Klapec.
“Based on what?” Charlie asked.
“A fondness for the writings of Anton LaVey.”
“I’d like ten minutes alone with my client.”
“Guy’s a weirdo,” Slidell offered.
“So’s Emo,” Charlie answered. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”
Together, we walked to interrogation room three.
“I don’t mind you observing.” One by one, Charlie looked us each in the eye. “But no mikes.”
Slidell shrugged.
Charlie entered the room. Slidell and I positioned ourselves by the one-way glass.
Finney was on his feet. The men shook hands then sat. Finney talked, did a lot of gesturing. Charlie did a lot of nodding and scribbling.
Eight minutes after entering the cubicle, Charlie rejoined us.
“My client has information he is willing to share.” As before, Charlie addressed both of us. I liked that.
“Coming to his senses,” Slidell said.
“In exchange for full immunity covering any and all statements.”
“This douche bag may have killed a kid.”
“He swears he’s harmed no one.”
“Don’t they all.”
“Do you believe him?” I asked.
Charlie regarded me for a very long time. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”
“How’d he get this kid’s jaw?” Slidell asked.
“He’s willing to explain that.”
“What’s his relationship to Cuervo?”
“He claims they’ve never met.”
“Uh. Huh. And I’m gonna be voted the king of good taste.”
“That would be hereditary,” I said.
Slidell shot me a questioning look.
“No voting in a monarchy.”
Charlie ran a hand over his mouth.
“Hardy-friggin’-har-har.” Slidell turned back to Charlie. “Your boy flips, he gets a pass on the jaw, and only the jaw. He testifies truthfully and we give him immunity on the possession of human remains charge. I suspect he’s lying, I find out he’s plucked one feather off one lame-butt chicken, the deal’s out the window.”
“Fair enough,” Charlie said.
“We do it with audio and video.”
“Good,” Charlie said.
The three of us trooped into the interrogation room. Charlie took a chair beside Finney. Slidell and I sat facing them.
Slidell told Finney the interview was being recorded.
Finney looked at his lawyer. Charlie nodded, told him to begin.
“High school was pure hell for me. My one friend was a girl named Donna Scott. A loner, like me. A reject. Donna and I connected by default, both having been exiled to the fringe, and because of our common interest in gaming. We both spent a great deal of time online.”
“This Donna Scott live in Charlotte?”
“Her family moved to L.A. the summer before our senior year. That’s when she came up with the plan.” Finney looked down at his hands. They were trembling. “Donna got the idea from GraveGrab. It’s a pretty cheesy game but she liked it, so we played. Basically, you run around a cemetery digging up graves and trying to avoid being killed by zombies.”
“What was Donna’s plan?” I asked.
“That we steal something from a grave. I didn’t think we’d pull it off, but I figured going to a cemetery would be a trip.” Finney drew a deep breath, exhaled through his nose. It sounded like air being forced through steel wool. “Donna was into the Goth scene. I wasn’t, but I liked spending time with her.”
“Did you carry through with the plan?” I asked.
Finney nodded. “Donna was excited about moving, but knew I was bummed. Her idea was that we’d split whatever we stole; she’d keep one half, and I’d keep the other. You know, the old trick where people write a note, or draw a map, then tear it in two. When you meet years later you match the halves. Donna said that way we’d stay spiritually connected.”
“What graveyard?” Slidell.
“Elmwood Cemetery.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago. August.”
“Talk about it.”
“Donna picked Elmwood because some old cowboy movie star is supposed to be buried there.”
“Randolph Scott?” I guessed.
“Yeah. Since her name was Scott she thought it would be cool to get something from him.”
Randolph Scott was male, white, and eighty-nine at the time of his death. That didn’t track with my profile of a young black female.
“Did you succeed?” I asked.
“No. We met for a midnight showing of
Finney’s eyes slid to his lawyer. Charlie nodded.
“We looked around for Scott’s grave, but couldn’t find it. Eventually, we stumbled onto an aboveground crypt, back in a different section, where there weren’t so many big, fancy tombstones. Seemed like a place we wouldn’t be spotted. The hinges were rusty. It took only a couple of shoves with the crowbar.”
“Was a name engraved on a marker?” I asked.
“I don’t remember. It was dark. Anyway, we went in, pried open a casket, grabbed a skull and a jaw and a couple of other bones, and ran. To be honest, I was pretty freaked by then, just wanted to be gone. Donna said I was being a candyass. She was psyched.”
“Let me be sure I got this straight. You’re saying you kept the jaw and Donna kept the rest?”
Finney nodded in answer to Slidell’s question.
“How’d Cuervo get the bones?”
“I don’t know.”
“You got contact information for Donna?”
“No. Her family moved right after that. She said she’d write or call, but she never did.”
“You never saw or talked to her again?”
Finney shook his head glumly.
“Who’s her old man?”
“Birch. Birch Alexander Scott.”
Slidell scribbled the name. Underlined it twice.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Silence crammed the small space. Finney broke it.
“Look. I was a messed-up kid. Four years ago, I discovered Wicca. For the first time, I’m accepted. People like me for who I am. I’m different now.”
“Sure,” Slidell said. “You’re Billy Friggin’ Graham.”
“Wicca is an Earth-oriented religion dedicated to a goddess and god.”
“Lucifer part of the lineup?”
“Because we embrace a belief system different from traditional Judeo-Christian theology, the ignorant believe we must also worship Satan. That if God is the sum of all good, there must be an equally negative being who is
