DETECTIVE UNIT.
April's eyes flickered as she opened the door.
The setup here was not the same as the Two-O, -where Jason had been several times and almost felt at home. This space was more cut up and looked smaller, though April had told him it was a bigger unit.
'My office.'
She held out her hand, palm up like a traffic cop to halt him where he was while she headed a few feet right to another office with a window in the door. She moved a few face muscles at the window. Some moments later, a man many inches shorter than Jason came out of the office shrugging on a glen plaid suit jacket over a deep blue dress shirt and a shoulder holster with a big gun in it. The man's hair was short and shiny. He had a pencil-thin mustache and was wearing a tie that looked a whole lot more expensive than Jason's.
'My CO, Lieutenant Iriarte, wanted to have a few words with you,' April said.
Jason nodded at her grimly.
'I've heard about you,' Iriarte said. 'Sergeant Woo here thinks a lot of you.'
'I think a lot of her, too.' Jason returned the compliment.
Iriarte did a quick check of the room. A man was working at a computer. Two others were at their desks; both were on the phone. The suspect Jason had seen only a few minutes ago was now lying on the bench in the holding cell behind him with the bloody jacket over his head.
'This is a very sensitive situation we've got here,' Iriarte said. 'Let's talk in here.'
He headed to the back of the squad room and opened the door to the interview room. It was very small, about the size of a one-inmate prison cell. Inside was a small table and three chairs. Two Styrofoam cups half-filled with cigarette butts were on the table.
Iriarte made a face and pointed at the cups. April picked them up and took them out of the room.
'Please sit down,' lriarte said to Jason, pointing to the chair facing the wall with the mirror in it.
Jason glanced at the mirror, then sat in the chair opposite the blank wall so whoever might be sitting behind the mirror couldn't see his face. Iriarte ran his tongue around the rnside of his mouth, considering whether to take the chair Jason had rejected or order Jason to sit in it.
April returned minus the garbage, her face dense as a brick wall. She closed the door and stood by it, eyes cast down in the traditional Oriental pose of demure deference, as she waited for further instructions. The lieutenant's face relaxed at this show of passivity. He jerked his chin at her, directing her to the chair Jason hadn't wanted, then took the chair between them.
'This is a sensitive situation,' he said again.
'So I understand,' Jason replied.
'Very sensitive.'
Jason gazed at him, thinking he must be an obsessive-compulsive to keep his mustache so short and precisely matchstick thin.
'I understand you've worked with us on other cases out of the Two-O.' The upper lip twitched as if it knew how Jason had diagnosed its owner.
'Very informally,' Jason murmured.
'Your wife was involved in an incident . . .'
Everybody in the world knew that. 'She was kidnapped,' Jason said with no sign of emotion.
Iriarte dipped his head as if he'd just gained a point. 'She has an unfortunate way of getting caught in the middle of things,' he murmured, insinuating something Jason didn't want to explore.
'Her best friend has been murdered.' Jason sat in a metal chair, his feet flat on the floor in front of him. He had unbuttoned his coat when he entered the precinct. Now he took it off and pointedly glanced at his watch. Six- twenty. He had to leave in fifty minutes or be late for his next patient.
'You know that Liberty has disappeared.'
'I am aware that he was not at the funeral yesterday. I admit I was very surprised, since he told me he intended to be there and wanted us to have dinner with him and her parents afterward. Do you have any idea where he is?'
'You interviewed him.'
'I was in close contact with him all Monday. Sergeant Woo asked me to do a psychological profile of him. I believe I did it on Tuesday or Wednesday—I'd have to check my notes.' Jason glanced at April. Her eyes were still cast down. She was ashamed at the way her boss was questioning him.
'Why don't you tell me the results of that interview,' Iriarte said coldly.
'What would you like to know?'
Iriarte ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth again. 'The usual things, what his fantasies tell you.' He smirked.
'Well, there is a lot of violence in his background. His grandmother was raped by a white man. His father was killed in the Korean War. He was the victim of violence himself many times in his adolescence and young adulthood. But no member of his family has a history of antisocial or criminal behavior, and he himself does not have a violent nature. In his childhood there were no indicators of antisocial behavior.'
'What does that mean?'
'He didn't torture animals, bully other children, play with matches, and burn things. Hurting was something he didn't understand. He was and still is puzzled by it. He doesn't understand how people can hurt each other.'
'How do you know?'
It was Jason's turn to smile. 'I can tell from his fantasies and his heroes. He revered Jackie Robinson, his namesake Frederick Douglass, Richard Wright. He reads poetry. He has no weapons in his home. He thinks about other people's feelings. He's empathic. Killers don't care about the feelings of their victims.'
Iriarte passed over that. 'What about alcohol and substance abuse?'
'Liberty has migraine headaches. He can't drink and he has strong negative feelings about drugs. He came from a community where drugs destroyed many of his childhood friends.'
'That's interesting. His friend Tor was a user.'
'That astonishes me,' Jason said.
'You think that would be a problem for Liberty?'
'I don't think he would approve.'
'What about the migraines? Is that what triggers his violence?'
'People who get migraines are often perfectionists. When little things go wrong, they become frustrated and the pressure builds up without a safety valve. This kind of personality can't go to the gym or play ball to let off steam. And rather than strike out at others, they internalize their rage. The appearance can sometimes be that of a person in torment. Or a person enraged. But the rage is directed at themselves, not others.'
Iriarte made a skeptical face to indicate what he thought of the psychobabble. 'Someone was killed in his car.'
Jason was stunned. 'Who?'
'We don't know. The body is missing. We're wondering what Liberty's connection to it is,' Iriarte said coldly.
Jason turned to April. What was the meaning of this? She shook her head. 'But Liberty couldn't have had anything to do with that. The car was stolen. He hadn't seen it for weeks.'
'Well, if he knew the car was the site of a murder and he happened to be a suspect in another murder, he would say that, wouldn't he?'
Jason glared at Iriarte. 'He doesn't have the profile of a killer.'
'Then get him to come in here and prove it like a man.' lriarte stabbed the air with a finger.
'I'm a physician. I'm no expert in police work, but I don't get the feeling you're regarding Liberty from the position of innocent until proven guilty, which is the position taken by the law of this land. So I could say the same of you—if he's guilty, you prove it.'
'Don't get defensive now. I'm just asking for your assistance here, Dr. Frank. You're an expert in state of mind. You and your wife know Liberty as well as anybody, and we believe you know where he is.'
Jason shook his head. 'We don't know where he is.'
Iriarte went on as if he hadn't spoken. 'If you are his friend, you will convince him that his best interests will be served by coming in to see us as soon as possible.'
