David Ellis - In the Company of Liars

“I won’t answer that.”

He nods. “Can you explain to me why I found only one earring, and not two, at your house?”

“No comment.”

“Mrs. Pagone, I’m giving you the chance to explain this for me. We found the second of these two earrings at Sam Dillon’s house.”

She stares at him. “That’s not a question.”

“Do you have any explanation for that, ma’am? How one of those earrings found its way to Sam Dillon’s house?”

“No comment.”

“No comment,” he repeats. “You won’t provide us any explanation?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Are you familiar with a brand of fingernail polish called ‘Saturday Evening Red’? Made by Evelyn Masters?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“That was the brand of polish found on the broken fingernail at Mr. Dillon’s house.”

Allison nods. Again, no question pending.

“We also found that polish in your home,” he says. “And we found cotton balls in your garbage that contain that polish, along with traces of nail-polish remover.”

She stares at him.

“Did you recently remove that nail polish from your fingers?”

“No comment.”

“Were you romantically involved with Sam Dillon?”

“I already answered that, last time, Detective.”

“You said ‘no,’ last time. Is that still your answer?”

“I have nothing more to say.”

Czerwonka is not deterred. “Are you refusing to answer any questions at all, Mrs. Pagone?”

“It looks that way.”

“Let me-let me be candid with you, Mrs. Pagone. We have a hair follicle that looks a lot like yours, recovered from Sam Dillon’s home. It has the bulb still attached, which means there’s DNA. We now have a sample of your DNA and I think there’s going to be a match. What doyou think?”

She shakes her head.

“And you know we’re going to do a DNA test on that sweatshirt,” he adds. “You think that’s going to be your blood we find on there? Or Sam Dillon’s?”

“You’ll find what you find.”

“We’ve got your fingernail, we’ve got your earring, and we have a silver Lexus SUV-like the one you drive-seen at Sam Dillon’s home around one in the morning, and we’ve got you returning to your house with mud all over you, a little before two. We’ve got you going to Dillon’s office in the capital the day before he was murdered. You were shouting at him. By all accounts, it sounds like he was dumping you. Ending your relationship.”

Allison folds her arms.

“I’m giving you this chance to explain this to me, Mrs. Pagone. Look.” Czerwonka makes a face, leans on his elbows. “I could see why you don’t want to admit being involved with Dillon. He works alongside your ex. You two probably wanted to keep it quiet. I get that. I’d probably do the same thing, if it were me. And then the thing gets complicated. He says some awful things to you. Breaks your heart. I’ve been there. You-you’ve had a tough go of it. A divorce, then a rebound, then that guy dumps you, too. Your head, it’s not where it should be. You’re not doing anything like a cold, calculated murder. It’s like the heat of the moment, you just snap. That’s not Murder One, Mrs. Pagone. You’ve been a lawyer. You lawyers call it diminished capacity, right? Manslaughter, maybe. Maybe-who knows? Temporary insanity.”

Allison rolls her neck. She’d like to reach over and smack this guy.

“That’s not life in prison. That’s not a needle in your arm. But see, you don’t help me out here, I have to see this thing the way it looks. Premeditated murder. I have all I need, right now, Mrs. Pagone. How we charge you is up to you now, not me.”

“I have nothing to say, Detective,” she says. “Do what you’re going to do.”

“Just-” He raises a hand. “Just talk to me about Sam. We know you two were an item. You told your daughter, Mrs. Pagone. Just tell me what you told her.”

“Do what you’re going to do, Detective. I’m not saying another word.”

Joe Czerwonka’s lips move into a grim smile. He shakes his head, as if to say,you had your chance. “I’m going to place you under arrest, Mrs. Pagone,” he says, rising to his feet. “For the murder of Samuel Dillon.”

Special Agents Shiels and McCoy for Mr. Raycroft.” Irv Shiels places his hands behind his back and slowly paces the county attorney’s suite. Raycroft has cut himself a nice piece of the floor in the county building, separated himself and his assistant from the rest of the masses and spent a decent sum on redecorating. McCoy, having spent a career in public service, can only imagine how that one played with the rest of the office.

“Shiels and McCoy.” An office assistant, organizing books on a shelf to their right, looks at them. “Weren’t they a music group?”

Shiels stares at the young man blankly, then looks at McCoy.

“Please come in, Agents,” Raycroft’s secretary says, holding a door open for them.

County Attorney Elliot Raycroft comes out from behind a mahogany desk. Another man, on the dumpy side and younger, stands as well.

Introductions all around. The guy with Raycroft is Roger Ogren, the lead prosecutor working the Sam Dillon homicide. Ogren oversaw the search of Allison Pagone’s home by the County Attorney Technical Unit today. The CAT unit handles all crime-scene work these days, with the police serving only as an assist.

“This is of interest to you?” Raycroft asks as he sits at his desk. The man is mid-fifties, on the slender side, a little creepy in McCoy’s opinion. The way he looks at you, sizing you up, looking for the angle. His hair seems to have come from a bottle, trailer-hitch rust, she’s thinking.

Shiels nods. “We are looking at Allison Pagone for something. It’s something that we cannot discuss at this time. It’s something, let me be clear, that I’m under orders not to discuss.”

Raycroft looks at his sidekick, Ogren, and smiles. His teeth are too perfect. He must use those whitening products they have now. Must come in handy, only a month before the March primary. Raycroft is unique because he’s a Republican in a city that has been controlled by Democrats since the days of stagecoaches. The Democrats messed up, got into a racial thing and split their vote in a runoff, allowing this guy to sneak in with the heavy backing of the state GOP, which has been dying for a candidate who can do something in this city. Thanks to the power of incumbency, Raycroft was reelected, but it’s far from a lock this time. He even has a challenger in the primary, which is forcing him to spend money when he should be fortifying his war chest.

“You came over here to tell me that you’re not going to tell me anything?” he asks.

“We came by,” says Shiels, playing the straight guy here, “because we know you searched her home today.”

Raycroft looks at his watch. “Agent Shiels, can we get to it?”

“We planted a bug in Allison Pagone’s house. It’s a sophisticated model, an Infinity transmitter. We don’t know if your people found it.”

Raycroft looks at Roger Ogren, who makes a face. The answer, apparently, is no.

Shit.They didn’t know. They had no idea about Larry Evans’s bug, and now Shiels has told them. But they couldn’t be sure. They couldn’t take the chance that the CAT unit would find the transmitter and start talking to the media. They had no choice but to front the issue and claim the transmitter as their own.

“First we’ve heard of it,” says Raycroft.

“Well-obviously, Mr. Raycroft, it’s paramount that this information not leave this room. It would defeat the purpose.”

“Obviously.”