Bodies in Winter

THIRTY

Ellen Lodge’s eyes dropped to her hands and her shoulders slumped. For a moment I thought she was going to cave in, right then and there. I looked over at Adele, who gave me a surreptitious thumb’s-up.

‘You haven’t even read me my rights,’ Ellen finally announced without raising her head. ‘Not even that.’

But I wasn’t biting. ‘Why don’t we back up, Ellen, and not waste our breath. I asked you a simple question. Have you been in contact with Tony Szarek since he retired?’

As Ellen Lodge might have walked off earlier, she might have chosen, at that moment, to keep her mouth shut. I certainly wasn’t prepared to force her to speak, despite my earlier refusal to leave, and I’m sure she knew it. But Ellen was a woefully inexperienced villain in a very tight spot. What did I know? What facts had I uncovered? How deep was the hole in which she now stood? She just had to find out.

‘Why don’t we skip the bullshit?’ she suggested, finally raising her head to meet my eyes. ‘Why don’t we get to the bottom line?’

‘Why won’t you answer the question I asked? Have you had any contact with Tony Szarek since he retired? It’s so simple. All you have to say is yes or no.’

‘Yes, then.’ Having made the initial admission, Ellen couldn’t slow her momentum, offering an explanation I hadn’t requested. ‘I just thought that it didn’t really matter. I mean, it’s not like we were friends. And Tony was dead, for God’s sake. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Davy’s…’ Though her lips continued to move, Ellen was unable to say the last word. Another good sign.

‘Then you knew Szarek was dead?’

‘Yeah, I knew.’

‘Did you also know that he was murdered?’

‘I still don’t know that he was murdered.’

‘Oh, he was murdered alright.’ I placed my finger against my temple. ‘When you shoot yourself from this position, two things happen. First, you get blood on your hand and wrist. This is called blowback. Second, the hand holding the gun becomes contaminated with the residue of the exploding primer and the gunpowder. Neither of these things happened to Szarek’s hand. That means he didn’t fire the gun himself.’

‘The medical examiner called it suicide,’ she insisted.

‘You’re clinging to a straw. The ME’s finding of probable suicide was preliminary. Now that the lab reports are in, the case has been officially reopened.’

I watched Ellen react to the lies, her right knee taking a series of little hops before she brought herself under control. Momentarily, I considered firing off the best shots in my arsenal. But it was still too early and I told her the story of DuWayne Spott instead, recounting the portrait drawn by my witnesses of a hapless addict clinging to the fringes of the criminal underworld. When I finished, I asked Ellen a series of questions.

‘How do you think DuWayne Spott found out when Davy was being released from prison? How do you think he found out where Davy was going to stay? How do you think he found out when Davy was going to leave your house that morning?’

Though I paused between each question, Ellen didn’t reply. Finally I asked, ‘Can you see how thin it is? I’m talking about the whole business, Ellen. It can’t hold up.’

‘Is there a question here?’

In fact, there was, but as it was purely rhetorical, I simply continued on. ‘That’s three murders, Ellen. Tony Szarek, DuWayne Spott, David Lodge. And then there’s that phone call you made just as Davy walked out the door. You said it went to a wrong number, that you were calling a friend. Who was the friend? What number did you intend to dial?’

‘I don’t even remember any more. That was weeks ago.’

‘Is that what you’re prepared to tell a jury? “I dialed the wrong number. I don’t remember the number I meant to dial”?’ I shook my head. ‘One thing you might want to consider. Any lie told to the police can be used against you. That you didn’t know Tony Szarek, for example. Or that you were kicked out of the great cop family. Strange, isn’t it, that you’re now sharing a financial bed with Justin Whitlock and Dante Russo? And how about your insistence that Davy told you that he’d been targeted by Clarence Spott’s crew, but somehow never spoke of his innocence? I’ve met the prison psychiatrist, by the way. I assure you that he’ll make an excellent witness when the time comes.’

But the time hadn’t come, a fact of life driven home when the doorbell rang downstairs. Ellen Lodge slid forward, preparing to rise. I reached out to stop her.

‘That’s my sister,’ she announced. ‘We’re havin’ dinner together.’

