Jonathan Kellerman - The Conspiracy Club

Jeremy supposed the place was utilized, from time to time, but he’d never seen anyone go in or out.

Doresh entered as if he’d been there before.

What, this is supposed to encourage confession?

The detective strode to the front row, removed his raincoat, draped it over a pew, sat down, and tapped a space to his right. Beckoning Jeremy to sit next to him.

Now we pray together?

Jeremy ignored the invitation and circled in front of Doresh. He faced the detective, remained on his feet.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You can start by accounting for your whereabouts last night, Doctor.”

“What times?”

“The whole night.”

“I was out.”

“I know that, Doc. You got home around four in the morning. Late, for you.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Did I say that?”

“No,” said Jeremy. “Of course you didn’t. Stupid question. If you’d been watching me, you’d know I have nothing to do with it.”

And neither does Dirgrove, shacked up in the room across the motor court.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

“Start accounting,” said Doresh.

“I left the hospital shortly after eight and checked into a motel near the airport around half an hour later. The Hideaway, on Airport Boulevard. I paid cash, but the clerk may remember me because the place wasn’t busy. He’s a young guy with dark hair. Greasy, dark hair. Last night he was wearing a green-and-white-striped shirt. I didn’t notice his pants. I paid for half a day. Forty-four dollars.”

“A motel.”

“That’s right.”

“Who were you with?”

“No one.”

Doresh’s shrublike eyebrows rose. He shifted his weight, and the pew creaked. “You checked into a motel by yourself.”

“Room 15. I stayed there till around three-forty and, as you know, got home shortly before four.”

If Doresh or some other cop hadn’t seen him, who had? Had to be a neighbor, and the only one who came to mind was Mrs. Bekanescu. A snoop by nature, she’d never liked him, and he’d seen lights on in her house well before sunrise. Sometimes she put food out for stray cats, drew their mewling to the block while the sky was still dark. Whatever the reason, she’d been up, had noticed his headlights, and when Doresh had come asking questions, she’d been more than happy to tell him.

How many neighbors had Doresh spoken to? Did all of them believe him a dangerous man? Was that- not the fact that they were transient renters- why no one spoke to him?

Doresh was staring at him, not saying a word.

“Where and when did it happen?” said Jeremy.

“You’re serious.”

“About wanting to know? Yes.”

“About checking into a hot-bed joint by yourself.”

“I did it for the solitude.”

“You found solitude at a hot-bed joint?”

“Yes.”

“Guy like you, living by yourself, what’s wrong with your own house for solitude?” He smiled. “You’ve got plenty of solitude, now.”

Doresh’s tone challenged Jeremy. Go ahead, smart-boy, blow your stack.

Jeremy shrugged. “Sometimes a change of scenery helps.”

“Helps what?”

“Achieve peace of mind.”

Doresh’s face turned the color of raw beef. “You’d do well not to jerk me around.”

“Ask the motel clerk. Ask the maid who cleaned Room 15 if the bed was ever slept in.”

“You didn’t sleep there? What the hell did you do?”

“Sat on a chair. Thought. Watched TV- religious shows, mostly. The one that sticks in my memory is a preacher from Nebraska. Thadd Bromley. Gabby fellow. He wore a blue v-neck sweater- looked like a college boy and talked like a cowboy. From the pledges that came in, he’s doing great. I enjoyed hearing him tell me how to live my life.” Jeremy’s eyes circled the chapel.

“You’re a religious guy,” said Doresh.

“I wish.”

“Wish what?”

“Religion would be a comfort. I’d like to believe.”

“What stops you?”

“Too many distractions. Who was she? Where did it happen?”

Doresh ignored him. He turned away, and light through a stained-plastic window rainbowed his face.

“Another Humpty-Dumpty situation,” said Jeremy.

Still no response.

“Is there anything else, Detective?”

Doresh crossed his legs. “What you’re telling me, is that from eight-thirty to three-forty you were at a cocky-locky dump, all by your lonesome, listening to the gospel. That’s some story.”

“Why would I make something like that up?”

“Thing is, Doc, maybe the clerk can verify your checking in. But I assume you didn’t stop to say good-bye to him when you cut out. So how the hell do I know you were there all night? You could’ve checked out any time.”

“Thadd Bromley,” said Jeremy. “He was on late. He quoted from Acts. He healed a girl on crutches. And there were others. I can probably remember some of their sermons. I did doze briefly, but for the most part I was up.”

“Religious shows.”

“The Hideaway doesn’t offer a great selection of stations. Most of the reception was fuzzy. I guess the religious channels broadcast with more power.”

“You rent any fuck movies?”

“No.”

“Those places, they have a great selection of fuck movies, right? That’s the whole point of places like that. Except, generally, people bring a partner.”

The detective’s eyes were cold with contempt.

Jeremy said, “No fuck movies. Check the Pay-Per-View log-”

“Bullshit,” snarled Doresh. “What you’re giving me is bullshit.”

“If I knew I’d need an alibi, I’d have prepared one.”

“Sweet. All that nice sweet logic.”

“Who got killed?”

“A woman.” Doresh uncrossed his legs.

“Vacuum my car if you’d like,” said Jeremy. “Confiscate my clothes- come back to my house, spray that Luminol again. Look for fibers, fluids, whatever you want. Do it without a warrant, I couldn’t care less.”

“How about a polygraph?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“No strings attached?”

“Keep your questions limited to my involvement in any murder.”

“What?” said Doresh. “We can’t ask you about religion?”

“Is there anything else, Detective?”

“A polygraph,” said Doresh. “Course a guy like you, master hypnotist and all that, you’d probably know ways to fake out the polygraph.”

“There are no tricks,” said Jeremy. “Successful faking involves having an abnormally cold personality or practicing on the machine for an extended period. Neither of which applies to me. Oh, yeah, sedation, too. You want to prescreen me for drugs, go ahead.”

“Cold personality, huh? I’d say you’re a pretty cool fellow, Dr. Carrier. Even right after Ms. Banks got butchered up, when we hauled you into the station, you were damned cool. My partner and I were impressed. Guy’s girlfriend gets chopped up like that, and he’s gliding through the interview.”

Jeremy remembered that time as an endless nightmare. He laughed so as not to hit the bastard.

“Something funny, Doc?”

“How far off base you are is funny. If you’re worried about trickery, we can forget about the polygraph.”

Doresh gathered his coat and stood and came close. His cleft chin pulsed, and his barrel chest threatened to intrude upon Jeremy’s torso. “No, let’s do it- maybe tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“Call me,” said Jeremy. “I’ll look at my calendar and fit you in.”

“No tricks, huh?” said Doresh.

“I’ve got none. No surgical skills, either, Detective. And I’ve never been to England.”

Doresh blinked. “Now why would I care about any of that?”