'I'm not sure. It was dark.'
'How tall was the man?'
'I don't know. He was leaning on her.'
'Leaning?'
'Yeah. You know. Hugging her. Leaning down.'
'Gary, this is important. Think real hard. Could the girl have been Sandy? Could the man be the murderer?'
Gary was quiet for a moment. Downes edged forward on his seat. When Gary raised his head, he looked apologetic.
'They was just hugging, Sergeant Downes. I'm sorry, but they was just hugging.'
An hour later, Downes and Patrick stepped into the hall, leaving Gary alone in the interrogation room.
'What do you think?' Downes asked.
'I don't know. What about you?'
Downes shook his head. 'He seems too dumb to lie, but I don't believe in coincidence. He's admitted to being at the park right around the time the murder probably was committed, he threatened to kill a girl who looks a lot like Whiley.'
'I think we need to get a D.A. in on this before we go any further,' Patrick said.
Downes frowned. Earl Ridgely had instructed Downes to call him if there was a break in the case, but Ridgely was too close to the Harmons. He'd been invited to Donna's wedding and Jesse Harmon had made a sizable contribution to Earl's campaign. Ridgely might insist on getting Gary a lawyer and that would be that.
Becky O'Shay would never suggest getting Harmon a lawyer, but she would try to take the credit if Harmon confessed. Still, she wouldn't interfere with the interrogation and that was the main thing.
'I'm gonna find Becky O'Shay. That will give you some time to soften up Gary.'
'How do you want me to work it?' Patrick asked.
Downes thought for a moment. Then, he got an idea.
'This probably wouldn't work on most people, but Gary is dumber than a post. Why don't you try the black light?'
After Downes explained what he had in mind, Patrick frowned.
'I don't know, Dennis. That doesn't sound right to me.
'What's the problem?'
'It's trickery. It could taint the whole confession, if we get one.'
'No it won't. Not if you don't put words in his mouth. Let me tell you how I'd do it.'
Peter Hale was certain that the bathroom in his rental home had been built for midgets. There was so little space between the tiny tub and the sink that he could only dry himself by standing sideways and the showerhead was so low that Peter had to stoop to catch the water that drizzled out. It sure was a far cry from the walk-in shower in his condo and its four jetstream nozzles. Still, Peter was in a good mood. He was going out tonight with an attractive, sexy woman and he was certain he was going to have a great time.
Peter wiped away some of the vapor that misted the mirror and combed his hair. He was singing a few bars of 'Life in the Fast Lane,' one of his favorite Eagles tunes, when the phone rang. Peter wrapped a towel around his waist and rushed into the bedroom.
'Peter?'
.'Hi, Becky. I was just getting ready to come over.'
'That's why I'm calling. There's an emergency and I have to go to the police station.'
'Do you want me to pick you up there?'
'I'm afraid that won't work. This could take all night.
I'm going to have to ask for a rain check.'
Peter was crushed.
'You've got one,' he said jauntily, masking his disappointment. 'I know about emergencies. We had them all the time at Hale, Greaves.'
'Thanks for taking this so well. Let's talk later in the week.'
Becky hung up and a wave of despondency swept over Peter. He flopped onto the bed. He had been really pumped up for this date. He tried to look on the bright side. Having a date cancel at the last minute wasn't the end of the world. He thought of the many times he had been the canceler. Besides, he told himself, there was a gourmet lasagna microwave dinner in the freezer and a Chuck Norris movie on the tube, sustenance for both the body and the mind. He had everything he needed for an exciting evening right at home.
Peter's attempt to kid himself out of his depression failed miserably and only made him more melancholy.
He couldn't stay home tonight after getting his hopes up for an evening that would vaguely resemble the good times he used to have. Peter thought about going to the restaurant by himself, but his appetite had disappeared.
He contemplated calling Rhonda or picking up a college girl at the Stallion, but his heart wasn't in it. Then, he thought about calling his father.
Peter had been in Whitaker more than a month.
Surely that was a long enough exile. Maybe Richard just wanted to scare him. Maybe he wasn't really written out of the will. He would call his father and explain how working for seventeen thousand a year and living in this dump had taught him about the value of money. He WO d recount a tale or two about the poor unfortunates; he was re resenting. Surely Richard would see p that he was a new man with a sense of responsibility.
Certainly he would say that all was forgiven and welcome Peter home with open arms.
Peter dialed his father's home number. Richard picked up the phone on the third ring.
'Richard Hale,' a strong, confident voice announced.
Peter wanted to say something, but he couldn't speak.
'Hello?' his father said with a tinge of annoyance.
All Peter's energy drained away, leaving him helpless.
The receiver at Richard Hale's end dropped angrily onto its cradle.
'Dad, it's Peter,' Richard Hale's son whispered into the dead line.
Gary looked up anxiously when the door to the interrogation room opened. He had been left alone for almost half an hour and he was getting scared. His anxiety increased when Bob Patrick entered the room.
'Hi, Gary,' Patrick said pleasantly, 'I brought you a drink.'
Before entering the room, Patrick had dried a can of Coke and dusted it with detection powder. Although invisible to the naked eye, the powder would look orange under the ultraviolet light beamed from the tan flashlight Patrick carried. Gary did not want to take the Coke from Patrick, but he was very thirsty. He eyed the officer warily. The fact that Patrick was being nice to him made Gary suspicious.
'Where's Sergeant Downes?'
'He had something to do. He'll be back soon.'
Gary took the Coke with his right hand and drank it greedily. Patrick sat down next to Gary and placed the tan flashlight where Gary could see, it. Then, Patrick took several crime scene photographs of Sandra Whiley and laid them next to the flashlight. Gary took one quick look at the photos and turned his eyes away.
'What's the matter, Gary?'
'I don't like them p ... pictures.'
'Is it the blood that bothers you?'
'Y ... yes.'
'Most of the killers I've interviewed couldn't look at their victim's blood,' Patrick lied. There had been only two homicides in Whitaker County since he had been on the force and he had never interviewed any of the prisoners. 'I don't know what it is, but the blood of their victim scared them. Maybe they thought I could see that blood on them even when they had taken great pains to wash it off. What do you think about that, Gary?'
'I don't know,' Gary answered, still averting his eyes from the photos.
Patrick gathered up the pictures and put them away.
Gary relaxed visibly. Patrick tapped the black light.
'Know what this is?'
