11th hour

Chapter 81

I knocked on the door to Interview 1 and when Conklin stepped outside, I asked him to get Kerr to go through the whole story again for Frank’s benefit.

Frank and I went into the observation room and watched the interview.

Connie asked Conklin, “When can I go home?”

Conklin said, “I just want to make sure I’ve got your story straight.”

Kerr told the story again, but this time she added new details about the morning the heads were found: her routine on awakening, her rituals and habits, how she’d made up the wall bed and brewed a special Manchurian tea. Finally she got to the part where she heard the sirens and peeked through her back window.

Then, weirdly, she began telling the story from the third-person point of view.

“She saw the caretakers and the police standing outside the back door and the skulls were there and she thought, Mercy. This is a day like no other.”

“What are you doing, Connie?” Conklin asked her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who’s the she who thought the day was like no other?”

“I was trying it on as if Emma had seen it — you know, Inspector, the character in my current work. Emma is very perceptive, but naturally she doesn’t know any more than I do. I would love to hear your theory of the case. I think you could really help me with my book.”

I said to Frank, “What are your thoughts? Is she playing us?”

“She’s playacting for sure, but her nuttiness neither confirms nor eliminates her as the killer. I will say this. Based on my ten minutes of observation, I think she’s going to great lengths to hide something. Could be related to this case, could be something else she doesn’t want anyone to know.”

I laughed, said, “Brilliant analysis, Frank. Thanks a lot.”

He laughed too. “Yeah, what did you expect? That I can unwrap her crazy little mind in ten minutes?”

On the other side of the glass, Conklin was still trying to pry something useful out of Connie Kerr.

“Connie, your friend who brings you food. Who is it?”

“Ahhh,” she said dramatically. “Is he a man with a past? Or is it a lady friend she doesn’t want to expose?”

“Connie, this isn’t helping you.”

“I don’t have to tell you all my secrets. And I won’t. If I’m not under arrest, I want to go home. You can’t keep me here without probable cause.”

Conklin sat back and said without any malice, “You’re wrong, Connie. I can book you for trespassing, for theft of services, for obstruction of justice.”

“Listen,” Kerr said, slapping the table and leaning toward Conklin. “You’re wrong about the trespassing and all the rest. Tommy Oliver knows that I live in number six and he’s known it for years. I’m sure he has told Harry Chandler.”

“Tommy Oliver? Is that T. Lawrence Oliver? Harry Chandler’s driver?”

“Yes. Tommy hooked up my electricity. He fixed the locks.”

“Okay. We’re holding you as a material witness while we check out your story, talk to a few people, and so forth. The law gives us forty-eight hours.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. I’m doing it. Please stand up.”

“I demand to make my phone call.”

“Not a problem.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Of course. By the way, we don’t have single-occupancy accommodations here, so you’re going to be sharing a cell with some other ladies. If you remember something helpful about the boneyard underneath your window, please reach out to me, Connie. I’ll be happy to talk to you anytime.”