There was a sudden, loud pounding on the front door. It startled Kapak so much that he gave a little jump, then felt embarrassed because Spence hadn’t. He felt different about Spence today, and he’d only had a few minutes to sort it out.
Spence got up and looked at the monitor in the maid’s room. “It’s cops.”
“What cops?”
“Take a look.” He pressed the remote control and five of the small squares that shared the screen disappeared, so the view of the front steps took up the whole screen.
Kapak could see two men in sport coats and a woman in a pantsuit. “It’s that Lieutenant Slosser who’s been on my ass since the construction site thing. I just went for a ride with him this morning. You hide the shirt and stuff, and I’ll go talk to him.”
“Right.” Spence snatched up the plastic bag, opened a cupboard, stuffed it into a covered pot, then closed the door.
Kapak hurried down the hall toward the living room. He took a deep breath, then opened the door. He smiled. “Hello again, Lieutenant. Did you find the people who robbed my club last night?”
“Not yet. I’m sorry to bother you again, but I’m afraid we have to go talk downtown.”
“What about?”
“The deaths of Manuel Rogoso, Alvin Tatum, and Chuy Sanchez. We still have to clear some things up.”
Kapak couldn’t believe it. Here he was in his own house with the bloody shirt and the wallet of a murdered man, and here were three homicide detectives. But all they wanted from him was exactly what he wanted—to ride downtown a few miles from here to talk about something else. His luck must be returning already.
He smiled, almost laughed. “Of course. Just let me get my sport coat.”
31
KAPAK SAT in the back seat of the car beside Lieutenant Slosser. The two detectives, Timmons and Serra, sat in the front. The male, Timmons, drove the car, and the female was beside him in the passenger seat. It seemed the same to him as riding in a car with his parents when he was very young. His father had bought an old East German Trabant when Claudiu was young. His father would spend every Friday night and Saturday trying in vain to tune it properly or making the repairs to keep it moving, Sunday morning washing the fiberglass exterior, and the afternoon driving it with the family all dressed up, sitting stiffly and listening to the engine, waiting for it to cough, stop spewing black smoke, and glide silently to the side of the road.
He could feel tension in the car now, emanating from the front seat. Maybe it was because these two were partners and they were driving their boss in their unmarked car. He sensed that they were uncomfortable sitting this way, with the man driving and the woman beside him, because they knew it suggested to the eye that they were a couple. That had to be forbidden. They never spoke, only listened for some comment from the back seat that would distract everyone from the way they looked.
He felt sorry for them for a few minutes, then reminded himself that he was the one being transported for interrogation. He turned to look at Slosser and found Slosser already staring at him. “Do I look different?”
“It’s only been a couple of hours. But to me you look like a guy who’s got himself in trouble.”
“Getting older
“I’ve got old age figured out. When I can, I’m going to lie on a beach every day and have drinks with little umbrellas in them every night.” He paused. “That’s what you should have done.”
“You may be right.”
“I know I am,” Slosser said. “But nobody quits while he’s still okay and hasn’t made a big mistake yet.”
“People make mistakes because they’re greedy,” Kapak said. “They never have enough. That’s not me. I just want to get through the rest of my life like I am.”
Slosser said, “Will one of you please read Mr. Kapak his rights?” He turned to Kapak. “Since we’re talking, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Fine.”
Detective Serra, the one Slosser clearly had meant, recited the Miranda warning, speaking slowly and clearly.
When she reached “Do you understand these rights?” Kapak said, “I understand,” then turned to Slosser. “So now what did you want to ask me?”
“I think we can wait the last few minutes until we’re in the station.” He had sensed that Kapak was feeling too confident and comfortable, but now he had reminded him that their conversation would be recorded to be used at some future trial.
The car pulled into the driveway to the underground lot and stopped at the building entrance. Lieutenant Slosser and Detective Serra got out and escorted Kapak into the building.
The smell of floor wax and disinfectant filled Kapak’s nostrils. It was the smell of governments, the smell of the physical power that dragged people in who were dirty or bleeding or vomiting and made them invisible in some cell or interrogation room, and then cleaned up the mess. It was a reminder that the government was big, its surfaces hard and enduring and polished, and that human beings were small, soft, dirty, and weak. Thousands of them could be herded through here and there would be no sign of it, not even a human smell.
They took an elevator upstairs to the corridor that Kapak remembered from his questioning after the fight at the construction site. They conducted Kapak up the hall toward the interrogation room. There were cops coming up and down the hallway, doors that were closed, others that were open. Kapak’s mind tried to make sense of the place, his eyes scanning, passing over each sight. He could tell from Slosser’s manner that he thought he knew something Kapak didn’t. He knew that was not out of the question. The last time he was here, Slosser had known much more than Kapak about the fight at the construction site. He was determined not to underestimate Slosser.
His eyes turned to his right to glance into the next open doorway—the girls. Then he was past the doorway, with no way to turn and walk back to look again and be sure. He kept walking at the same pace as the others. In a moment he was inside the interrogation room, and he was sure. Both of them had been looking in his direction, and his eyes had met theirs for a second, he had seen them recognize him, and then he was looking at the plain dirty wall going by.
He sat at the table in one of the plain, hard chairs and considered the implications. There could be no weapon. He had taken it apart and spread the pieces where they would never be found. There could be no fingerprints, blood, fiber after a fire. He had seen the house and there was nothing left. His footprints and tire tracks were obliterated when the fire trucks arrived. There was nothing that could connect him with the actual killing except the two girls. What were their names?
Ariana. That was the tall one, with the sweet disposition. The other one’s name was like it. Irena. There was something that he had seen and needed to think about. They had been surprised. If they had told what they had seen him do, why would they be surprised to see Kapak here?
Slosser watched Kapak sitting at the table, glaring at the wall. He caught Serra’s eye and nodded slightly. She was behind Kapak, so she could risk a quick half-smile to acknowledge that, yes, Kapak had seen the two girls through the open office door, and the sight of them had eroded his confidence.
Slosser said, “Mr. Kapak. The reason I asked you down here was that I wanted to double-check some things from our earlier conversations and pursue a few others in case there’s something you didn’t mention the first time. All right?”
“Sure.”
“A few minutes ago, Detective Serra read you your rights, including the right to refuse to answer questions and the right to have an attorney present. Would you like us to repeat anything or explain anything?”
“No. Are you arresting me?”
“No, we’re not. We’re just after information at the moment.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s begin with Manuel Rogoso. Last time we spoke, you couldn’t remember ever having heard of him. I
