She didn’t think too long before replying, “I don’t want to…see him.”
“I understand.” I said to her. “I’d like you to stay here until the body is removed.” I explained, “You may have to sign paperwork.”
She replied in a weak voice, “I want to go home.”
“All right. I’ll call for a police car to take you home.” Later.
Jay Lawrence, without consulting the bereaved widow, said, “I will accompany her.”
I really wanted to question Mia Parker, but I couldn’t keep her here. I also wanted to question Jay Lawrence, but he was latched onto the grieving widow, and you want to question suspects separately so that you can pick up inconsistencies in their stories. Also, the courts have ruled that a cop is allowed to lie to a suspect in order to draw out some information. Like, “Okay, Mr. Lawrence, you say A, but Mrs. Parker and Scott told me B. Who’s lying, Mr. Lawrence?” Actually, it would be me who was lying. But you can’t play one against the other if both suspects are sitting together. I did, however, have some info from Scott, though not a lot.
Also, of course, this was not a homicide investigation, and therefore there were no suspects, and therefore I couldn’t pull these two off separately for questioning.
I mean, I knew beyond a doubt that Otis Parker had been murdered, and I was fairly sure there were two people involved, and it was an inside job, and it was premeditated. And the two people sitting in front of me filled the bill as potential suspects. But I had to tread lightly and treat them as a bereaved widow and a very upset friend who was also a crime writer with some savvy. Basically I was at a dead end at the Dead End Bookstore, and the clock was ticking.
So maybe I should just say it. “Sorry to inform you, but I believe Otis Parker was murdered, and I’d like you both to come to the precinct with me to see if you can help the police with this investigation.”
I was about to do that, but I had some time to kill before I had to call Ruiz, so I pulled up a chair, put on my sympathetic face, and asked Mrs. Parker, “Can I get you some water? Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
I offered, “I can see if there’s something stronger in Mr. Parker’s office.”
She shook her head.
I said, conversationally, “I understand you decorated his office. It’s very nice.”
Our eyes met, and she hesitated, then said to me, “I told him…I told him to have it fastened to the wall…and he said he’d done that.”
“You mean the bookcase?”
She nodded.
“Well, unfortunately he didn’t.”
“Oh…” She sobbed, “Oh, if only he’d listened to me.”
Right. If men listened to their wives, they’d live longer and better lives. But married men, I think, have a death wish. That’s why they die before their wives. They want to. Okay, I’m getting off the subject.
I said to her, “Please don’t blame yourself.” Let me do that.
She put her hands over her face, sobbed again, and said, “I should have checked when I was in his office… but I always believed what Otis said to me.”
Making you the first wife in the history of the world to do that. Sorry, I digress again.
Actually, I could imagine that she did like her husband. Maybe he was a father figure. Despite her Morticia look, she seemed pleasant and she had a sweet voice. Maybe I was on the wrong track. But…my instincts said otherwise.
Under the category of asking questions that you already know the answer to, I asked her, “Do you and Mr. Lawrence know each other from LA?”
It was Mr. Lawrence who replied, “Yes, we do. But I don’t see what difference that makes.”
Of course you do, Jay. This is the stuff you write about. Anyway, I winged a response and said, “I need to say in my accident report what your relationship is to the widow.”
He didn’t say, “Bullshit!” but his face did. Good. Sweat, you pompous ass.
Mia Parker, who seemed clueless from Los Angeles, said to me, “Jay and I have been friends for years. We saw each other socially with our former spouses.”
I nodded, then said to her, “Scott tells me you were married last June.”
At the mention of her June wedding, her eyes welled with tears, and she nodded and covered her face again.
I let a few seconds pass, and then I said, “I’ve spoken to Scott and I think I have enough details for my accident report, but if not I’ll speak to him again and bother you as little as possible.”
She nodded and blew here nose into her friend’s handkerchief.
Her friend understood that I had a statement from the clerk and that I was, perhaps, a tiny bit suspicious.
There wasn’t much more I could do or say to these two at this time, but I had at least hinted to Jay Lawrence that he probably wasn’t getting on that flight to Atlanta. I could see he was a bit concerned. I mean, if he’d plotted this-like one of his novels-he had fully expected it to be ruled an accident, and he’d hoped that the body would be gone when he got here half an hour late, and the sign on the door would say CLOSED. Or, if the cops were still here, they’d say, “Sorry, there’s been an accident. The store is closed.”
Right. But Mr. Jay K. Lawrence did not imagine a Detective John Corey, called on the scene because a patrolman was suspicious. The ironic thing was that Jay Lawrence’s cop character, Rick Strong, was smarter than his creator. But neither Jay Lawrence nor Rick Strong were as smart as John Corey. I was, however, out of bright ideas.
I stood and said to Mrs. Parker, “To let you know, the city requires an autopsy in cases…like this. So it may be two days before the body is released.” I added, “You should make plans accordingly.” I also added, “In the unlikely event that the medical examiner feels that he needs to…well, do further tests, then someone will notify you.”
Mr. Lawrence stood and asked, “What do you mean by that?”
I looked him in the eye and replied, “You understand what I mean.”
He didn’t reply, but clearly he was getting a bit jumpy.
I was now going to call Ruiz and advise him that I was officially making this a homicide investigation. I had two suspects, but no evidence to hold them. In fact, not enough evidence to even advise them that they were persons of interest-though I’d ask them to meet me later at the station house, to help in the investigation.
But just when you think you’ve played your last card, you remember the card up your sleeve. The Joker.
I said, “The medical examiner should be arriving shortly. Please remain here until then.” I assured them, “I’ll call for a police car to take you home after the ME arrives.”
Mr. Lawrence reminded me, “You said we could leave now. And we can find our own transportation.”
“I changed my mind. Remain on the premises until the ME arrives.”
“Why?” asked Mr. Lawrence.
I replied a bit curtly, “Because, Mr. Lawrence, the medical examiner may want a positive identification. Or he may need some information as to date of birth, place of residence, and so forth.” I said to him, “Actually, you may leave. Mrs. Parker cannot.”
He didn’t reply, but sat again and took her hand. A real gentleman. Or maybe he didn’t want her alone with me.
I went to Officer Rourke, who was still sitting behind the counter, apparently engrossed in his book, but undoubtedly listening to every word. I made eye contact with him and said, “Let me know when the ME arrives and send him up.” Wink.
He nodded, and I could see his brain in high gear wondering what the brilliant detective was up to.
I climbed the spiral staircase into Otis Parker’s office and looked at his body. Right. He could have survived. Then he could have told me what happened.
But I already knew what happened. I needed Otis Parker to tell me who did it.
Cops, as I said, are allowed to lie. Half the confessions you get are a result of lying to a suspect.
I let a few more seconds pass, and then I shouted, “Get an ambulance!” I ran to the rail and shouted to Rourke, “He’s alive! He’s moving! Get an ambulance!”
Rourke, thank God, didn’t shout back, “He’s dead as a doornail!” Instead he got on his hand radio and
