Эд Макбейн - Beauty and the Beast

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Harper said.

The interrogation (or the “interview” as it is euphemistically called in genteel Calusa) was held in Bloom’s office, adjacent to the captain’s. In addition to Bloom, Harper, and myself, there was a man sitting behind a Sony tape recorder. Harper looked at the instrument, and then looked at Bloom and asked, “You gonna tape this?”

“Yes, sir,” Bloom said.

“Ev’ythin I say?”

“Everything. Has your attorney informed you that this may possibly be used as evidence?”

“Yeah, he tole me. Is it okay to have them tape it?” he asked me.

“If you choose to answer their questions, there has to be a record of what you say.”

“Well, I guess it’s okay,” Harper said.

The man sitting behind the recorder pressed both the play and record buttons. He said a few words into the mike, testing, played them back, and then rewound the tape and pressed the buttons again. Bloom read Miranda-Escobedo, as required by law, and elicited from Harper the responses that made clear he had been informed of his rights, understood what they were, and was willing to answer the questions about to be put to him.

“Detective Bloom,” I said, “I want it made clear on the record that my client denies any knowledge of the murder of his wife, and is answering your questions here voluntarily and in a spirit of cooperation.”

“It’s on the record,” Bloom said, and the interrogation began. “Mr. Harper, when did you last see your wife alive?”

“Saturday night.”

“What time Saturday night?”

“Long about two.”

“A.M.?”

“Yessir.”

“Then that would’ve been Sunday morning.”

“Felt like Saturday night.”

“Where was this?”

“Home.”

“Can you give me the address, please?”

“1124 Wingdale.”

“And that’s the last time you saw her alive?”

“Yessir. Juss before I left for Miami.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Yessir.”

“Isn’t that an odd time to be traveling?”

“Nossir. Wanted to get an early start.”

“Why’d you go to Miami?”

“Wanted t’see my mama. Also to drop off a load.”

“A load of what?”

“Junk. I’m in the junk business. I buys an’ sells junk.”

“And you went to Miami...”

“To sell some junk. To a man I does business with down there.”

“What’s his name?”

“Lloyd Davis. Turns out it was a wasted trip, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lloyd wun’t there. His wife tole me he was out with the reserve that weekend. He got to put in so much time with them, y’know. The army reserve. I was in the army with Lloyd overseas. Thass how we got to know each other.”

“But he wasn’t there when you got there Sunday.”

“Nossir, he was not. My mama wun’t there neither. Neighbor tole me she’d gone up t’Georgia, t’see my sister.”

“What time was all this, Mr. Harper?”

“Oh, early in the mornin sometime. Took me six hours or so to get down there, musta been, oh, I’d say, eight, nine o’clock sometime. Somewheres in there.”

“So what did you do when you discovered neither Mr. Davis nor your mother were in Miami?”

“Went to have some breakfuss.”

“Where?”

“I don’t recollect the name of the place. Little place off the road there someplace.”

“Did you eat alone?”

“Yessir.”

“Then what?”

“Called another ole army buddy of mine. He’s a recruitin sergeant there in Miami.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ronnie Palmer.”

“You phoned him...”

“From the place where I had breakfuss.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Oh, juss how are you, how’s things, like that.”

“Then what?”

“I went up to Pompano.”

“Why?”

“Figgered I was up that way, might as well do some sightseein. It’s ony juss outside of Lauderdale, y’know.”

“How long were you in Pompano?”

“Oh, juss long enough to look aroun a little.”

“Then what?”

“Kept on drivin north to Vero Beach.”

“Why’d you go there ?”

“Still sightseein.”

“All the way up to Vero Beach?”

“Ain’t too far.”

“Something like a hundred miles north of Pompano, isn’t it?”

“That ain’t so far.”

“How long did you stay there?”

“Oh, coupla hours, no more’n that.”

“Then what?”

“Drove back down to Miami.”

“And what’d you do there?”

“Got me a bite to eat, then went to the beach. T’get some sleep. Woulda gone to my mama’s house, but she was away, and I dinn have a key.”

“So you slept on the beach.”

“Yessir.”

“In Miami.”

“Miami Beach, yessir.”

“Were you on the beach at 11:45 P.M.”

“Slept on the beach all night, yessir.”

“Were you there at 11:45 P.M.?”

“Morrie,” I said, “I think he’s answered the question.”

“I’d like to pinpoint the time, Matthew, if that’s all right with you,” Bloom said.

“Mr. Harper, would you have any objection...”

“None a’tall. I was on the beach at 11:45 P.M., yessir. All night. Juss like I said I was.”

“Miami Beach, is that right?” Bloom asked.

“Yessir, Miami Beach.”

“Then you weren’t here in Calusa, is that right?”

“Morrie,” I said, “he’s just told you, at least four times—”

“Okay, okay,” Bloom said, and turned again to Harper. “Mr. Harper,” he said, “are you aware that on Monday morning your wife filed a complaint with the Calusa Police Department charging that you had physically abused her at 11:45 P.M. on Sunday night, November the fifteenth?”

“Whut?” Harper said, and turned away from Bloom to look at me.

“Are you aware of that?” Bloom asked.

“Nossir, I am not aware of it,” Harper said. “How could I... whut did you say I’m spose to have done to her?”

“The complaint charged that you broke her nose and—”

“Nossir, that complaint is wrong.”

“Your wife made the complaint.”

“Nossir, she couldn’ta done that. Nossir.”

“Mr. Harper, when did you leave Miami?”

“This mornin.”

“What time this morning?”

“’Bout ten o’clock, musta been.”

“And you came directly here to the police station when you got back to Calusa, is that right?”

“Directly.”

“Why didn’t you come back home yesterday? Your business partner was away...”

“Lloyd ain’t my partner. He’s juss an ole army buddy I does business with, thass all.”

“But he was away.”

“Thass right.”

“And so was your mother.”

“Thass right.”

“So why’d you stay in Miami? Why didn’t you just turn around and come back yesterday morning?”

“I thought Lloyd might come back.”

“ Did he come back?”

“Nossir.”

“So why’d you stay there?”

“Thought he might.”

“Uh-huh. How long have you been married, Mr. Harper?”

“Woulda been two years come nex’ June.”

“Your wife was a foreigner...”

“Yessir.”

“Where’d you meet her?”

“In Bonn, Germany. I was stationed with the military police in Bonn.”

“When was this?”

“When I met her, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Two years ago this month. Met her in November, married her the followin June.”

“Were you married in Germany?”

“Nossir, right here in Calusa.”

“What kind of a marriage would you say it was?” Bloom asked.

“I loved her t’death,” Harper said, and suddenly buried his face in his hands and began crying. In the stillness of the office, the only sound was the whirr of the tape as it relentlessly recorded Harper’s grief. He sat in a hard-backed chair, dwarfing it, his wide shoulders shaking, the sobs coming up out of his barrel chest, his huge hands covering his pockmarked face, sobbing uncontrollably. Bloom waited. It seemed that Harper would never stop crying. His sobs reverberated through that empty room like the moans of a wounded animal deep in a secret jungle glade where nothing else might hurt it and only the moon bore witness. And then, at last, the sobbing stopped, and he reached into his back pocket and took out a soiled handkerchief and dried his eyes, and then blew his nose and sat very still in the chair, sniffing, his shoulders slumped, all life and spirit seemingly drained from that enormous body.