William Lashner: A Killer’s Kiss

I tried to think it through, but the night had already been too long, and I was too tired, and I failed.

I checked that the door was unlocked. It was, which made me feel strangely vulnerable. I slipped out of the room, swiveled my head like a leopard escaping from his cage, and then explored just enough to find a bathroom.

It hurt when I peed. My testicles felt heavy and bruised. At least I wouldn’t have to lie about that. When I stepped outside the bathroom, with the intent to traipse up and down the hall looking for Julia, the same young uniform was waiting in the hallway to kindly lead me back to the green room. I thought I heard a click after the door closed. I tried the knob again. This time it was locked.

I sat and sighed. I twiddled my thumbs. I leaned back, kicked my legs out, watched my beard grow in the mirror. My head lolled on the top rail of the chair, and I fell asleep.

It was at that very moment, of course, that the door burst open and Sims and Hanratty marched into the room.

Hanratty closed the door and leaned on it, barring any attempt to flee. Sims sat down across from me and smiled like a kindly uncle, you know, the kindly uncle who feels your muscles through your sweatshirt to tell you how strong you are and asks you down to the basement to take some pictures.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Victor,” said Sims.

“Oh, I bet you are,” I said, wiping my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Where’s Julia?”

“She’s being taken care of. She’s with her lawyer right now, as a matter of fact, a nice gentleman named Clarence Swift. He’s been quite helpful, I must say, more helpful than his client. But we’re close to getting this thing wrapped up without her cooperation, except for a few minor details which we hoped you could help us with.”

“I doubt I could help you with anything.”

“Don’t be so sure, Victor. We think your help can be enormous.”

“Like the fat lady at the circus,” said Hanratty.

“Are we talking about your mother again, Hanratty?” I said.

“Let’s start with tonight, shall we?” said Sims. “When did you meet up with Mrs. Denniston, and where?”

I closed my eyes, tried to figure out what I should do, failed, and decided instead to punt. “You haven’t read me my rights.”

“You’re not a suspect, Victor. We don’t need to read you your rights, which you, anyway, know better than we do. But we would very much appreciate your full assistance.”

“And I would appreciate a full body massage.”

“And a happy ending, too, I assume.”

“Are you volunteering?”

He shook his head wearily. “You’re not going to help.”

I glanced at the mirror. “Not tonight I won’t.”

“Maybe Hanratty here can persuade you,” said Sims. “My wife once asked him over to help rearrange our furniture. He made a mess of it, of course, smashed china, battered walls. Like a bull in the bridal section of Macy’s. I wouldn’t want that to happen to your face, not that it couldn’t use some rearranging.”

I rubbed my jaw.

“Make it easy on yourself, Victor.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “One of those rights you failed to read to me is the right to remain silent. I don’t exercise much, but I’m exercising that.”

“We could subpoena you and drop you in front of a grand jury.”

“And I could plead the Fifth unless you give me immunity.” I turned to the mirror and grinned. “Are you ready to give me immunity, right here and right now?”

“What did I tell you?” said Hanratty.

“Victor, Victor, Victor,” said Sims, each recitation of my name accompanied by a shake of the head. “Why are you making this so hard? You’re only going to hurt yourself. There is no use trying to protect her.”

“I’m not trying to protect anyone,” I said, “but myself.”

“Siding with her is not the way to do it. This is what we’ve got so far, and you can figure out for yourself what it adds up to. Dr. Denniston was shot once, straight on. There was no apparent forced entry, no apparent robbery, no evidence of a struggle. The live-in housekeeper, a woman named Gwen McGrath – who makes a fabulous pecan pie, or so we’ve been told by Mr. Swift – said there was a loud argument between the Dennistons while she was still at the house. Not, she informed us, an unusual occurrence. In the middle of the argument, Mrs. Denniston told Gwen she could go on out for the evening. Gwen, who has a standing date for Sunday dinner with a man named Norman, locked up behind herself and set the alarm, leaving only the doctor and the wife in the house. When she came back a few hours later, about nine o’clock, she found the alarm activated and the house empty, except for Dr. Denniston dead in the library.”

“With the candlestick?” I said.

Sims smiled vaguely at the comment. I tried not to show how shaken I was.

“A single bullet in the forehead,” said Sims. “No weapon has yet been found, but Mr. Swift kindly informed us that Dr. Denniston did have a revolver, a quite shiny one, he told us. He kept the gun in the safe.”

“Is it still there?”

“We don’t know, we haven’t been able to open it yet, though a representative from the safe company will be at the house tomorrow. According to Mr. Swift, the combination was apparently known only by Dr. Denniston and his wife.”

“It’s nice that Mr. Swift has been so helpful.”

“Isn’t it, though?” said Sims. “And he is very interested in you, our Mr. Swift. Wanted to know your relationship with Mrs. Denniston. Wanted to see everything we had with your name on it.”

“Curious fellow.”

“That’s an understatement. So what we need to know from you are the answers to three small questions. As soon as you help us with our questions, we can arrange for you to be taken home. How does that sound?”

“I sure could use a shower.”

“You don’t have to tell us,” said Hanratty.

“And if you cooperate now, we’ll keep you out of it for as long as we can. We won’t call you before the grand jury, we won’t disclose your name to the papers.”

“And that helps me how?”

“Do you really want all the papers harping on your relationship to the dead man’s wife?”

“As long as they spell my name right,” I said.

“Victor, Victor, Victor. Can we begin?”

I thought about it for a long moment. Sims smiled easily and waited. Hanratty looked like he was struggling to keep from banging on the table with my head.

The whole factual recitation by Detective Sims was solely designed to convince me they had the goods on Julia Denniston, and I must say it had worked quite well. If everything he was telling me were true, who else could have committed the murder? And if she had committed the murder, then all my lowest paranoid suspicions were also true. I had made her a promise, and I owed her something, I figured, our past required it, but what did I owe her, really, other than the truth? And it’s not like she didn’t already have a lawyer on her side.

“She called me about ten from outside my apartment,” I said finally. “I invited her in. She was there when you guys showed up.”

“Showering,” said Hanratty.

“She asked if she could. I said it was okay.”

“I bet you did,” said Sims. “Do you mind if we run forensics tests on your apartment?”

“Knock yourselves out. Just be sure your guys screw the drain cover back into the shower floor.”

“How long had you been seeing her?”

“After she ran off with the now-dead doctor, we lost contact until a couple of weeks ago. She had been getting some strange letters. She called to ask if they were from me. I said they weren’t. But the renewed contact allowed us to work out some unresolved issues.”