worry that Edwin or Madigan might see a flash; observation rooms were invariably light- and sound-proof, even if everyone who owned a TV knew the mirror was fake and there were cameras, cops and witnesses on the other side.
She felt a little bad, using Harutyun like this. But Dance was determined to keep Kayleigh Towne safe, and while she didn’t doubt Madigan’s devotion to that same goal, she wasn’t at all sure of his competence when it came to a perp like Edwin.
And, oh, yeah, she was still pissed off.
She examined the interrogation room. It was austere. In the center were a large fiberboard table, a half dozen chairs and a smaller utility table on which sat bottles of water and pads of paper. No decorations on the walls.
No pencils or pens.
Madigan, she observed, took a professional approach. He sat forward, in a focused but unthreatening manner. He was confident but dropped the authoritarian, imperious attitude she’d seen earlier (apparently reserved for interloping law enforcers). He didn’t engage in overt hand gestures, which can distract the suspect. He was respectful of Edwin, asking if he was comfortable, was the temperature too hot, too cold.
Dance supposed the ice cream had to be prop of some sort. Every single word or gesture by an interrogator tells the subject something more about the questioner. You should never say or do anything that doesn’t further the session. Sipping coffee, scratching your head, frowning… But apparently the confection wasn’t part of the detective’s plan. He finished it with relish and tossed the cup away. Edwin’s eyes followed every motion.
Madigan made a few mistakes, though. One was that he directed Edwin to sit across from him at the table. Better would have been to sit facing each other without any furniture between them. Tables, other chairs,
He made a clumsy show of offering the suspect water. Dance noted that Madigan pointed at the Clear Spring, rather than simply picking up a bottle and handing it to Edwin. It was probably an attempt to lift Edwin’s friction ridge prints-fingerprints-from the bottle and it seemed that Edwin deduced this; he didn’t touch it. The problem was that Madigan’s offer gave away something of the interviewer’s strategy and intelligence.
But the big mistake, in Dance’s opinion, came next:
“Can I ask what this is all about, Pike?”
“Robert Prescott.”
Wouldn’t’ve done that, she thought.
“Oh, Kayleigh’s road manager,” Edwin said, nodding and rubbing his prominent eyebrow.
“Where were you last night at the time he died.”
Oh, no.
Dance realized she must have said this aloud because Harutyun tilted his head her way.
“What? No, he’s dead?” Edwin looked alarmed.
“And you didn’t know that?”
“No, no. That’s terrible. He and Kayleigh were real close. What happened?”
“Got himself burned up. So, you’re telling me you weren’t at the convention center last night?” He now leaned toward Edwin ominously.
Dance understood Madigan’s approach. It was referred to as a blunt-force attack-a term borrowed from hackers who used massive supercomputers to run through all possible passwords to break encrypted messages. With blunt force, officers would inundate suspects with information about them and about the case, suggesting knowledge they didn’t actually possess and connections that were tenuous at best. When delivered with confidence, as Madigan clearly had, the details sometimes got suspects to confess quickly.
Yes, blunt force could be effective. But if it didn’t work right away, you ended up with a subject who stonewalled; any chance of getting helpful information would be ruined. Accordingly, Dance herself never used this technique. Her belief was that information was the most valuable thing an interrogator has. It could be a steel trap, it could be a weapon but to be effective it had to be fed out slowly to lure the suspect into revealing details that could later be used to trip him up. Madigan had just given away the most important key facts-that Bobby was dead, where the crime occurred and how it happened. Had she been conducting the interview, she would have kept those details secret for the time being.
Edwin looked over the deputy somberly. “Well, I’m very sorry to hear that about Bobby. That’s sad for Kayleigh.”
Madigan didn’t respond. He said quickly, “Could you tell me where you were when Prescott died? Midnight last night?”
“Well, I’m sure you know I don’t have to tell you anything but I’m a little surprised at this. Really, Detective. You clearly think I hurt Bobby. Why on earth would I do that? I’d never hurt anybody close to Kayleigh. But the answer to your question is, I was home in my rental.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Maybe somebody driving by saw me, I don’t know. I was in the living room, listening to music most of the night. I don’t have curtains up yet.”
“I see. Okay.” Then he sprung the trap. Madigan leaned closer and said firmly, “But what do you say to the fact that we’ve got two witnesses that place you at the convention center around the time he died and then at Bobby’s house this morning?”
Chapter 15
WHAT EDWIN SHARP said in reply was probably not what Madigan expected.
With a frown, further blending his dense eyebrows, he asked simply, “Did they have clear views?”
Don’t answer, Dance thought to Madigan.
“They sure did. The house right across the road from the convention center stage door. And directly across from Bobby’s house.”
Hell, Dance thought. Edwin could now figure out exactly who the witnesses were.
He said, shrugging, “Well, they’re mistaken. I was home.”
Dance said to Harutyun, “Tabatha didn’t ID anybody. She couldn’t. Was there somebody else there?”
A pause. “Not that I know of.”
“And is there really a witness by the convention center?”
“Apparently,” Harutyun explained. Then decided to tell her. “Some woman lived nearby saw somebody around midnight.”
“She positively ID’d Edwin?”
“I don’t… I don’t think so.”
The hesitation meant she
“Well, Madigan just told a possible homicide suspect about two witnesses and it wouldn’t be that hard to find out their identities. They need looking after. He said he’d get some protection for Tabatha. Do you know if he did?”
“Tabatha, yes. The other one, I don’t know.”
“We need to.”
“Okay.”
And in the interrogation room, the one-on-one continued. Madigan was probably brilliant at getting confessions from the typical perp you saw in the Central Valley. But Edwin Sharp was not a typical perp.
The stalker listened patiently, analytically as Madigan said, “And we’ve just been through your house, Edwin. We found a lot of interesting things, including latex gloves, the same sort that were used in the murder. And trace evidence.”
Edwin said calmly, “I see. My house, hm? Did you get a warrant?”
“We didn’t need one. My deputy noticed some things in plain sight.”
