Eye of the Beholder

Professor Frank Albany, wearing a light purple shirt, matching tie, and dark sport coat, folds his arms as McDermott and Stoletti enter the interview room.

“This is pure harassment.”

Police officers picked up Albany at his office, scooped him up and threatened handcuffs. Not a fun way to come down to the station. The best way to rattle a witness.

“Tell me where Leo Koslenko is,” McDermott says. “And I’ll let you go.”

“Who?” Albany cocks his head. His lips part but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Don’t bullshit me, Professor.”

Albany gets out of his chair, directing a finger at McDermott. “You have no right-”

McDermott grabs his arm at the wrist, cuffs him, and attaches the second cuff to the ring in the center of the table. As Albany whines and protests, McDermott holds out his hand to Stoletti, who hands him a mug shot of Leo Koslenko from one of his arrests.

McDermott slaps the mug shot down on the table and stands back. He sees the recognition in Albany’s eyes immediately. His eyes move from the photo to McDermott. He doesn’t even try to deny it.

“Leo Koslenko,” McDermott repeats.

“I want a lawyer.”

McDermott reaches into the file and places a copy of the note found in Leo Koslenko’s bedroom on the table.

I know that you know about my relationship with Ellie. And I know about your relationship with my daughter. If you tell, so will I. But if you keep quiet, I will endow a chair in your name at Mansbury College.

I need your answer right now.

Albany begins to read it, then looks away, his face crimson. He closes his eyes and turns his head so he cannot see the note.

That’s as good as a confession. He couldn’t have read more than a line of it. Had he no idea of its contents, he would have read the whole thing.

McDermott takes a seat across from Albany. Stoletti does the same.

“We already know what your ‘answer’ was,” he tells Albany. “It was yes. You kept quiet about his affair and he kept quiet about yours, plus he threw in the endowed chair.”

The professor deteriorates slowly, his face melting in fear, his skin glistening with hot sweat. His position is awkward, his body turned away from the table but his right arm cuffed to the center of the table.

McDermott can smell him now, that acidic scent of pure terror. Some are easier to break than others. This college professor is a cupcake.

“Harland Bentley already gave you up,” he adds. McDermott is largely in the dark here; deception is one of the few cards he holds, so he goes with the standard interrogation in a multiple- defendant case-claim that one turned on the other. Last one to confess loses.

“I want a lawyer.” It comes out as a trembling whisper.

“The only question I have now,” McDermott continues, “is which one of you killed the girls.”

Albany’s head whips around, his wet, bloodshot eyes moving over the detectives.

“He says it was your idea.” McDermott falls back in his chair, calm with the upper hand. “Want a chance to give your side?”

“I want a lawyer-”

“See, here’s why that’s a bad idea, Professor. This is like a race now. The first one to cut a deal wins. Me, I figure each of you is guilty of something. One of you’s getting the needle. I don’t really care which. But, see, Bentley, he has those fancy lawyers, he’ll cop to something probably that doesn’t involve much jail time. You feel like taking on Harland Bentley, one on one? Who do you think’s gonna win?”

“That‘s”-the professor, having lost all composure, sprays the room as he shouts-“That’s-all a lie! How could anything have been my idea? He gave me that note!”

McDermott doesn’t answer, but he’s already gotten something here. Albany has admitted to receiving the note from Harland Bentley.

“Which one of you killed Cassie?” he asks.

Albany’s arm flies away from his body. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Which one of you killed Ellie?”

“What?”

“See, Bentley says it was you, Professor. You were the one who gained from Cassie dying. You would’ve lost your job if it came out that you were banging a student. And it wasn’t just a he-said, she-said, was it?”

Albany shakes his head furiously.

“No,” McDermott continues, “it wasn’t. Because she was pregnant. That’s pretty solid proof, right, Professor? You were the ‘fucking father.’ Even back then, before DNA, you could identify paternity. You knew you wouldn’t be able to deny it. You knew the paternity test would point to you.”

“You’ve got this wrong,” he insists. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

“You figured, with Ellie out of the way, there’d be no one to talk about pregnancy and paternity tests and abortions.”

“No-”

“You didn’t figure on her telling other people about it, too.”

“No!” Albany slams a fist on the table, floundering in his chair while his arm remains cuffed to the table.

“A deal is made,” McDermott says. “Two girls dead, two secrets covered up.”

“No. No. This isn’t right. And what-what about Terry?”

“Oh, framing Terry Burgos was the easy part, Professor. You were, like, his mentor, right? You’d already fucked with his head, showing him all those lyrics about mutilating women, and how the Bible liked that crap. You knew he had a thing for Ellie Danzinger.”

Albany’s eyes, moving about chaotically, now rise to meet McDermott’s.

“He drove that Suburban of his to your printing plant every night, Professor. What, you somehow got hold of his keys? Helped yourself to his truck, and maybe to his basement, too. What I want to know is, how’d you manage to fuck with his mind so he thought he killed those girls?”

“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus God.” Albany shields his eyes. “Get me a lawyer. Get me a fucking lawyer!”

“Bentley’s gotten a big head start on you,” Stoletti says. “If you have something to tell us, it better be now.”

“We walk out of here,” McDermott adds, “it’s over for you. We’ll get you that lawyer, but it’ll be too late.” After a moment of silence, he nods to Stoletti. “Let’s go, Detective. Let’s get that written statement from Harland Bentley.”

A gasp of air, a bitter snicker, and Albany is shaking his head.