Tom Wallace - Gnosis

Laurie thought for a moment, then said, “Any clients, past or present, you can think of who might have enough anger toward Mr. Rogers to want him dead?”

“None that I can think of. I have to say, most of his clients seemed happy with his services. We received very few complaints.”

“Did you know Abe Basham?”

“Sure. He was one of the most-respected attorneys in town. After he passed away, we moved into his office on West Short Street. Prior to that, we were located in Chevy Chase.”

“Were Abe and Mr. Rogers close?”

“No. I wouldn’t say so. They certainly weren’t enemies, but they didn’t run in the same circles, either. Remember, Abe was quite a few years older than Mr. Rogers. Aside from the law, they didn’t have much in common.”

“Do you know Eli Whitehouse?”

“Well, I know of him, but I don’t know him personally. Mr. Rogers did some work for him over the years, so I’ve handled paperwork involving Mr. Whitehouse. But I’ve never met him in person, not that I ever could, since he’s in prison. When I was in high school, I did have a couple of classes with Isaac Whitehouse, Eli’s oldest son. He was known as Ike in those days.”

“What was he like?”

“Basically a good guy, smart, nice. He’d do anything for you.” Barbara grinned. “Now, that younger brother of his. Tommy. He was one seriously handsome and sexy young man. With his looks he could put movie stars to shame. Every girl in school wanted to jump his bones, and that included me.”

“I’ve known a few guys like that,” Laurie said. She tapped her pen against the table top. “Can you think of anyone- anyone -who would want Colt Rogers dead?”

Barbara shook her head, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “No. I’ve racked my brain and I can’t think of anyone who would do such a thing.”

“He had no partner, so what will happen to the firm now that he’s gone?”

Barbara burst into tears. “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll have to close it down.”

Laurie waited until Barbara composed herself before asking the next question. “Did the Rogers firm use the Pro-Temp Agency very often?”

“We had no need to use any temp agency very often,” Barbara said, “because I very seldom miss any work days. Friday was my first day off in years. I can’t remember the last time I missed because of illness.”

“What about when you go on vacation?”

“On those occasions, a woman named Maggie Richards usually filled in for me. She was a friend of Mr. Rogers.”

“Was?”

“Yes. She passed away not long ago. Breast cancer.”

Laurie hesitated, not wanting to drop another bomb on Barbara. But she had no choice.

“Barbara, do you know Devon Fraley?” she finally said.

“No. Who’s she?”

“Devon Fraley is the lady sent by the Pro-Temp Agency to fill in for you on Friday. This morning, she was found murdered in her duplex. We have every reason to suspect that whoever killed her also killed Colt Rogers.”

“Oh, my God, the poor girl, the poor thing.” Barbara began to cry harder. “This is a nightmare, just a horrible nightmare. Tell me I’m going to wake up and none of this will be true. Please, tell me this is all just a bad dream.”

Laurie closed her notepad and gently touched Barbara on the arm. She left without saying another word.

Dantzler opened the door to the interview room, moved briskly to the table, and sat down across from Greg Spurlock. Milt Brewer followed Dantzler into the room, eased to his right until he was directly behind Spurlock, and leaned against the wall. This positioning was standard procedure when interviewing a suspect. All cops know most humans are not comfortable when someone stands directly behind them, and contrary to what the movies and TV shows portray, detectives doing the interviewing want their subjects to be nervous and on edge, not comfortable.

Greg Spurlock was nervous and on edge long before Dantzler and Milt came into the room. He’d been in there alone for almost thirty minutes, sometimes sitting in the chair fidgeting with his tie, other times pacing the room like a scared puppy. At all times, he appeared to be on the verge of bursting into tears.

Dantzler slapped his notepad on the table, flipped it open, and glared across the table. Spurlock seemed to flinch when his eyes met Dantzler’s. He looked away and shifted in his chair in an attempt to see where Milt was standing. Milt reached down, took Spurlock by the shoulders, and turned him back toward Dantzler.

“Eyes front,” Milt said, harshly. “Don’t look at me unless I ask you a question. Got it?”

Spurlock nodded.

“Okay, Greg,” Dantzler said, “the last time we…”

“Do I need a lawyer?” Spurlock interrupted.

“That’s up to you,” Dantzler answered. “If it takes a lawyer sitting next to you in order for you to be honest with me, then by all means call one. You can use my cell phone.”

“I just don’t want you guys to trick me. You know, get me to fall into a trap.”

“The best way to avoid a trap is by telling the truth. Lying to me, like you did the first time we spoke, will not serve you well. I can promise you that much.”

Milt put his hands on Spurlock’s shoulders, bent down, and whispered in his ear. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you honesty is the best policy? That the truth shall set you free?”

“Yes,” Spurlock mumbled.

“Well, then, this is the perfect time to heed their advice,” Milt said, letting go of Spurlock’s shoulders and leaning back against the wall.

“So, Greg. Do you want to call an attorney?” Dantzler said.

“No, I guess not.”

“You’re sure? I don’t mind waiting if you do.”

“No. It’s okay. Let’s just get this over with.”

Dantzler said, “Greg, the three of us are not leaving this room until we clear up a few things about your actions on that night in nineteen eighty-two. If you’re truthful with us, we can get this over and done with in a relatively short period of time. However, if you persist in being dishonest, we’ll be here until the Messiah shows up. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s begin with the gun that was at the scene. You told me you didn’t see it, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was that a lie?”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me now you did see the gun?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you lie about that?”

“I don’t know. I just… did.”

“Where was the gun when you saw it?”

“Between the two victims, but closer to the victim on the right.”

“Did you touch the gun?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“How did you know it was small caliber?”

“My grandfather was a big gun collector. He had dozens of guns-rifles, shotguns, pistols-every kind you can think of. He taught me all about the different types of guns. I could tell from looking at the gun in the barn that it was probably a twenty-two.”

Dantzler nodded. “This is good, Greg. See how much smoother things go when you tell the truth?”

“You’ll want to stay on this path,” Milt said from behind. “Don’t stray from it one inch and we’ll all get along fine.”

“When we first spoke,” Dantzler continued, “you told me you were only in the barn for a minute after Angie went back to the car. That doesn’t square with how Angie remembers it. She claims you were in the barn for ten minutes. Which is it?”

“Well, uh…”

“Come on, Greg,” Milt said. “This is no time to get squirmy on us. Focus on that path I talked about.”

“I would say Angie is closer to being accurate,” Spurlock admitted. “I don’t agree that it was ten minutes, but it was longer than a minute.”