “Sergeant, all I can tell you is I’m not the father of her baby. I’m so positive I’ll give you blood and sperm samples—”

“Chris—”

“Mr. Moody, I’m
that
positive.”

“Fine,” Decker said. “Thank you for cooperating. We’ll set something up. You said Cheryl was strung out. Did you see her doping?”

“Yes.”

Decker said, “Did you see her drink?”

“Yes.”

“Did she seem depressed to you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“She was stoned, she was drunk, she was pregnant, she was depressed…” Decker paused. “Why’d you leave her alone in the hotel room?”

“Because I’m not an Eagle Scout.”

The room was quiet.

Whitman closed his eyes and opened them. “In light of what happened to her, I wish I hadn’t left her alone. But it’s too late for regrets. What else do you want to know?”

Decker said, “Anyone see you leave the hotel?”

“No.”

“Did anyone see you on your way home?”

“No.”

“What time did you get home?”

“Around four maybe.”

“Anyone see you come into your apartment?”

“No.”

“Did you make any phone calls?”

“No.”

“Did you receive any phone calls?”

“No.”

The catch in Whitman’s throat was so quick, Decker almost missed it. “No one tried to call you?”

“No.”

Decker wrote a note to himself to check calls on Whitman’s telephone. “You went right to sleep.”

“Yep.”

“Right smack to sleep.”

“Yes.”

“Just dropped off like a fly.”

“I was very tired.”

“You slept in your tux?”

“No, I took off my tux—” Whitman paused. “I took off my tux, brushed my teeth, and then went to sleep.”

The two men locked eyes. Then Decker said, “I’d like to go over a few more points again.”

“Sergeant,” Moody said. “Is this really necessary?”

“S’right, Mr. Moody,” Whitman said. “I don’t have anything better to do. And I don’t have anything to hide.”

Upon entering the sixth hour
of nonstop questioning, James Moody demanded a break. Decker complied, taking his breather in the viewing room. Davidson was standing in front of the one-way mirror, eyes fixed in a squint, peering at Whitman and his representation as if looking through binoculars at enemy infiltrators. Scott Oliver was slouched over the tabletop, having grown deep bags under his eyes. To Decker’s surprise, Elaine Reuter had stuck around long after her job was done. She was usually meticulous in her appearance, but as the night wore on, so did Elaine. Her hair had become a straggly mane, her posture folded and wrinkled. Decker didn’t feel too hot himself. He ran a hand over his steel-wool face. He was sorely in need of a shave.

He said, “We’ve been plowing the same ground for the last four hours, Lieutenant. What do you think?”

Davidson licked his lips, but didn’t answer.

Elaine rubbed her eyes. “I liked Whitman’s initial outburst about sex not being a big deal to him. Pretty big admission for an eighteen-year-old.”

“Don’t you believe it!” Davidson said.

“Fucking A right.” Oliver picked his head up, then dropped it. “Sucker’s bragging. Reverse macho. ‘I’m so cool, I don’t
need
it.’ Meanwhile he was boffing Cheryl Diggs on a regular basis. Probably boffing others as well.”

Davidson perked up. “You got names, Oliver?”

“Yeah, I’m holding back on everyone—”

“Oliver—”

“No, I don’t have
names
, Loo. The kids I talked to didn’t know much about Whitman, period, let alone his sex life.” Oliver looked at Decker. “What about the girls?”

“Same story.” Decker sat down. “But I agree with Scotty. I think Whitman has had other partners. Be nice if we dug one of them up.”

“Not literally, I hope,” Elaine said.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Decker said. “But it’s a possibility.”

“A strong one,” Davidson said. “He’s got the look.”

Decker said, “Be nice if we found a living partner. See if he has any strange proclivities.”

“Like bondage?” Elaine said.

Decker said, “You said the machine wiggled when he spoke about tying up girls.”

“I also said it was within normal limits,” Elaine said. “Like I stated, it’s probably a long-standing fantasy of his.”

“Only
this
time, he made it a reality,” Davidson said.

“I’ve still got a good three, four hours left in me,” Decker said. “But truthfully, I’ve gone as far as I can go with him. What do you want me to do?”

Davidson looked pained. “You’re telling me to spring him when I know he did it?”

Decker said, “I’m not telling you anything. It’s your call.”

“I need evidence, Decker!”

“Get me a warrant and maybe I can get you his tux,” Decker said.

“What if he rented one, then returned it?” Elaine said.

Oliver said, “If he rented, he didn’t use a local shop
or
he didn’t use his real name. I’ve called every rental place within ten square miles of the school.”

Decker said, “Being a big kid
and
Donatti’s son, I’m betting he owned one.”

