'Now, where were we?' Byrne said.
Novak said nothing.
'We were having such a nice conversation. Why did you run?'
Novak still said nothing.
'Where were you heading?'
Silence.
Byrne let the questions float for a few moments, then reached out his hand. Jessica handed him her iPhone. Byrne turned the screen toward Novak and began to scroll through the series of pictures Jessica had taken of Novak's bedroom.
Novak scanned the photos, remained impassive.
'This is quite an interesting collage,' Byrne said.
Novak took a moment. 'Is it common practice for the police to be invited into someone's home, then to take covert photographs?'
'Common?' Byrne asked. 'No, I don't suppose it is.'
'I'm sure there are a number of privacy laws that have been violated here. My attorneys will have a lot of fun with this. Search and seizure, for one.'
'It's my recollection that you invited us into your home, Mr. Novak.' Byrne turned to Jessica. 'Is that how you remember it, detective?'
'It is.'
'There were no jackbooted thugs kicking in your door, no one rappelling down the side of your building and smashing in your windows. Just three people talking, two of whom were invited in.' Byrne tapped the photos on the cellphone screen. 'All of this was in plain view.'
Novak didn't react.
'Anything you'd like to share with us?' Byrne asked.
'Such as?'
'Such as why you have a room dedicated to the history of homicide in the City of Brotherly Love?'
Novak hesitated. 'It's research. I am a fan of true crime stories.'
'As you might imagine, so am I,' Byrne said. He indicated one of the photos. 'I remember many of these. In fact, I worked some of the cases.'
Novak said nothing.
Byrne tapped the iPhone screen, selecting another photograph. This one displayed a section of the room devoted to the Antoinette Chan case. It was a collage of clippings from the original stories in the Inquirer, Daily News and the tabloid Report, as well as from follow-up stories when Kenneth Beckman had been brought in for questioning.
'I see you are following the Antoinette Chan case,' Byrne said.
Novak crossed his hands in his lap, began to rub a finger over his left fist. A classic self-touch gesture. They were getting into a discomfort zone. 'It is an interesting case. One of many. I have research going back one hundred years. I'm sure you'll agree, this city has no shortage of crimes against persons.'
Byrne held up his hands, surrendering the point. 'You'll get no argument here,' he said. 'But let's talk about current cases first, okay?'
Nothing.
'What did you find interesting about the Chan case?' Byrne asked.
Novak leaned back in his chair, looked down, breaking eye contact with Byrne. A disconnect. 'It was particularly brutal, I thought. The weapon used was a claw hammer, if I remember correctly.'
'That's correct.'
'It seems an intimate act, using such a weapon,' Novak said, looking up briefly, then quickly away. 'A lot of passion.'
'Do you know a man named Kenneth Beckman?' Byrne asked.
'No.'
The answer came way too fast. As soon as it left his lips, Jessica saw that Novak knew it was the wrong move.
'But you went to grade school with him,' Byrne said. 'Little Kenny was in your class from second through sixth grades.'
'He was?'
'No,' Byrne said. 'At least, I don't think he was. The point is, based on your quick answer he might have been someone you knew, yet you said no without even giving it a moment's thought. Why was that?'
Novak shifted in his seat. 'This man you're asking me about — I take it he was in the photo lineup you showed me at my apartment?'
'Yes.'
'I don't know anyone by that name.'
Byrne reached into the box, slid the photo lineup across the table. Novak looked at it, his eyes carefully roaming across the six faces. This was clearly for show. He shook his head.
Byrne jabbed the photo on the iPhone screen, enlarging it. It was a news clipping of the Antoinette Chan case. 'You said you were doing research. What kind of research?'
'I'm writing an opera.'
'An opera?'
'Yes,' Novak said. He shifted his weight again in what Jessica knew to be an uncomfortable steel chair. 'It is an epic story of crime and punishment in this city. It covers more than a hundred years. What you are looking at here is my research.'
'Some of your research into the Antoinette Chan case named Kenneth Beckman as a suspect.'
Novak hesitated. 'I can't remember every person's name. Real names are not important to the theme of my work.'
'What is the theme of your work?'
'Crime, punishment, guilt, redemption.'
'Kenneth Beckman is dead.'
Nothing. No reaction.
'He was murdered,' Byrne continued. 'His body was found at the same crime scene where Antoinette Chan was found.'
Novak remained silent.
'Hell of a twist, no?' Byrne said. 'I'm seeing that as the end of the first act.'
Novak looked up, a smug look on his face. It was not the look of someone with nothing to hide but rather of one who has very carefully hidden everything.
'If he was involved in the murder of Antoinette Chan, I might make reference to karma, fate, all that. None of it has anything to do with me.'
'So the name Kenneth Beckman means nothing to you?'
'Nothing.'
'What about the name Sharon Beckman?'
'Is that his wife?'
Byrne just stared.
Novak fashioned a thin smile, shook his head. 'Is this the part where you say 'Did I say wife? I didn't say wife. How did you know it wasn't his daughter or sister?' Is this where you say these things, detective?' Novak clasped his hands in his lap. 'I saw Sleuth. The original film, that is. The one with-'
'Laurence Olivier and Michael Caine.'
This time Novak's look said touche.
'You still haven't answered my question,' Byrne said.
Novak stared at the floor.
'Mr. Novak? Does the name Sharon Beckman mean anything to you?'
Novak looked up. 'No.'
Byrne let the exchange settle for a few moments. Then he removed the clear plastic evidence bag containing
