Booked to die

arrived. She had already put another one in the recorder. The tape we wanted was still in the player when we got there.”

“Did you listen to it? Stupid question. What was on it?”

“Same thing you heard.”

“What’d you make of it?”

“We think it was the killer who came in at the end. Almost had to be, the way it goes. The time’s about perfect, and the guy—Peter, right?—seems to fall apart right at that moment.”

“Could you make anything out of the section where they’re talking together?”

“It was pretty much of a mess. I’ve listened to one of the copies maybe two dozen times and I can’t get it. The lab boys have the original; maybe they’ll do some good with it. They’ve got the equipment: they can do some amazing stuff, separating voices. They might have something for me later today.”

“Would it be too much to ask… you know, for old time’s sake… could you tell me what they say?”

“I’m already a dead man. What’s one more shot in the head?”

“What was McKinley like while all this was going on?”

“Couldn’t‘ve been more cooperative. Went right to the tape player and handed over the tape and we were out of there in ten minutes. Even Lester liked her.”

I sat quietly, lost in thought.

“Your turn,” Hennessey said.

I started with the U-Haul rental: told him how Peter had rented the truck and gave him the gas station’s address. I told him about Portland, and the lovely Mumsy Bonnema. I told him about Peter’s books: where I had found them, what I thought they were worth, where I had put them. He kept his eyes closed, a suffering man, all the time I was telling it. At the end, he said, “I don’t wanna know how you found out all this, do I?”

“Probably not.”

“So what the hell d’you expect me to do with it?”

“I’ll try to find a way to get it to you. For now, let’s say there’s a gray point of law involved.”

“Let’s say your ass is gray. Come on, Cliff, what am I supposed to do? Just how the hell am I supposed to have gotten those books from Oregon to Denver, let alone found out where they were in the first place?”

“I guess you’ll have to follow the evidence, like a good cop always does.”

“Right through you. I’ll send you postcards in Canon City.”

“Yeah, 1 thought of that. Maybe I will have to do some jail time before it’s over. I just know I couldn’t leave those books in Portland. By now they’d be ashes in Mumsy’s back yard.”

“You wouldn’t be so particular if the evidence was pornography or dope.”

“You may be right.”

“You know I’m right.” He finished off his beer. “You’re crazy, Cliff, you really are.” He got up and put on his coat. “You’re crazy,” he said again. “God dang, you were a good cop, though. You sure were a good cop.”

37

“This is getting us nowhere,” Levin said. “You admit you hated Mr. Newton. You admit you harassed and persecuted him for more than two years prior to the incident in question. You admit you kidnapped—threatened and beat and illegally handcuffed and detained—Mr. Newton, not in the legal performance of your duty as a Denver police officer, but out of sheer malicious hatred. Then you took Mr. Newton, against his will, for a little ride. Sounds like something out of The Untouchables, Mr. Janeway, but this is what, by your own admission, seems to have happened that night. All these things you have admitted for the record, and now, when we come to that little clearing by the river, you would expect us to believe that you removed the handcuffs from Mr. Newton’s wrists and not only allowed him an even break but actually let him strike the first blow?”

Mose leaned across the table and in a very weary voice said, “Counselor, if you keep asking questions like that, we’ll all be old men before this thing ends. The golden age of oratory is over.”

“Mr. Moses, this is a deposition, not a trial. I believe the rules allow me to obtain information in my own way.”

“As long as you don’t actually expect him to answer that.”

Levin puffed on his cigar. He was a little man with a New York accent, a tough Jewish lawyer as someone, 1 forget who, had said. He turned and looked at me down the length of the table. “Let me ask you this. Are you seriously asking us to believe that you removed those handcuffs and inflicted the severe body and facial damage”—he opened the package of photographs and threw them across the table—“to Mr. Newton that we see in this evidence?”

“That’s what happened.”

“Now Mr. Newton is a big man, would you agree with that?”

“No.”

“Nevertheless, he’s bigger than you are, by quite a bit.”

“He’s got more beef, if that’s what you mean.”

“How would you describe Mr. Newton, Mr. Janeway? Just his physical appearance, please.”