Eye of the Beholder

Burgos, do I have your permission to tape-record this conversation?”

The suspect continued to look him over, then gave a halfhearted shrug.

“Can you answer out loud, Mr. Burgos?”

“Okay,” he said. He spoke quietly, hesitantly.

“Okay, I can tape-record our talk?”

“Okay” He smoothed his hands over the table. “Got any more Coke?”

“You want a Coke? No problem.” He went to the door and issued the request. “You’re probably hungry, too, aren’t you? Missed lunch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you feel like?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe he took the question more literally.

“A burger and fries?” Joel asked. “A sub?”

Burgos looked at Joel. “I like tacos.”

“Tacos? Great. I know a place.” He spoke again to the officer outside the door. Then he returned to the table, settled back into his chair. Lightner’s way was laid-back, slouching and crossing a leg. Some guys didn’t have the natural ease about them, try as they might, and came off looking like someone who was trying too hard to look at ease. Joel, he had it, Riley could already see. “I want to thank you for coming down here. I want you to understand, Mr. Burgos, that you’re here as a courtesy. You can leave if you want to. Okay?”

The suspect shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Paul said aloud. Joel had been to school. He had told the suspect he was free to leave, which meant Burgos technically was not in custody and Miranda warnings were not required. But Joel had made sure to offer the guy a meal on the house before mentioning he was free to go. Now Joel could have a nice, casual chat without ever mentioning the word lawyer. Terry Burgos was about to learn that there was no such thing as a free lunch.

“What-cha been doing this morning, Terry?”

The suspect shrugged. “Not much.”

“Listen to the radio at all?”

“I listened to my music.”

“You haven’t listened to the radio today?”

“Nah.”

“What about TV? Watch any television today?”

“Nope.”

“Have you spoken to anyone today? Neighbors? Anyone?”

Burgos shook his head. “Nobody.”

Paul’s confidence in the detective was growing. Lightner had just cleared the weeds. By the time the police got to Burgos’s house late that morning, it would have been possible that Burgos had already heard about these killings from news reports on the radio or television. Now, thanks to Lightner confirming that Burgos had not listened to any media sources, any knowledge that Burgos might admit to could not be attributed to TV or radio, or even neighbors. If he knew something, it would be from his personal knowledge.

“You, uh, you did odd jobs at Mansbury, is that right?” Lightner asked.

“Yeah.”

“Painting, blacktopping, rake leaves, shovel snow. That sort of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Cleaning?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I cleaned. Whatever they told me.”

Joel scratched a cheek.

“I don’t work there no more,” Burgos added.

“No? You don’t work at Mansbury anymore?”

Burgos shook his head.

“Why not, Terry?”

“I dunno.” Burgos shrugged. “They fired me.”

A uniform arrived with the Coke, and Burgos seemed more animated. He popped off the top and took a swig. Paul wasn’t in the habit of second-guessing, but he wasn’t thrilled with these last few questions. He would have told this information to Burgos, not asked, to let Burgos know that he already knew, no bullshit. Lightner was playing dumb.

But there was more than one way to a confession, and Joel needed to do it his way, as much as Riley wanted to intervene.

“Terry,” Lightner said, “when you did work there, did you ever work at Bramhall Auditorium?”

Burgos studied his soft drink like it was a prized diamond. Licked his lips, took another swig. “Yeah. I’ve done that,” he said.

“Ever go down to that basement, Terry? Where the cleaning supplies are?”

Well, Joel was cutting to the chase a bit, but this was one of those great questions for an interrogator, damned if you say yes or no.

“Yeah,” he said.

Riley turned to Chief Clark, who was standing next to him. “Tell your officer not to deliver that food until you say so.” What Riley meant was, not until Riley said so, but there was no need to step on toes.

“Can anyone go down there, Terry? Like, could I just walk down there and go to that basement?”

“You need a key,” he said.

“Do you have a key?”

“When I worked there, I had keys to all the buildings.”

Paul held his breath. This was one of those moments. In an interrogation, you were always looking for the breakthrough. Sometimes, it came remarkably easily. Otherwise, it was a game, where any number of questions could potentially open the floodgates. The interrogator’s job was to poke around the dam, look for the hole.

Burgos had ducked the question.

“I mean now,” Lightner said. “Do you still have keys?”

“I had to return them.”

Ducking again. Yes, he had returned the keys. But had he made a copy?

The assumption-the only cautious assumption that could be made-was that Burgos had made copies of every key to the Mansbury facility. So the dean, Janet Scotland, had canceled classes indefinitely and declared all school areas off-limits, while law enforcement scoured every single nook and cranny of every facility to ensure there were no more dead bodies. They had the whole school on lockdown; students there for summer school, which had been scheduled to begin that day, were confined to their quarters, with police guarding every residence hall. Between the university campus and the printing company where Burgos worked part-time, almost the entire police department was searching for bodies and evidence.

Lightner apparently decided not to press the issue of the keys. He saw, as they all did, that Burgos was sensitive to it. He had decided to tread lightly for now. He asked about what Burgos