Frank Zafiro: Heroes Often Fail

Browning leaned forward slightly, maintaining eye contact with Fred. He kept his expression sympathetic, despite the fact that he was cringing inside. “That’s why I don’t think this was your master plan, Fred. I think that it was Nancy’s idea, Nancy’s plan, Nancy’s whole show.”

“There was no plan,” Fred whispered. “We didn’t-”

Browning ignored him and continued. “And I think you probably tried to talk her out of it, too. But she is a strong-willed woman, isn’t she, Fred?”

Fred paused, then gave Browning a resigned nod. “Yeah. She is.”

“And you loved her, so you went along with her plan. Maybe you even went along with it thinking you could keep an eye on things to make sure nothing went wrong. The kind of guy you are, I could definitely see that being the case.”

“I didn’t-”

Browning raised his hand. “Hold on, Fred. This is important. You need to hear it.”

Fred stopped and waited.

Browning continued. “Like I said, I don’t think this was your plan. I don’t think you were behind the whole thing. I think that you went along with it reluctantly. And I think you’re the only one that can give us a satisfying answer as to why this happened. You’re the only one who can tell the truth in a time frame that matters.”

Fred shook his head weakly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t-”

“Fred,” Browning said, “our investigation clearly shows that you’re involved. That’s not in question. I’m only talking to you to find out why. Some people don’t think the ‘why’ matters. They only care about the facts. Who did it. How they did it. The evidence. That’s it.”

Browning could hear Fred’s labored breathing as he spoke. The balding man absently made short nods in agreement

“I care about the why in a case,” Browning said. “I care because it matters why someone did something as much as it matters what they did. Maybe even more. And it matters when a person tells the truth about the why in a situation. That’s why I’m talking with you here. To understand the why of things.”

Fred kept nodding and Browning wondered if he were aware of it. He hoped not.

“Ultimately, Fred, why something happened is the lynchpin,” Browning told him. “It shows what kind of person someone is. It has a profound effect on how things are handled later on. But only if the explanation comes early. It matters if it comes right now, while you and I are sitting here. If some explanation comes from some attorney later on in court, juries always wonder, ‘Well, why didn’t he say that before?’ And they tend to doubt it, even if it’s the truth. But if a guy tells the truth now and that’s the same truth he tells later, people believe him. Does that make sense to you, Fred?”

Fred’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t plan this, did you, Fred?” Browning asked.

“No.” He dropped his eyes.

“It was Nancy’s idea, wasn’t it? It was her plan.”

Fred hesitated.

“Just tell the truth, Fred,” Browning urged.

Fred bit his lip.

“I already know everything I need to know except why this happened,” Browning said. “I need to know why. I need to know I’m right about you, Fred. You’re not a bad guy. You didn’t plan this, did you?”

“No.”

“It was Nancy’s plan?”

Fred swallowed. Then he nodded and moaned. “Yeah,” he answered in a thick voice.

Browning tried to contain the rush of adrenaline he felt with the first admission. He maintained his expression of calmness and sympathy.

“Did you try to talk her out of it?”

Fred began to cry. “For weeks. I tried for weeks.”

0839 hours

Tower stood next to Lieutenant Crawford in the observation room and watched the scene unfold through the narrow window of one-way glass.

“Classic interview,” he whispered to Crawford. He took a sip from the small white Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Beautifully played. Ray is a master.”

Crawford grunted and shifted his unlit cigar to the other corner of his mouth.

Both men stood silently and listened as Fred outlined all the details of the abduction plan and how they brought Amy Dugger back to the house on Swanson.

“Ray figured his prison stretch would’ve made him a tougher interrogation,” Tower said.

“That was twelve years ago,” Crawford answered.

“Eleven.”

“Whatever.”

Tower smiled slightly. He wished his role in the interview had not been so small. He wanted badly to be in the room with Browning, but he knew that a confession would never have come if there were two of them in the room. A confession was an intimate act. It had to happen one-on-one.

“How’d you like my bad cop role, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Shut up, Tower,” Crawford said, chewing on his cigar.

Tower smiled more widely. He sipped his coffee. They’d broken this case open. Even though he hated what had happened, he felt some satisfaction at having helped solve it.

Then Fred said something to Browning and most of that satisfaction melted away.

0841 hours

“You took care of Amy, right?” Browning asked.

“Of course.”

“She got enough to eat?”

“I fed her all the time,” Fred said. “Good food. I even made Mickey Mouse pancakes.”

“And she had a cushion to sleep on? In the attic?”

Fred nodded. “A big cushion. One of those…whaddaya call-its.”

“Futon?”

“Yeah. She had a futon.”

“Where’d that go?”

“The van,” Fred said. “I burned it in the van.”

Browning nodded. “How did she die, Fred? What happened?”

Fred let out a long, wavering breath. “Nancy did it,” he said. Before Browning could ask another question, he rambled on, “But you have to understand. She’s sick, and she wasn’t taking her pills. She loved that little girl. Deep inside, she loved her even more than her own mother could love her. She’d never hurt her.”

“Did you ever hurt her?” Browning asked quietly.

“No!” Fred said. “I…I loved that little girl. I tried to make it comfortable for her. I gave her love, even when Nancy was angry at her.”

“Why was Nancy angry?”

Fred shrugged and looked away. “She just gets that way. It’s her illness.”

“What did she do when she was angry, Fred?”

Fred swallowed and continued looking at the floor. “She hit her.”

“With what?”

Fred didn’t look up. “A hammer,” he muttered.

“Did you see her do it?”

“No!” Fred’s eyes snapped back to Browning’s. “I just heard the yelling and then a scream. Then Nancy came back downstairs.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No. She just went to the bathroom and locked the door.”

“What did you do?”

“I went upstairs.” Fred’s lips trembled and tears sprang to his eyes. “And I found her.”

“Was she dead?”

Fred wiped tears away. “She was gone, yeah. I tried to help her, but…”

“You did your best,” Browning said, feeling his stomach recoil at the sympathetic tone of his own words.

“I did,” Fred sobbed, his voice choked. “I tried so hard to save her.”

“I believe you,” Browning said. “Fred, how long before the officer came to talk to you and Nancy did this happen?”

Fred blinked. “Huh?”

“A couple of police officers came to your house. One was in uniform and one was in plainclothes. Do you remember that?”

“You mean the first time?”

“Yes. The officer’s name was Kopriva and he had a uniformed officer with him. Nancy yelled at both of them. Do you remember that?”

“Of course, but…”

“How long before that officer arrived did Nancy hurt Amy with the hammer?” Browning asked.