Elaine said, “So all we have to do is find his tux, match the fibers to the bow tie found at the crime scene, and we’ll have something incriminating.”

“Putting it that way, it sounds so simple,” Decker said.

“It
is
simple,” Davidson insisted.

“Kid’s smart,” Oliver said. “He’s probably ditched the tux by now.”

Decker said, “Scotty, tuxes don’t disappear. He admitted—on record—that he had been wearing one on prom night.”

Elaine said, “Ah, so that’s why he gave you that look. Your comment about him not even taking his tux off before he dropped off to sleep.” She smiled. “Man, he sure fell into your trap.”

“Yep,” Decker said.

“He knew it, too,” Oliver said. “What if he already went out and bought a new one?”

Decker said, “Be difficult to pull something off the rack on such short notice, especially at prom time.”

“So he’d go custom,” Oliver said.

Decker said, “Scott, the murder happened Sunday morning when all the stores were closed. Today’s Monday. He’s had about six hours to dredge something up…assuming that he knew his tux could incriminate him. Though it can be done, I think it would be hard to make a tux on such short notice.”

“All it takes is money, Rabbi,” Oliver said. “He got fitted today, he’ll pick up the monkey suit tomorrow.”

“So we’ll put a twenty-four-hour tail on him. See if it leads to a tailor.”

Elaine said, “Pete, what happens if you find the original tux? So it matches the bow tie at the crime scene. Whitman admitted being in the room. Why wouldn’t he say he just left his bow tie behind?”

“That’s exactly what he will say,” Oliver said.

Davidson said, “Matching the bow tie used to bind Cheryl’s hands to Whitman’s tux is enough to get us an indictment. That’s all I care about. Because with the bow tie we’ve got the big three—opportunity, means, and motive, that being Diggs’s pregnancy.”

“His fiancée knows about Cheryl’s pregnancy, Lieutenant,” Elaine said. “She hasn’t ditched him.”

“Reuter, let me tell you how the mob works,” Davidson said. “To save face in front of the police, Mafia’s gonna stick up for their own no matter what. To us, they’re gonna say everything’s fine. But when Whitman gets home, back to Daddy Benedetto and Uncle Joey Donatti, he’s gonna lose a nut.”

Oliver held his groin. “Ouch!”

“We’d be doing the kid a favor if we put him away,” Davidson said.

“You actually think he killed Cheryl because her pregnancy was a threat to his engagement?” Elaine asked.

“I
know
that’s why he killed her,” Davidson said.

“But Whitman swore the kid wasn’t his.”

“He’s bluffing,” Davidson said.

“Even though he’s willing to give us blood and semen samples to prove it?” Decker asked.

“That’s what he says now,” Davidson said. “Bet your ass, he’ll have a sudden change of heart. And even if the baby wasn’t his, Cheryl threatening him was probably enough to get him riled. It don’t even have to be true.”

“I don’t agree,” Decker said.

“Course not,” Davidson growled. “It’s against your religion to agree with me.”

“If he murdered Cheryl—even with the bondage—I don’t see it as a premeditated thing. Maybe a sex game gone bad. Could be he was doing some sexual experimentation before taking the plunge. Because I don’t reckon Daddy Benedetto would cotton to him tying up his daughter.”

“I don’t buy that,” Davidson said. “Whitman’s mob. All mob men have armpieces.”

“Armpieces?” Elaine said.

“Mistresses,” Decker said.

Oliver said, “A good-looking broad on their arm.”

Decker said, “Except Benedetto is big time. He’s an old-fashioned Italian daddy. His daughter’s his princess.”

“But the husband—the man—is still the
king
,” Davidson said.

“Granted,” Decker said. “He may accept Whitman getting a mistress
after
he’s earned some stripes. But first Whitman’s going to have to prove himself. No way at this time, Benedetto would tolerate an eighteen-year-old punk still green around the edges messing around on his daughter.”

“Well, Diggs is dead whatever the reason,” Davidson said. “And whatever the reason, Whitman did it.”

Decker said, “We don’t have a warrant now and we don’t have enough to hold him. What do you want to do with him?”

Davidson rubbed a meaty hand over his face. “Go another half hour…should give me enough time to assign a tail until I can get the warrant.”

“I’ll do the tail,” Oliver said.

“You’re half dead,” Davidson said. “I wouldn’t trust you to watch my goldfish.”

Decker said, “When do you think you can get a search and seizure warrant?”

Davidson looked at the wall clock. “No sense waking up a judge at one in the morning since Whitman’ll have a tail on him. I’ll ask Ronnie Peterson first thing tomorrow morning. We go back a ways.” Davidson rolled his shoulders. “Stall Moody for another half hour, then let him go. Any questions?”

The room was silent.

“Then class is dismissed,” Davidson announced.