David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

Joel Lightner was standing next to Paul, watching through the one-way as Burgos jammed to his music. Lightner was bouncing on his toes, like a pitcher in the bull pen who was about to get the tap on the arm from the coach. “When do we start?” he asked.

“Do we have the photos?” Riley asked.

He nodded, handed Riley a file.

There was no reason to wait much longer. Unless Burgos’s nerves had completely overtaken him, which Riley doubted from looking at him, Burgos was probably hungry. Things like withholding food were bases for a defense attorney to argue coercion.

Riley sighed and stretched his arms. “You up for this, Detective?”

Lightner nodded efficiently. “Marion Park’s not Mayberry, Paul. I’m no virgin.”

That was true enough. Marion Park, a nearby suburb, didn’t have the city’s crime, but at least one prominent gang, the Columbus Street Cannibals, had begun to have a presence down there.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not open to suggestions.”

“Okay” Paul looked through the one-way mirror again. “Hands off, first of all.”

“Only way I do it.”

“Let’s make it a courtesy, for starters. Don’t let him leave, obviously, but tell him he can. See if he tries.”

“We’ll do lunch,” he suggested. Riley’s thought exactly. A conversation over lunch was more casual. So they were on the same page. It was standard practice for detectives to interrogate suspects, not ACAs. Paul could overrule that and take it himself, but then he’d be a witness and disqualified from prosecuting the case. There were some other ACAs floating about right now, guys Paul had summoned from the city, including the chiefs of the criminal prosecutions and special prosecutions bureaus. But Paul made the call, right there, that Joel Lightner would get first crack. He had caught the case and it was his. Besides, if they were right about this guy, he wasn’t going anywhere, whether he confessed or not.

“Record it,” Riley said, as Lightner walked out of the observation room. Paul brought in the bureau chiefs, plus Chief Clark and three other of his detectives. All of these people could verify anything that the tape recording couldn’t. Riley also wanted to hear their thoughts on the progress made so far.

They all watched, in silence, through the one-way mirror. Terry Burgos was quietly bopping along to the music from his headphones. He didn’t even look up as Joel Lightner entered the room, carrying a tape recorder. Lightner placed it down on the small wooden table and extended the cord to the wall socket. Only when he felt the vibration of the recorder hitting the table did the suspect take notice.

Lightner took a seat opposite Burgos and gestured with his hands that he should remove the headphones. Burgos fumbled with the player, finally turned it off, and removed the tiny speakers from his ears.

“Appreciate you coming down, Mr. Burgos. Do you mind if I record this conversation?”

Burgos looked over the detective, in rolled-up shirtsleeves. Joel placed his finger on the RECORD button. “The time is 1:25 P.M. on Monday, June 26, 1989. My name is Detective Joel Lightner, chief of detectives for the Marion Park Police Department. I’m sitting with Terrance Demetrius Burgos. Mr. Burgos, do I have your permission to tape-record this conversation?”

The suspect continued to look him over, then gave a halfhearted shrug.

“Can you answer out loud, Mr. Burgos?”

“Okay,” he said. He spoke quietly, hesitantly.

“Okay, I can tape-record our talk?”

“Okay” He smoothed his hands over the table. “Got any more Coke?”

“You want a Coke? No problem.” He went to the door and issued the request. “You’re probably hungry, too, aren’t you? Missed lunch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you feel like?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe he took the question more literally.

“A burger and fries?” Joel asked. “A sub?”

Burgos looked at Joel. “I like tacos.”

“Tacos? Great. I know a place.” He spoke again to the officer outside the door. Then he returned to the table, settled back into his chair. Lightner’s way was laid-back, slouching and crossing a leg. Some guys didn’t have the natural ease about them, try as they might, and came off looking like someone who was trying too hard to look at ease. Joel, he had it, Riley could already see. “I want to thank you for coming down here. I want you to understand, Mr. Burgos, that you’re here as a courtesy. You can leave if you want to. Okay?”

The suspect shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Paul said aloud. Joel had been to school. He had told the suspect he was free to leave, which meant Burgos technically was not in custody and Miranda warnings were not required. But Joel had made sure to offer the guy a meal on the house before mentioning he was free to go. Now Joel could have a nice, casual chat without ever mentioning the word lawyer. Terry Burgos was about to learn that there was no such thing as a free lunch.

“What-cha been doing this morning, Terry?”

The suspect shrugged. “Not much.”

“Listen to the radio at all?”

“I listened to my music.”

“You haven’t listened to the radio today?”

“Nah.”

“What about TV? Watch any television today?”

“Nope.”

“Have you spoken to anyone today? Neighbors? Anyone?”

Burgos shook his head. “Nobody.”

Paul’s confidence in the detective was growing. Lightner had just cleared the weeds. By the time the police got to Burgos’s house late that morning, it would have been possible that Burgos had already heard about these killings from news reports on the radio or television. Now, thanks to Lightner confirming that Burgos had not listened to any media sources, any knowledge that Burgos might admit to could not be attributed to TV or radio, or even neighbors. If he knew something, it would be from his personal knowledge.

“You, uh, you did odd jobs at Mansbury, is that right?” Lightner asked.

“Yeah.”

“Painting, blacktopping, rake leaves, shovel snow. That sort of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Cleaning?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I cleaned. Whatever they told me.”

Joel scratched a cheek.

“I don’t work there no more,” Burgos added.

“No? You don’t work at Mansbury anymore?”

Burgos shook his head.

“Why not, Terry?”

“I dunno.” Burgos shrugged. “They fired me.”

A uniform arrived with the Coke, and Burgos seemed more animated. He popped off the top and took a swig. Paul wasn’t in the habit of second-guessing, but he wasn’t thrilled with these last few questions. He would have told this information to Burgos, not asked, to let Burgos know that he already knew, no bullshit. Lightner was playing dumb.

But there was more than one way to a confession, and Joel needed to do it his way, as much as Riley wanted to intervene.

“Terry,” Lightner said, “when you did work there, did you ever work at Bramhall Auditorium?”

Burgos studied his soft drink like it was a prized diamond. Licked his lips, took another swig. “Yeah. I’ve done that,” he said.

“Ever go down to that basement, Terry? Where the cleaning supplies are?”

Well, Joel was cutting to the chase a bit, but this was one of those great questions for an interrogator, damned if you say yes or no.

“Yeah,” he said.

Riley turned to Chief Clark, who was standing next to him. “Tell your officer not to deliver that food until you say so.” What Riley meant was, not until Riley said so, but there was no need to step on toes.

“Can anyone go down there, Terry? Like, could I just walk down there and go to that basement?”