father. I told them about Aslan and the abortion you wanted Toad to get. I told them how you beat Toad and locked her in the cold room.’
By then, Ronald was close enough to capture Margaret’s full attention. I watched her closely as she met her son’s eyes. Despite her rage, the sadist at her core was still weighing costs and benefits.
‘I don’t know what lies you told these officers,’ she said, ‘but you might want to consider that whatever you said amounts to no more than the word of a convicted pervert.’
Still on his game, Ronald didn’t hunch his shoulders or curl his hands into fists. I leaned toward David, gave him a little nudge, then whispered in his ear. ‘Your brother’s playing her like a violin.’ When David looked at me, I winked.
‘I told them about the checks you wrote,’ Ronald continued as if his mother hadn’t spoken, ‘and how you cashed them to pay Aslan off. I told them about Aslan and Konstantine wrapping Toad’s body in plastic and carrying Toad out to the van.’
‘Stop calling her Toad.’
Ronald raised a finger to his lips. ‘And I told them how you murdered Toad in the kitchen.’
Margaret’s jaw dropped and her eyes literally bulged from her skull. She looked at Adele, who had her arms folded across her chest, then at me, then at Ronald’s finger as it described a leisurely semi-circle, only coming to rest when it pointed directly at the kettle and ladle resting by the fireplace.
‘I told them how you picked up that ladle, raised it high above her head, then brought it down. I told them how upset you were by the blood that spattered on your dress and how you made me scrub the kitchen afterwards. I told them everything.’
Her timing impeccable, Adele stepped forward and took a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of her jacket. ‘I’m placing you under arrest,’ she said to Margaret, somehow failing to mention exactly what for. ‘You have the right to remain silent. If you waive that right, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Now, turn around and place your hands behind your back.’
‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ Margaret said. ‘You can’t do this to me.’
‘Listen carefully, Mrs Portola. I’m an investigator with the office of the Queens District Attorney and I have peace officer status throughout the state of New York. If you don’t allow yourself to be handcuffed, I’m authorized to employ all necessary force to make you comply.’
Margaret’s eyes jumped from Adele to Ronald and back again. She had no idea what to do. I again whispered in David’s ear.
‘You understand, David, that you also have the right to remain silent. If you say the wrong thing, it’ll definitely come back to haunt you later on.’
I watched Margaret’s body describe a series of small, involuntary jerks. Maybe submission wasn’t her game, but no good would come of fighting cops. Adele waited patiently until Margaret’s wrists were crossed behind her back, then slipped on the cuffs.
‘I swear I didn’t do it,’ Margaret said. ‘I didn’t kill anyone. You’ve got to believe me. He’s lying. I swear it.’
‘Then what about those checks you cashed?’ Adele asked. ‘Are you telling me you didn’t write them?’
The questions caught Margaret off-guard and she hesitated as she framed a reply. Finally, she said, ‘I had business dealings with.?.?.’
‘Stop right there. How do you expect me to believe that you didn’t kill Mynka Chechowski when you start out with a lie? See, I know those checks are in addition to the checks you cut for Domestic Solutions. And the amount? Twenty-four thousand dollars in a little more than a month? You’re not paying that much for any housekeeper.’
‘I swear to you,’ Margaret said. ‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘Then why did you write those checks?’
Margaret was over-matched. Silence was her best move, as it usually is for anyone accused of a crime. But Margaret was a rich and pampered civilian, accustomed to having her way, a woman who now believed herself about to be charged with murder. That transition, from supreme mistress of her safe little world to involuntary ward of the state, had blown apart the little dots that connected her universe. Their place had been filled by an irresistible urge to shake off the nightmare, to crawl out from under.
‘I did what any mother would do,’ she finally claimed. ‘I protected my child.’
‘Which child?’
Margaret didn’t hesitate. ‘David,’ she said, ‘you have to tell them the truth.’
David Portola rose to his feet. Short and slightly built, he looked younger than his years. Nevertheless, he clearly wasn’t afraid.
‘Call me by my name,’ he demanded.
‘For God’s sake, this is no time to play around.’
‘Call me by my name.’
‘David, please, you know I didn’t do it.’
‘Call me by my name.’
Margaret’s body shook, literally, a shiver that seemed to run up from her toes. Then, despite the cuffs, she lowered her head and charged Ronald, only to be brought up short when Adele kicked her legs out from under her. For a moment, she lay sprawled on the carpet, seeming almost helpless, and I thought she was done early. But she finally rose to her knees, blood dripping from her nose, her features distorted by rage.
‘Alright,’ she screamed. ‘Jerk, Jerk, Jerk, Jerk, Jerk. Tell them what happened, Jerk. Tell them what you did.’
David was smiling when he turned to look into my eyes. ‘I loved her and I killed her,’ he explained. Then he repeated himself, as if bewildered by a truth he’d just discovered. ‘I loved her and I killed her.’
THIRTY-FOUR
I remember the rest of that evening as a succession of isolated scenes. First, the shock on Margaret Portola’s face — and the look of utter rapture on Ronald’s — when Adele enumerated the charges she intended to file against the woman: two counts of involuntary servitude; two counts of extortion; four counts of assault; one count of obstruction of justice; one count of tampering with evidence; one count of conspiracy.
Bill Sarney came next. As his annoyed tone made clear, Harry Corbin was the last person he wanted to hear from at eight o’clock on a Sunday night. But he didn’t shirk his duty. Damage control was in order.
It was Sarney who arranged to transport the prisoners, including Ronald, to the Fifth Precinct, Chinatown, in lower Manhattan, and it was Sarney who brought in an ADA named Wilson Bird. Bird was beyond accommodating and I had to assume that someone of considerably higher rank than Bill Sarney had cashed a marker with the Manhattan DA.
By the time I got David Portola in the box, I was resigned to the task at hand. I wanted to tell him that he’d already said too much, that hiring a lawyer to cut a deal was his one and only move. Instead, I listened to a confession that might better have been made to Father Manicki. Only David wasn’t after absolution. He wanted to dig a hole in which he could lay down and die.
I did my best to prevent this outcome by telling Wilson Bird that David had threatened to commit suicide, a fact I intended to document in my written report. Hopefully, the boy would be placed on a suicide watch and kept far away from the Rikers Island wolves. But you can never be sure with the Department of Corrections. DOC is a world onto itself, cultivating a level of secrecy that makes cops appear frank and open by comparison. Disregarding a simple request from the Brooklyn District Attorney’s office was not beyond its capacities.
I carried David’s confession to Bill Sarney and Wilson Bird, who were huddled inside a small office. I nodded to Bird. ‘Give us a minute. The Inspector and I need to talk.’
‘Sure.’
I waited until the door closed behind him, then told Sarney about Zashka Ochirov and the other women. I needed Tynia Cernek, of course, to make a case against Margaret. Sarney was predictably suspicious, but I assured him that any and all would testify voluntarily, should their testimony become necessary. In the meantime, being as
