Joel Goldman - No way out

A spasm squeezed me from the inside out, clenching my eyes, tugging my chin to my chest and pulling it up and past my left shoulder. I managed to keep my mouth shut but couldn’t smother the accompanying grunt. When the spasm passed and I opened my eyes, Lilly Chase was staring at me.

“When Roni told me you had a movement disorder I thought you had a bowel problem. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Grandma!”

“It’s okay,” I said, catching my breath.

“Can’t you call it something else?” Lilly asked.

“Mostly, I call it a pain in the ass, but I don’t think that solves your problem.”

“He shakes sometimes. It’s no big deal,” Roni said.

Lilly smirked, undeterred. “That’s what the seller always says about the water in the basement until it turns out the house is floating on an underground spring. I always tell my sellers to make full disclosure of any defects in their property. Saves a lot of aggravation.”

She was pushing, but I didn’t blame her. I’d made it a practice to explain my condition, believing that the more people knew, the more at ease they would be.

“It’s called tics. It’s a lot like Tourette’s. It makes me shake, spasm, and stutter.”

“Can you control it?”

“Not much.”

Lilly crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me something, Jack. If you were me, would you entrust your granddaughter to a man with the shakes?”

“If it’s this man, I would,” Carter said. “I know Jack better than I’d like. Most of the time, he’s a pain in my butt. Still, if it were me, I’d want him on my side.”

“Careful, Detective,” Lilly said. “It’s very tricky to work both sides of a sale without screwing somebody.”

“Lilly,” I said. “I told Roni she should get a lawyer. She said she doesn’t want one because she hasn’t done anything wrong. But you’re right that these things can take a turn no one expects. If Roni wants a lawyer, all she has to do is say so. Detective Carter will wait, and I’ll go on my way.”

Lilly turned toward Roni, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.

“No sale, Grandma. I’ll be fine.”

Lilly stared at her, waiting for Roni to fold. When Roni didn’t, she dropped her arms to her side. “Well, let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

“Thank you, Lilly,” I said as she headed toward the kitchen.

“Don’t be so quick with gratitude, Jack, because if any harm comes to my granddaughter, you won’t be thanking me. Trust me on that.”

“I’m sorry,” Roni said after Lilly left. “She means well.”

“There’s no question about that,” I said. “It’s good to have someone like that in your corner.”

“Let’s get this over with before she comes back and tries to sell me a house,” Carter said.

There are all kinds of ways to conduct an interrogation. A lot depends on how much you know going in and your objective. If it’s early in the case and you’re after information, you take it slow, build trust, ask open-ended questions, and give the witness time to think and reflect.

If the witness is a suspect, you pin them down to their story as soon as possible, investigate, and build the case against them, then come back when you know enough to go after whatever it is they are holding back. And everyone holds something back. That’s when craft separates from the manual. Sometimes, I’d hit a suspect right out of the gate with my best shot, catching him off guard. With others, I’d take my time, chipping away at their story until it collapsed. Even though the prosecuting attorney had given Roni a pass for shooting Frank Crenshaw at LC’s Bar-B-Q, that didn’t mean she wasn’t a suspect in his murder at the hospital.

Roni sat on the floral-print sofa, Carter and I taking chairs opposite her. I glanced at Carter, wondering how he would play it. He opened with a hungry smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Roni, I know we’ve been over this a couple of times, but I want you to walk me through what happened last night one more time. Yesterday was a long one, and I want to make sure I’ve got everything right.”

She sat straight up on the edge of the sofa, hands in her lap. “Sure, no problem.”

He took her through it, five minutes of slow-pitch batting practice, looking at his notes, nodding as she answered each question, adding that’s right and yeah, yeah to her responses. Roni was getting too comfortable, and comfortable people made mistakes. I decided to throw Carter off his rhythm.

“What did you see on the hospital surveillance tapes?”

He looked at me, flashing annoyance, then muzzling it. “The hospital’s cameras cover the entrances and lobby. They don’t have cameras in the stairwells or on the patient floors.”

“So, you didn’t see anyone who jumped out at you?”

“Not yet. We’re still studying the tapes.”

“Any other leads?”

He took the same deep breath he always took when he was trying to decide whether to shoot me. “The investigation is ongoing.”

“Then I guess we’re done here.”

“Yeah, we’re done,” he said, tucking his notepad inside his suit-coat breast pocket. “By the way, Roni, the gun you shot Crenshaw with, you should be able to pick it up in a couple of days. Just come downtown. There’ll be some paperwork, but it won’t be too painful. In the meantime, do you have another gun you can carry until then if you feel the need?”

“I do, but that’s okay. I never shot anything except a paper target until a couple of days ago. I’m still sorting that out. I don’t feel like carrying anything right now.”

“I know what you mean. All that time on the range doesn’t prepare you for the real thing. What kind of gun is it?”

“It’s a Ruger LCP. 380.”

Carter leaned back in his chair. “Really? That is a sweet little gun, fits right in the handbag. Perfect for a woman. I’ve been thinking of getting my wife one for her birthday. Mind if I take a look at yours?”

Roni’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opening halfway as she sucked in and swallowed a sharp, shallow breath.

I took my cue. “We’ll skip the show and tell. I think we’ve had enough fun for one day.”

Carter stood, leaning toward her, using his height to full advantage to pressure her. “Is there a problem, Roni? Some reason you don’t want to show me your gun?”

I came out of my chair, wedging myself between them. “What’s going on, Carter?”

“I’m just wondering why Roni about crapped her pants when I asked to see that gun.”

Roni retreated, scooting against the back of the sofa, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to her chest. “What’s he talking about, Jack? What’s going on?”

“Detective Carter is playing you. Do you have a permit for the Ruger?”

“Of course.”

“Then he knew about it before he walked in the door. Probably ran your name last night, checking for any other handguns you owned if he hadn’t already done that on Sunday. Now he wants you to show it to him, but I don’t think that’s because he’s shopping for his wife’s birthday present. He thinks it has something to do with Crenshaw’s murder, but he didn’t hand you a search warrant for the gun. Why is that, Carter?”

He smiled, his lips bloodless. “Why do you think, Jack?”

It didn’t take long to figure out why. I glanced at Roni, who refused to look at me. I shook my head and let out a sigh.

“Because you’ve already got the gun, you know it was the murder weapon, and you wanted to see her reaction when you asked to see it.”

Roni doubled over on the sofa. “Oh my God!”

I shot my hand in front of her face. “Not another word.”