Jeffery Deaver - XO

He made a clumsy show of offering the suspect water. Dance noted that Madigan pointed at the Clear Spring, rather than simply picking up a bottle and handing it to Edwin. It was probably an attempt to lift Edwin’s friction ridge prints-fingerprints-from the bottle and it seemed that Edwin deduced this; he didn’t touch it. The problem was that Madigan’s offer gave away something of the interviewer’s strategy and intelligence.

But the big mistake, in Dance’s opinion, came next:

“Can I ask what this is all about, Pike?”

“Robert Prescott.”

Wouldn’t’ve done that, she thought.

“Oh, Kayleigh’s road manager,” Edwin said, nodding and rubbing his prominent eyebrow.

“Where were you last night at the time he died.”

Oh, no.

Dance realized she must have said this aloud because Harutyun tilted his head her way.

“What? No, he’s dead?” Edwin looked alarmed.

“And you didn’t know that?”

“No, no. That’s terrible. He and Kayleigh were real close. What happened?”

“Got himself burned up. So, you’re telling me you weren’t at the convention center last night?” He now leaned toward Edwin ominously.

Dance understood Madigan’s approach. It was referred to as a blunt-force attack-a term borrowed from hackers who used massive supercomputers to run through all possible passwords to break encrypted messages. With blunt force, officers would inundate suspects with information about them and about the case, suggesting knowledge they didn’t actually possess and connections that were tenuous at best. When delivered with confidence, as Madigan clearly had, the details sometimes got suspects to confess quickly.

Yes, blunt force could be effective. But if it didn’t work right away, you ended up with a subject who stonewalled; any chance of getting helpful information would be ruined. Accordingly, Dance herself never used this technique. Her belief was that information was the most valuable thing an interrogator has. It could be a steel trap, it could be a weapon but to be effective it had to be fed out slowly to lure the suspect into revealing details that could later be used to trip him up. Madigan had just given away the most important key facts-that Bobby was dead, where the crime occurred and how it happened. Had she been conducting the interview, she would have kept those details secret for the time being.

Edwin looked over the deputy somberly. “Well, I’m very sorry to hear that about Bobby. That’s sad for Kayleigh.”

Madigan didn’t respond. He said quickly, “Could you tell me where you were when Prescott died? Midnight last night?”

“Well, I’m sure you know I don’t have to tell you anything but I’m a little surprised at this. Really, Detective. You clearly think I hurt Bobby. Why on earth would I do that? I’d never hurt anybody close to Kayleigh. But the answer to your question is, I was home in my rental.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Maybe somebody driving by saw me, I don’t know. I was in the living room, listening to music most of the night. I don’t have curtains up yet.”

“I see. Okay.” Then he sprung the trap. Madigan leaned closer and said firmly, “But what do you say to the fact that we’ve got two witnesses that place you at the convention center around the time he died and then at Bobby’s house this morning?”

WHAT EDWIN SHARP said in reply was probably not what Madigan expected.

With a frown, further blending his dense eyebrows, he asked simply, “Did they have clear views?”

Don’t answer, Dance thought to Madigan.

“They sure did. The house right across the road from the convention center stage door. And directly across from Bobby’s house.”

Hell, Dance thought. Edwin could now figure out exactly who the witnesses were.

He said, shrugging, “Well, they’re mistaken. I was home.”

Dance said to Harutyun, “Tabatha didn’t ID anybody. She couldn’t. Was there somebody else there?”

A pause. “Not that I know of.”

“And is there really a witness by the convention center?”

“Apparently,” Harutyun explained. Then decided to tell her. “Some woman lived nearby saw somebody around midnight.”

“She positively ID’d Edwin?”

“I don’t… I don’t think so.”

The hesitation meant she hadn’t, Dance decided. She recalled the layout. The house would have been across the parking lot, two hundred yards from the stage door. At night, she wouldn’t have been able to make out more than a vague silhouette.

“Well, Madigan just told a possible homicide suspect about two witnesses and it wouldn’t be that hard to find out their identities. They need looking after. He said he’d get some protection for Tabatha. Do you know if he did?”

“Tabatha, yes. The other one, I don’t know.”

“We need to.”

“Okay.”

And in the interrogation room, the one-on-one continued. Madigan was probably brilliant at getting confessions from the typical perp you saw in the Central Valley. But Edwin Sharp was not a typical perp.

Well, under Giles versus Lohan …

The stalker listened patiently, analytically as Madigan said, “And we’ve just been through your house, Edwin. We found a lot of interesting things, including latex gloves, the same sort that were used in the murder. And trace evidence.”

Edwin said calmly, “I see. My house, hm? Did you get a warrant?”

“We didn’t need one. My deputy noticed some things in plain sight.”

“Even from the sidewalk?” the stalker asked. “Tough to see anything inside unless you entered on the property. Well, I don’t really think you had the right to take anything. I want it returned.”

Dance turned to Harutyun. “Did he get a warrant?”

“No, after we saw things were missing from Bobby’s, the Chief sent a deputy over there-Miguel Lopez-and he saw things from the trailer through Edwin’s window, in plain sight… What’s the matter?”

Dance didn’t reply.

Inside the interrogation room Edwin was saying, “Well, I haven’t been in Bobby’s trailer, so…”

“Oh, how did you know it was a trailer?” Madigan demanded triumphantly.

“That’s right, you called it a ‘house’ earlier. I thought that was odd. I know where he lived because of Kayleigh’s song two years ago. ‘Bobby’s Double-Wide.’ All about the history of country music. Sort of like Don McLean’s ‘American Pie.’ Surprised you don’t know it. Being all gung-ho for Kayleigh, I mean.”

Madigan’s smile deflated and he seemed to be wrestling down his anger. “Just confess, Edwin. You want to, I know you do.”

A textbook line from blunt-force interrogation. This is the moment when the perp might start to cry and, indeed, confess.

But Edwin said, “Can I collect my things now? Where are they? In the Crime Scene Unit? That’s in the building south of here, right?”

The detective blinked. Then he said, “Look, let’s be realistic here. Work with me. I’ll talk to the prosecutor. I’m sure he’ll cut a deal. Maybe you were arguing with Bobby. You know, that chest bumping that started at the Cowboy Saloon that afternoon? It escalated. These things happen. We could be talking reduced counts. And maybe he’ll cut out the stalking charge altogether.”

“Stalking?” Edwin seemed perplexed. “I’m not a stalker. Kayleigh’s a friend. I know it and she knows it.”

“Friend? That’s not the story according to her lawyers.”

“Oh, she’s afraid of them. They’re controlled by her father. They’ve all been telling her lies about me.”

“That’s not the way it is,” Madigan said. “You’re in town to stalk her. And you killed her friend because he threw you out of the Cowboy Saloon yesterday.”