Michael Prescott: Mortal Faults

“Anything else?”

“Probably some condoms.”

Michaelson’s eyes narrowed. “Condoms?”

“Be prepared. That’s my motto.”

“You and the Boy Scouts,” Tess said.

“Do they carry condoms, too?”

Michaelson stood abruptly. “Ms. Sinclair, this narrative you’ve shared with us is all very interesting, but in the absence of proof it really doesn’t amount to much.”

“Andrea will vouch for me.”

“The statement of your accomplice isn’t likely to carry much weight.”

“Then find my purse and play the tape.”

“And will the tape also clear you in the murder of Dylan Garrick?”

She’d been expecting them to bring that up. She expelled a breath. “No.”

Tess straightened in her chair. “You met with Garrick when he left the bar. I have a witness.”

“Probably the bartender, right? That’s who I would’ve pumped for info.”

From the way Tess’s eyes flickered, Abby knew she’d guessed right. “The identity of the witness is unimportant,” Tess said. “What matters is that you left with Garrick, and he was shot later that night. When I asked you about it this morning, you lied to me.”

“I lie all the time, Tess. It’s a major part of my lifestyle. You ought to know that by now.”

Michaelson had turned away. Tess was handling this phase of the interrogation. “I don’t know why you would lie about Garrick unless you have something to hide.”

“I did have something to hide. I was in his apartment. I held him at gunpoint, using his own gun.”

Tess’s face hardened into an expression of contempt. “And you pistol-whipped him.”

“Yes.”

“And wrapped the gun in a pillow.”

“Yes.”

“And then you shot him.”

“No.”

“Why did you wrap up the gun, if not to muffle a shot?”

“I wanted him to think I was going to shoot him.”

“But you didn’t?”

“Again, N-O.”

“So who did?”

“No idea.”

“You were trying to scare him as part of an interrogation. Is that what you’re saying?”

Abby hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“What, then?”

“The interrogation was already over. I wanted to scare him just because-well, because he scared me. He put me through two or three minutes of hell in Andrea’s house, and I wanted to return the favor.”

“So you’re telling us Dylan Garrick was alive and conscious when you left?”

“He was alive. Not conscious. I KO’d him with the butt of the gun.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to toss his place, and I didn’t want him tiptoeing up behind me.”

“You searched his apartment?”

“Sure did. Found the gun he used at Andrea’s, and a slightly damaged silencer tube, and some other stuff. It was in his bureau in the bedroom, just like he told me.”

“And then?”

“Then I turned out the lights so I wouldn’t be seen leaving, and I sneaked out. Found a payphone a mile away and called in a shots-fired to nine-one-one. Muffled my voice so I couldn’t be identified on tape.”

“Why report shots fired, if there were none?”

“I figured it was the best way to get a fast response.”

“Why call the police at all?”

“So they would find his gear, link him to the shooting in San Fernando. Come on, Tess, you know how I work.”

“Yes,” Tess said quietly, “I know how you work.”

“Not sure I’m liking the mother superior tone. I was trying to help out. I even left the door unlocked to make it easier for the cops to get in.”

“When they got in, they didn’t find Dylan Garrick unconscious. They found him dead.”

“I know. I was watching.”

Michaelson turned to face her. “Watching?”

“After I called nine-one-one, I doubled back and parked a few blocks away. Then I found a vantage point where I could observe the action. I wanted to make sure the cops checked out the whole apartment and found the gun in the bedroom. That was the only link to the assault on Andrea. Instead I saw them call for a morgue wagon. I saw Dylan carried out in a body bag. That’s when I knew there was a problem.”

“A problem,” Michaelson said coldly, “because you shot him.”

“No, dickwad. A problem because somebody else shot him, but I would be linked to the crime. People saw me leave the bar with Dylan. Tess here already suspected me of having vengeance in mind-”

“Because you did have vengeance in mind,” Tess snapped.

“I didn’t shoot Dylan.”

“No, I’m sure the thought never even crossed your mind.”

“It crossed my mind.” Abby took a breath. “I thought about killing him. I wanted to. And… I came close. When I put the pillow around the gun, I wasn’t just trying to scare him. I was… thinking about it. How easy it would be.”

“And you yielded to that temptation,” Michaelson said. “Come on, be straight with us. I understand what you were feeling. I can sympathize. You’d hardly be human if you didn’t hate the man.”

This was the ADIC’s ham-fisted way of trying to establish rapport with the suspect. Abby could see why this bozo didn’t do fieldwork. Any halfway intelligent street criminal would see through him like Plexiglas.

“Don’t give me the touchy-feely routine, please,” she said. “I cry real easy, and I don’t want us to get all Oprah and start exchanging hugs.”

Michaelson backed off, frustrated. Tess took over again. “If you left Garrick alive, how did he end up dead?”

“Obviously someone else decided to do the job. I guess I’d made it easy. I left the door unlocked, lights off, Dylan unconscious with his gun on the floor where I’d left it, and the pillow right next to it.”

“In other words,” Michaelson said with heavy sarcasm, “someone just happened to walk in there, saw Garrick unconscious, and whacked him?”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say ‘whacked.’ Too Sopranos.”

“It’s a rather large coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not necessarily. Dylan was pretty nervous. He’d screwed up royal. Disappointed Reynolds-and other folks, too. It’s not too surprising someone would take him out.”

“Someone like you.”

Abby sighed. She definitely was not getting through to this guy. “No, someone like one of his fellow gang members, enforcing discipline, imposing the penalty for failure. Maybe someone who was watching the apartment and waiting for Dylan’s girlfriend-namely me-to leave. When I did, this other guy comes upstairs, finds the door open, sees Dylan asleep, or so it appears. In the dark the intruder wouldn’t see the bruises or the blood. He moves closer, finds the gun on the floor. Realizes he can do the job with Dylan’s own piece. Fires twice through the pillow. Then runs.”

“All this takes place while you’re off providentially making a phone call to nine-one-one?”

“I’m not sure how much providence had to do with it, but yeah.”

“Why would the shooter run?” Tess asked. “Why wouldn’t he search the apartment like you did, take the evidence tying Dylan to the San Fernando raid?”

“I’m guessing that was his plan. But maybe the second shot was too loud. Or he might have heard the sirens of the cop cars responding to my call.”

Michaelson folded his arms again. A bad sign. “That’s an interesting series of suppositions.”

“Thank you.”

“But entirely unnecessary. We don’t need a mystery gunman on a grassy knoll. We have you.”

“I never mentioned a grassy knoll.”

“Are you listening, Ms. Sinclair? We have you. You’re looking very, very good for the murder of Dylan Garrick.”

Abby gave up on Michaelson and looked at Tess for support. “You know that’s not my style.”