Nelson DeMille - The book case

At the mention of her June wedding, her eyes welled with tears, and she nodded and covered her face again.

I let a few seconds pass, and then I said, “I’ve spoken to Scott and I think I have enough details for my accident report, but if not I’ll speak to him again and bother you as little as possible.”

She nodded and blew here nose into her friend’s handkerchief.

Her friend understood that I had a statement from the clerk and that I was, perhaps, a tiny bit suspicious.

There wasn’t much more I could do or say to these two at this time, but I had at least hinted to Jay Lawrence that he probably wasn’t getting on that flight to Atlanta. I could see he was a bit concerned. I mean, if he’d plotted this-like one of his novels-he had fully expected it to be ruled an accident, and he’d hoped that the body would be gone when he got here half an hour late, and the sign on the door would say CLOSED. Or, if the cops were still here, they’d say, “Sorry, there’s been an accident. The store is closed.”

Right. But Mr. Jay K. Lawrence did not imagine a Detective John Corey, called on the scene because a patrolman was suspicious. The ironic thing was that Jay Lawrence’s cop character, Rick Strong, was smarter than his creator. But neither Jay Lawrence nor Rick Strong were as smart as John Corey. I was, however, out of bright ideas.

I stood and said to Mrs. Parker, “To let you know, the city requires an autopsy in cases…like this. So it may be two days before the body is released.” I added, “You should make plans accordingly.” I also added, “In the unlikely event that the medical examiner feels that he needs to…well, do further tests, then someone will notify you.”

Mr. Lawrence stood and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

I looked him in the eye and replied, “You understand what I mean.”

He didn’t reply, but clearly he was getting a bit jumpy.

I was now going to call Ruiz and advise him that I was officially making this a homicide investigation. I had two suspects, but no evidence to hold them. In fact, not enough evidence to even advise them that they were persons of interest-though I’d ask them to meet me later at the station house, to help in the investigation.

But just when you think you’ve played your last card, you remember the card up your sleeve. The Joker.

I said, “The medical examiner should be arriving shortly. Please remain here until then.” I assured them, “I’ll call for a police car to take you home after the ME arrives.”

Mr. Lawrence reminded me, “You said we could leave now. And we can find our own transportation.”

“I changed my mind. Remain on the premises until the ME arrives.”

“Why?” asked Mr. Lawrence.

I replied a bit curtly, “Because, Mr. Lawrence, the medical examiner may want a positive identification. Or he may need some information as to date of birth, place of residence, and so forth.” I said to him, “Actually, you may leave. Mrs. Parker cannot.”

He didn’t reply, but sat again and took her hand. A real gentleman. Or maybe he didn’t want her alone with me.

I went to Officer Rourke, who was still sitting behind the counter, apparently engrossed in his book, but undoubtedly listening to every word. I made eye contact with him and said, “Let me know when the ME arrives and send him up.” Wink.

He nodded, and I could see his brain in high gear wondering what the brilliant detective was up to.

I climbed the spiral staircase into Otis Parker’s office and looked at his body. Right. He could have survived. Then he could have told me what happened.

But I already knew what happened. I needed Otis Parker to tell me who did it.

Cops, as I said, are allowed to lie. Half the confessions you get are a result of lying to a suspect.

I let a few more seconds pass, and then I shouted, “Get an ambulance!” I ran to the rail and shouted to Rourke, “He’s alive! He’s moving! Get an ambulance!”

Rourke, thank God, didn’t shout back, “He’s dead as a doornail!” Instead he got on his hand radio and pretended-I hope-to call for an ambulance.

I glanced at Mia Parker and Jay Lawrence. They didn’t seem overjoyed at this news. I shouted to them, “We’ll have an ambulance here in three or four minutes!” Great news. Right? Try to contain your feelings of hope and joy. I resisted shouting, “It’s a miracle!” I did say, “Mrs. Parker can ride in the ambulance.”

They looked…well, stunned. And that wasn’t playacting. Also, I didn’t see Mrs. Parker running up the stairs to smother her awakening husband with kisses. If she did come upstairs, it might be to smack him in the head with a book. Well…that’s just me being cynical and suspicious again.

I disappeared from the rail and let a minute pass, and then I walked slowly and deliberately down the spiral staircase and headed toward two worried-looking people. The expression on my face told them they were in deep doo-doo. Actually, if this didn’t work, I was in deep, deep doo-doo.

I stopped in front of them and said, “He’s speaking.”

No response.

I looked them both in the eye and said, “He spoke to me.”

Very smart people would have shouted in unison, “Bullshit!” But they were so unstrung-actually shaking-that all they could do was stare at me. Also, I’m a good liar. Ask the last guy I tricked into a confession.

I let a few seconds pass, then said, “I saw that someone had removed the furniture wedges from under the bookcase. I also saw that someone had used the toilet plunger to lever the bookcase away from the wall.” I paused for dramatic effect, then said, “And now I know who that was.” Actually, I didn’t. But they did.

I would have bet money that it would be Mia Parker who cracked-but it was Jay Lawrence. He said, “Then you know I had nothing to do with it. I was in my hotel all morning, and I can prove it.”

When someone says that, you assume they’re telling the truth, i.e., they’ve established their alibi for the time of death. Or they think they have. Meanwhile, Mia Parker was staring at her friend, who continued, “I had room service at six thirty, and then I had it cleared at seven thirty.”

“All that proves is that you had breakfast.” And I didn’t.

I looked at Mia Parker and said to her, “Mrs. Parker, based on the statement your husband just made, I am charging you with attempted murder.”

I was about to go into my right-to-remain-silent spiel, but she fainted. Just like that. Crumpled to the floor. Ideally, a suspect should be awake when you read them Miranda, so I turned my attention to Jay Lawrence.

He was just standing there, looking not too well himself. Hello? Jay? Your friend just fainted.

I would have come to Mrs. Parker’s assistance, but Rourke was already coming toward us.

I looked at Jay Lawrence, and I said, “I have reason to believe that you were an accomplice. That it was you who assisted Mrs. Parker in removing the two furniture wedges from under the bookcase. Probably last night after you arrived from LA.” I informed him, “So your alibi for this morning, even if it proves to be true, does not exclude you as an accessory to attempted murder.” He didn’t faint, but he did go pale.

Rourke had run out to his squad car and returned with a first aid kit. He was now reviving Mrs. Parker with an ammonium nitrate capsule. This was good because now I only had to give the Miranda warning once. A small point, I know, but…anyway, I asked Jay Lawrence, “Do you have anything to say?”

He did. He said, “You’re out of your mind.” He added, “I had nothing to do with this.”

“That’s for a jury to decide.”

Rourke had gotten Mrs. Parker into the wingback chair, and she looked awake enough, so I began, “You both have the right to remain silent-”