I’d been startled by the bell and was still a bit disoriented, even though I’d told myself, going in, that I wouldn’t get the hours I needed to break Ellen Lodge, not on the first go-round. Nevertheless, the timing was all wrong. I wanted Ellen utterly vulnerable, a prey animal exhausted by the chase, but I knew she was feeling almost giddy. The weight was off. She’d escaped. No matter that the points I’d raised still hung above her head, sharp as daggers. For now, for this minute, she’d triumphed.

‘Detective Bentibi,’ I said, ‘would you let Ellen’s sister know that Ellen will be momentarily delayed?’

The bell rang for a second time, a steady clang that reminded me of the fire bell at PS 34 where I’d spent six miserable years. Adele rose without a word and left the room, the sound of her steps quickly fading as she negotiated the stairs.

‘Am I under arrest?’ Ellen finally asked.

‘That’s a little too dramatic, don’t you think? I just have one more question, anyway. A question and a suggestion.’

‘And which comes first?’

‘The question.’

‘Fire away.’

‘How could you have been stupid enough to allow yourself to become an officer at Greenpoint Carton Supply? I mean, first you have Dante Russo, who was Davy’s partner when Clarence Spott was killed. Then you have Justin Whitlock, who gave Dante an alibi. Then you have Tony Szarek, who put Davy alone with the prisoner. All of them involved in Greenpoint Carton? It makes sense, in a way. But you? Ellen Lodge? What the fuck are you doing there?’

I wasn’t surprised when Ellen Lodge winced. Nor was I surprised when she recovered. Under ideal circumstances, she might have broken down at that point. By connecting her finances to the very people her husband blamed for his imprisonment, I’d saddled her with a motive for his murder.

‘And what’s the advice?’ she asked after a minute. ‘Make a full confession?’

‘My advice is to start looking out for yourself before it’s too late. In order to do that, you need to accept your vulnerability. I know Dante told you it was all over, that the case was closed. But that’s not what’s happening. No more than Tony Szarek’s death is going down as a suicide.’

‘That’s it?’

‘No, I want you to realize that you’re in danger, that another murder doesn’t mean anything at this point, that you’re the weakest link in the chain, that you can’t protect yourself.’

‘And the cops will protect me?’ She waved off my confirming nod. ‘Protect me in return for exactly what, detective? For a full confession? Well, excuse me if I point out that we’re goin’ around in circles.’

The breeze suddenly died out and the curtains dropped into place before the window. Ellen was running a finger over the raised edges of a small embroidered rose on the arm of her chair. Though she refused to look at me, I could feel the anger and resentment building again. I had maybe ten seconds before the dam burst.

‘It all depends on how it happened,’ I explained. ‘If you didn’t know Davy was gonna be clipped when you made that phone call, if maybe you thought he was just gonna be spoken to, then you’re a double victim. You lost your husband and you were set up to take the heat for his murder. Hell, you might even escape prosecution altogether.’

Ellen shot to her feet and pushed past me. I let her go, satisfied that I’d done the best I could under difficult circumstances. I was still congratulating myself when she marched back across the room, stopping two feet away from my chest. Ellen was a small woman and she had to crane her head back to glare up at me. She wasn’t intimidated, though. She was pissed.

‘Tell me something, detective. You know what Davy was like on the street. You’ve listened to all the stories. So, do you think David Lodge kept his hands to himself when he came home at night?’ She pointed at a small, crescent-shaped scar partially concealed by the hair covering her right temple. ‘I got scars from Davy. I got a shoulder that dislocates once a month. I got fractured ribs. And don’t tell me I should’ve walked out, not unless you know what the barrel of a gun tastes like.’ She grinned, a parting of her lips not far removed from a snarl. ‘Do you know what gun metal tastes like? Do you? It’s sour, detective, and it makes your fillings tingle.’

By this time, she was jabbing me with her finger. I didn’t protest. The interview was over and I knew the effort would cost her in the long run. Besides, I wasn’t the good guy here. By targeting Ellen Lodge, I was definitely putting her life at risk.

‘I was seventeen when I met Davy. He was twenty-three and already a cop. I felt so safe in his arms, like nothing bad could ever happen to me. Stupid, right? We weren’t even married a year before he started hitting the bottle and hitting me, too. Answer me this, detective, what’s the penalty for enslavement? What’s the penalty for taking someone’s whole life away from them? Wasn’t I entitled to the same dreams as anybody else?’

She stopped there, her whole body quivering with tension. When I didn’t respond, she said, ‘As far as I’m concerned, David Lodge got exactly what he deserved. No matter who actually killed him.’