David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

“He uses the first letter of every word.” Riley lays out his copies of the notes he received on the conference-room table. “That’s why the notes seem nonsensical. They are. He needs words that start with certain letters, like Stoletti said.”

“Ah, shit.” McDermott claps his hands. “There were indentations on the second note. He’d been trying to come up with words that start with V and E. The first letter mattered. Jesus.” He looks down at Riley’s work:

I NEED HELP AGAIN.

I WILL USE THE SECOND VERSE. TIME TO BURN

ALBANY.

OTHERS KNOW OUR SECRET.

“I’ll be damned.” McDermott shakes his head furiously, trying to clear his thoughts. He’s a little old to be pulling all-nighters. “This is a very easy code-once you realize you’re looking for a code.”

Riley agrees with that. “Took me ten minutes, once I started looking. I guess that’s the point. I had to be able to decipher it.”

“He needs help again,” Stoletti says. “He’s talking to you, Riley.”

“I know.” Riley shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Others know our secret.” McDermott looks at Riley. “You and this guy have a secret.”

“He’s telling you what he’s going to do,” says Stoletti. “He says he needs your help, the secret is out. He tells you he’s going to use the ‘second verse’ and it’s time to burn Albany.”

McDermott tries to size up the situation. These notes, if anything, implicate Riley. Why would he bring these notes to their attention?

“ ‘Time to burn Albany.’ He’s telling you to implicate the professor,” Stoletti says. “He’s saying, keep our secret by pointing the finger at Albany.”

“Maybe,” Riley agrees. “Or maybe we have the punctuation wrong. Maybe there’s a period after ‘burn.”’

“ ‘Time to burn. Albany.’ Like he’s signing his name, in case you don’t get it.” Yeah, McDermott thinks, that might make sense.

A knock on the conference-room door. Detective Sloan, the one who was investigating the murders at the two hardware stores, waves a hand to McDermott.

“Have a seat,” McDermott tells Riley. “Give us a second.”

McDERMOTT AND STOLETTI leave Riley in the conference room and huddle with Detective Sloan.

“We got a vehicle and a plate,” Sloan says proudly. “Chrysler LeBaron, plates J41258. He rented it from a Car-N-Go downtown with a phony license. Paid in cash for two weeks.”

“Good job, Jimmy. Get that on the wire. Right now.” He looks over at Williams, who is walking back into the station.

“Albany’s here,” Williams says. “He’s crying for a lawyer already.”

“What about Harland Bentley?”

“Still looking for him. The office doesn’t seem to know where he is.”

“Find him, Barney. Go.”

McDermott turns to Stoletti, who raises her eyebrows.

“What the hell do we do?” she asks.

“The question,” he answers, “is what we do first.”

I WANT MY LAWYER.”

Professor Frank Albany, wearing a light purple shirt, matching tie, and dark sport coat, folds his arms as McDermott and Stoletti enter the interview room.

“This is pure harassment.”

Police officers picked up Albany at his office, scooped him up and threatened handcuffs. Not a fun way to come down to the station. The best way to rattle a witness.

“Tell me where Leo Koslenko is,” McDermott says. “And I’ll let you go.”

“Who?” Albany cocks his head. His lips part but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Don’t bullshit me, Professor.”

Albany gets out of his chair, directing a finger at McDermott. “You have no right-”

McDermott grabs his arm at the wrist, cuffs him, and attaches the second cuff to the ring in the center of the table. As Albany whines and protests, McDermott holds out his hand to Stoletti, who hands him a mug shot of Leo Koslenko from one of his arrests.

McDermott slaps the mug shot down on the table and stands back. He sees the recognition in Albany’s eyes immediately. His eyes move from the photo to McDermott. He doesn’t even try to deny it.

“Leo Koslenko,” McDermott repeats.

“I want a lawyer.”

McDermott reaches into the file and places a copy of the note found in Leo Koslenko’s bedroom on the table.

I know that you know about my relationship with Ellie. And I know about your relationship with my daughter. If you tell, so will I. But if you keep quiet, I will endow a chair in your name at Mansbury College.

I need your answer right now.

Albany begins to read it, then looks away, his face crimson. He closes his eyes and turns his head so he cannot see the note.

That’s as good as a confession. He couldn’t have read more than a line of it. Had he no idea of its contents, he would have read the whole thing.

McDermott takes a seat across from Albany. Stoletti does the same.

“We already know what your ‘answer’ was,” he tells Albany. “It was yes. You kept quiet about his affair and he kept quiet about yours, plus he threw in the endowed chair.”

The professor deteriorates slowly, his face melting in fear, his skin glistening with hot sweat. His position is awkward, his body turned away from the table but his right arm cuffed to the center of the table.

McDermott can smell him now, that acidic scent of pure terror. Some are easier to break than others. This college professor is a cupcake.

“Harland Bentley already gave you up,” he adds. McDermott is largely in the dark here; deception is one of the few cards he holds, so he goes with the standard interrogation in a multiple-defendant case-claim that one turned on the other. Last one to confess loses.

“I want a lawyer.” It comes out as a trembling whisper.

“The only question I have now,” McDermott continues, “is which one of you killed the girls.”

Albany’s head whips around, his wet, bloodshot eyes moving over the detectives.

“He says it was your idea.” McDermott falls back in his chair, calm with the upper hand. “Want a chance to give your side?”

“I want a lawyer-”

“See, here’s why that’s a bad idea, Professor. This is like a race now. The first one to cut a deal wins. Me, I figure each of you is guilty of something. One of you’s getting the needle. I don’t really care which. But, see, Bentley, he has those fancy lawyers, he’ll cop to something probably that doesn’t involve much jail time. You feel like taking on Harland Bentley, one on one? Who do you think’s gonna win?”

“That‘s”-the professor, having lost all composure, sprays the room as he shouts-“That’s-all a lie! How could anything have been my idea? He gave me that note!”

McDermott doesn’t answer, but he’s already gotten something here. Albany has admitted to receiving the note from Harland Bentley.

“Which one of you killed Cassie?” he asks.

Albany’s arm flies away from his body. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Which one of you killed Ellie?”

“What?”

“See, Bentley says it was you, Professor. You were the one who gained from Cassie dying. You would’ve lost your job if it came out that you were banging a student. And it wasn’t just a he-said, she-said, was it?”

Albany shakes his head furiously.

“No,” McDermott continues, “it wasn’t. Because she was pregnant. That’s pretty solid proof, right, Professor? You were the ‘fucking father.’ Even back then, before DNA, you could identify paternity. You knew you wouldn’t be able to deny it. You knew the paternity test would point to you.”