The Borzoi Killings

37.

Bo Halsey actually smiled as he sat across the scratched wooden table from Gary Upchurch and Vanessa Strong, who tersely had introduced themselves as Assistant United States Attorneys leading a criminal investigation. They were in their mid-thirties. Santangello and Arena stood behind them. Halsey had often used this bleak and windowless room as the place where he interrogated men and women.

“Hey, guys, I guess I’m under arrest,” Halsey said.

Upchurch responded, “To be honest with you, Mr. Halsey, you should be aware of the fact that you are the target of a federal criminal investigation that was initiated when the video was released. We have reliable information that you saw this video months ago and instructed someone who worked for you to hide it. So you’re the target of a federal criminal investigation for obstruction of justice.”

“Hot shit.”

“You don’t have to speak with us today. You know that, don’t you?”

“Do you think I need a twelve-year-old to tell me that?”

Upchurch glanced at Vanessa Strong. He didn’t respond to Halsey. Instead, he gave a signal to Santangello to open a laptop and turn the screen toward Bo. On the small screen the scene of Cerullo and Cohen, who stumbled around almost like comic characters in a silent movie, was played from start to finish, a span of no more than three minutes. At several points they were crawling on the floor, rear ends up in the air like clowns. At other points they were glancing furtively around the room in search of cameras. And, through most of the video, they were carrying packets of cash.

The video already had more than a million hits on YouTube.

“When did you first see this?” asked Vanessa Strong, an attractive black woman with blonde-streaked dreadlocks.

Halsey was still grinning. “Wrong question, fella. It’s not when, it’s if. Never saw this Keystone Cops routine until it came up on the Internet.”

“Are you sure?” Upchurch asked.

“Does the sun come up in the east?”

“Maybe,” Strong said, “you should think about that. Lying to federal agents, even if you’re not under oath, is a crime.”

“You know what I know? A gook with spiky hair has told you he showed me this. He’s lying.”

“Why would he do that?” Upchurch asked.

“Why would flies buzz around shit? Have you ever heard that people who work for you are either at your feet, kissing them, or at your throat, trying to strangle you? Maybe he’s got grievances because I have more hair than he does.”

Vanessa Strong said, “Maybe you should think about your answer again. Take your time.”

“Let me tell you something: all I’m thinking about is why you would waste your time treating me like this. Do you think that anybody is going to believe him? I’ve been around a long, long time. Nobody but nobody has ever said I lifted a pencil from the office and took it home.”

“Ang Tien took a lie detector test yesterday,” Upchurch said.

“Let me guess? He passed.”

“How would you like to help yourself,” Strong said, “and take a lie detector test?”

Halsey repeated words that he had often heard when he was interrogating people in this room. “How’d you like to take a good flying fuck for yourself?”