Ridley Pearson - In Harm's Way

“We… my deputies… conducted a search of the Engleton residence. We found no baseball bat by the front door of the main residence,” Walt said. He left out that none had been found at the cottage either. “We located the ones in the sports cabinet, as you’ve mentioned. But nothing by the front door. Can you account for that bat’s whereabouts?”

“No idea.”

“Has it been missing?”

“No idea.”

“Why’s that?”

“I have no idea where I left it. That night I saw you? I don’t know what I did with it. I could have left it outside, for all I know. Anyway, it’s not like I was hanging around in the main part of the house. I’ve been in the safe room.”

“And why is that?”

She looked as if he’d slapped her.

“Did you leave the residence for a while?”

“I did.”

“In what vehicle?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“I’m afraid I have to ask you to answer the question.”

“The truck. I’m not supposed to drive the pickup truck. Okay? I get it. I blew it. But I drove the truck. I went over to Yellowstone like Fiona said. But the campgrounds were full, so I slept in the truck a couple of nights, and couldn’t stand it, and came back here.”

Like Fiona said. “You were in communication with Ms. Kenshaw during this absence?” He hated dragging her back into it. Could he find a way to just end it?

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But you just said-”

“She was bugging me. Okay? Leaving messages and stuff and, I don’t know, it was like my parents or something. I just wasn’t interested.”

The answer felt rehearsed. She’d expected that question long before the interview had begun. It knocked him back on his heels. How much of this had been rehearsed? How much had he missed because of his own interest in the outcome of the interview? Would he pick up things in replaying the tape?

“If you’re trying to get me to say something about Fiona, I’m not going to.”

Walt’s chest tightened. Could he instruct Chalmers to shut off the video? Could he call a break to the interview?

“What would I want you to say about Ms. Kenshaw?”

She locked eyes with him. “I’m not going to say it,” she said.

“Tell me about that night,” Walt said.

“What night?”

“Late the twelfth. Early morning the thirteenth.”

“Nothing. There’s nothing to tell.”

“Someone came onto the property-drove an SUV onto the property.” Speculation was part of any interrogation, but he knew he was on thin ice. “If you didn’t see him, as you’ve stated, you must have heard him. You could hear cars arrive, couldn’t you?”

“There’s a bell that rings. It’s one of those electronic eye things at the gate.”

This was new information for Walt.

“When a vehicle enters,” Walt said.

“Yeah. That’s how big the house is. You can’t hear squat in there. The gate’s like in a different zip code. Without the bell you’d probably never know someone was out there.”

“Late night the twelfth.”

“I told you: I didn’t see him.”

“But you heard a bell.”

“The bell rang a few different times. It wasn’t like I jumped up to see what was going on.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“So you were used to visitors late at night?” He realized what he’d said-what he’d asked-too late.

“I saw your car out there a couple of times. Your police car.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, glad that his face was off camera. He never had trouble thinking when in these rooms. An interview was supposed to sharpen his wits, engage him. The deeper he dug, the faster the sand poured back down in, burying him. He reminded himself he was not the one being interviewed. He reminded himself that he didn’t need to react to or explain anything. He was the one in charge.

“So you’re suggesting you did in fact look outside when you heard that tone.”

She looked stunned. “Maybe… I guess so.”

“You did or you didn’t look out that night? Late night the twelfth, maybe the early hours of the thirteenth?”

Her eyes told him the whole story: concealment, fear, an overwhelming sense of emotion.

A knock interrupted him. He could have screamed. He was never to be interrupted during an interview. He collected himself, nodded, and let Blompier open the door for him.

“Sheriff,” his receptionist said with urgency in her voice. “Peter Arian’s here.”

Arian, a young public defender who was recently winning far too many cases as far as Walt was concerned, could only be there for one reason. But Walt played along.

“So?”

“He says he’s representing Ms. Tulivich.”

Walt shut the door.

“Ms. Tulivich, did you contact a lawyer? We were not aware of-”

“No, I didn’t.”

Fiona! he realized. Anger competed with resignation. He felt the wind knocked out of him. Mindful of the video, he kept his cool. “You’ll excuse me for a moment. The interview will now pause,” he said for the sake of the video.

Sandbagged by a possible suspect. He thought he’d identified a seam to exploit, a way to let the system do his work for him. Fiona had just turned all that on its head.

“But if there’s a lawyer here-”

“It doesn’t work like that. I’ll be right back.”

Out in the hall, he told his deputy, “Show Ms. Kenshaw to Interview two, will you please.”

“Fiona?” the deputy clarified.

“Interview two,” Walt repeated. “Mr. Arian will see me in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited for the choreography to play out. Closing his office door, he met with Arian first.

“Sheriff, I’d like to see my client, if you don’t mind.”

“She’s not your client, Peter. She has not called for an attorney and you cannot solicit clients in this building. You know the rules.”

“It’s one a.m. and I’m here to see Kira Tulivich.”

“Take a seat at reception if you want, but you won’t see her until I’m done speaking with her.”

“Her guardian appointed me-”

“Kira Tulivich is not a minor, and you know it.”

“She’s been under the care and responsibility of-”

“Take it up with the courts if you want, counselor. But not here. Not tonight. She’s here voluntarily and she’s staying here voluntarily.”

Arian stood. “By tomorrow, it’s a different playing field, Sheriff. Shorter field for me. Longer for you. You might want to think about that. I don’t like getting out of bed at one in the morning. Affects my mood in the morning.”

“Take an Ambien. You’ll sleep like a baby.” Walt opened the office door. “Good night, counselor.”

He then joined Fiona in Interview 2. She looked smug and confident, but it was a fragile veneer.

“You’re pissed at me,” she said.

He stared her down, unflinchingly.

“I had to,” she said. “She’s entitled to representation.”

His eyes darted to the soundproof door, ensuring it was shut tightly. “Do you really think the right thing to do is to play me? The two of you? I take it you have an end game in mind. You mind cluing me in on what it is exactly?”

She glared back at him. “What’s that mean?”

“There’s a dead body in the hospital cooler and I need answers. You and Kira are right in the middle of this.”

“You think I killed him?”

“You’re protecting her. She’s protecting you. Do you actually think I can’t see that? Do you actually think you can keep this up? It’s a homicide, Fiona. It doesn’t get any more serious than this.”

She squinted. “I’m worried about you.”

He slapped the table. She jumped back.

“Homicide! I’m talking about the fire. I’m talking about a baseball bat from Michael Engleton’s collection. I’m talking about you and Kira doing this dance that’s growing really old and is not going to hold up. You want attorneys involved? You’d rather have Peter Arian handling this than me? Jesus!” He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. “You two had better get in front of this. I had a plan-one you’ve just made a hell of a lot more complicated. I hope to hell you have one, because this thing is coming apart on you-on both of you.”