Skin Deep

34

By the time Steve pulled into headquarters Neil had gone home. Spent by the interrogation, he had taken the rest of the day off.

But Reardon was in his office. “Pendergast’s in central lockup,” he said. “Monday he’ll be in court, and all’s right with the world.”

“Did you see the video?”

“The important parts. We got him. He’s going down.”

Reardon’s face was waxed with joy. He had something for the D.A. Steve latched onto his grin like a drowning man to a life vest. “Guess I should take a look if we’re going to court.”

“Be my guest.” From a pile of stuff on his desk Reardon handed him a CD.

Steve went to his office where he could watch it without interruption, his brain still on tilt.

The interrogation, which took place in the interrogation room on the second floor, had begun around nine that Friday morning and ended at one thirty with two brief breaks for Pendergast and Neil to use the toilet and have some takeout lunch.

Early on Neil sat across a small table from Pendergast. But he soon took to his feet, at times pacing and gesticulating with his hands, other times standing directly in front of Pendergast, his face pressed inches away. The tightness of the space created a forced intimacy as well as point-blank menace designed to create emotional confusion for a suspect.

From the onset Pendergast looked tired and distraught, even spacey. At times he didn’t seem to understand the questions and asked for repeats. He also muttered responses. At one point when Neil wasn’t looking he fingered a pill from his breast pocket and slipped it into his mouth.

Neil got them each a bottle of water. Then without any effort to put him at ease, he went right for the blood spot. “You’re on record saying you knew Terry Farina from the Mermaid Lounge. You also said you dated her. I want you to tell me about how many times that was.”

“Just once.”

“And when was that?”

“About three weeks ago.”

“And what did you do?”

“What did we do? W-we went to dinner then to the Regatta Bar in Harvard Square.”

“Did you pick her up at her place?”

“Yes. She met me at the door downstairs.”

“So you didn’t go up to her apartment.”

“No. I rang the bell and she came down.”

“Was the door locked—the outside downstairs door?”

“I guess. I didn’t try it.”

“And after the Regatta Bar then what?”

“I drove her home and that was it.”

“Did you go up to her apartment?”

“No, I just walked her to the door.”

“And said, ‘Good night,’ but didn’t go up.”

Pendergast nodded. “Yes.”

“And you still maintain that position?”

Pendergast nodded again.

Neil nodded back. “Uh-huh. The reason I ask is that our crime scene technicians found your fingerprints in Terry Farina’s apartment, including on a bottle of Oregon Pinot Gris and a wineglass. You want to tell me how they got there?”

Pendergast’s eyes fluttered for a moment, then he said, “Okay, I’m sorry, I went up for a glass of wine, but it was no big deal I swear, and it was just that once.”

“Well, Earl, I appreciate your being truthful. Thank you.” Neil had switched to Sergeant Good Guy. “Now we’re being honest with each other, and that’s good. Frankly, Earl, I can understand why you held back. I mean, you’re a popular professor and noted scholar, and given your situation, you wouldn’t want to be seen in the wrong company. If that were me, I’d feel the same way. I wouldn’t want it to get out.”

Pendergast looked at him with apprehension. “There’s no chance of that, is there?”

“If you’re innocent you can trust me it won’t leave this station.”

“I’m innocent.”

“Then you’re golden. So how many other dates did you have with her?”

“That was it.”

“Other visits to her apartment?”

“That was it. She was interested in going to grad school, and I was trying to encourage her.”

Neil stared at him hard. “Let me get this straight. You wanted to see her quit the pole, but you’re a strip-club junkie and one of her groupies. Isn’t that something of a contradiction, Earl?”

Steve could hear the furnace firing up.

“I suppose, but I think she liked stripping but wanted to become a psychologist.”

“Why do you think that was? Why dance naked for a bunch of strangers?”

“The money.”

“Yeah, the money.” Neil rubbed his face as if removing a mask. “Let me ask you this. When you were up there in her apartment, did you ever go into her bedroom?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Yes, never.”

“So, you confined your visit to what, the living room?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you wander into the kitchen or other rooms, or maybe she showed you around?”

“Maybe the bathroom, but that was it.”

“Good.” Pendergast took a swig of water and in a sympathetic ploy Neil did also. “The problem is your fingerprints were found on the headboard of her bed where she was murdered.”

Pendergast flinched. “That’s impossible. I was never in her bedroom.”

“Bullshit. You were in there the night she died.”

“No, I wasn’t. I swear.”

Neil bore down on him. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”

Pendergast looked more confused than frightened. The news accounts of her death made clear that she had not been sexually molested. “No. I never…had sex with her.”

He began to push himself away when Neil slammed the table with the flat of his hand. “Tell me the truth, you little creep, you had sex with her.”

Pendergast froze. “N-no, never. I swear.”

“How many times?”

“N-never.”

Neil hung over him like a boulder. “Look me in the eye and tell me you never had sex with her.”

“N-never, and I swear on my life.”

“But you were in her bedroom because that’s where you killed her.”

“No. I was never in her bedroom. And I didn’t kill her. I swear.”

“You also swore you’d never been to her place. So how am I supposed to believe you now, huh?”

“I-I mean it. But that was weeks ago and nothing happened. We sat on the couch and had wine and talked. That was it. I was there for maybe an hour. If I admitted it, you’d be more suspicious. But I never stepped foot in her bedroom.”

“Then you did it on the couch.”

“No, we only talked.”

“You mean to say you watched her spread her legs a hundred times on the bar and you didn’t want to dive in?”

“I was attracted to her, but she said she didn’t want to get involved with anyone, that she had broken up with a guy and just wanted to hang loose.”

“Hang loose, right. She go down on you on the couch?”

“No, we only talked about her going back to school.”

The video went on like this for another half hour, but Pendergast would not yield in spite of Neil’s dogged attempts to get him to admit to having had sex with Terry. Neil then shifted tactics. “You come clean with me and I promise to make this easy for you, okay? You’re not here by accident. This is serious shit, because we’ve got more matched-up evidence.” He glared at him to let it sink in. “We found both your prints and your DNA on her bed.”

“What DNA?”

“Your hair.”

“That can’t be. I was never in her bedroom. It must have gotten in there some other way—on her clothes or the laundry. Or…”

“Or what? Somebody planted it? Is that what you were going to say?”

Pendergast looked too terrified to respond.

“You think the police broke into your apartment, removed hairs from your brush then headed off to the lab to stuff the evidence bags. That what you’re hinting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Listen to me, buddy, nobody planted a fucking thing. Okay? Your hair was on the sheets they brought to the state crime lab. Your hair. Your genetic marker. Period.”

Pendergast started to get up again. “I’ve had enough.”

“You leave, and you’re not going to want to see the evening news.”

“You’re threatening me.”

“I’m asking you to tell me the truth.”

“I told you the truth.”

“Bullshit.”

“If you’re going to continue interrogating me, I want a lawyer. That’s my constitutional right.”

Neil looked at him blankly, knowing full well that he was obligated by law to provide Pendergast the opportunity for counsel, but he said nothing. Instead, he left the room for more than fifteen minutes, during which time Pendergast squirmed in his seat, got up, went to the door and listened, then opened it, closed it again, and returned to the table, where he rested his head on his arms. Clearly he was too intimidated by Neil’s threats of exposure to walk. He also seemed determined to convince Neil that he was neither a lover of Farina nor her murderer.

Steve paused the DVD and went out for another coffee.