The Lost Years

63

When Richard Callahan arrived at the receptionist desk of the prosecutor’s office, Detectives Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez were waiting for him. After a curt greeting, they escorted him to an interrogation room at the end of the hall. Without referring to specific details, Simon coldly explained to him that, based upon certain developments that had occurred since they had initially asked him to give a statement, they now believed it would be appropriate to read him his Miranda rights.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to consult with an attorney… If you do choose to speak, you can decide to stop the questioning at any time.”

“I don’t need a lawyer and I do want to talk to you,” Richard Callahan said firmly. “That’s why I’m here. I am going to tell you the exact truth and we’ll take it from there.”

The detectives looked him over carefully. He was wearing a long-sleeved light-blue shirt, a sleeveless sweater, tan gabardine pants, and leather loafers. His features, strong and attractive, and dominated by intense blue eyes and a firm chin, had a calm but determined expression. His full head of salt-and-pepper hair had recently been trimmed.

Benet and Rodriguez had done a full background check on him. Thirty-four years old. The only child of two prominent cardiologists. Raised on Park Avenue. Attended Saint David’s School, Regis Academy, and Georgetown University. Two doctorates from Catholic University, one in Bible history, the other in theology. Entered the Jesuits at age twenty-six and left the order after a year. Currently teaching Bible history and philosophy at Fordham University. This guy was raised on Park Avenue, went to private schools, and wouldn’t know anything about applying for a school loan, Benet thought.

Annoyed at himself, but unable to shut off that sentiment, Benet continued his introspection about the man he now strongly considered to be a person of interest in the apparent disappearance of Lillian Stewart. He’s dressed like a guy coming out of a country club. He sure didn’t get those clothes at a discount store.

Simon Benet thought of his wife, Tina. She loved to read those captions in fashion magazines. “‘Understated elegance.’ ‘Saturday-night casual.’ They’re talking about us, honey,” she would joke.

Callahan reeks of privilege, Benet thought. When he was around people like Richard, he recognized that he would become momentarily envious and painfully aware of his own hardscrabble background. College at night. Police officer at twenty-three. Years of working those midnight shifts and holidays. Detective at thirty-eight after getting shot during a robbery. Three great kids but school loans that would take him years to pay off.

Never mind all that. I’m a damn lucky guy, he reminded himself. Ready to shut his mind off from any more distractions, he began his questioning of Richard.

“Where were you yesterday at nine thirty A.M., Mr. Callahan?” Benet asked. Two hours later, he, Rita, and Richard were still going back over every detail of his account of his activities.

“As I have told you,” Richard repeated, “or to reiterate again,” he added with a touch of sarcasm, “I was downtown in the office of my trustee at nine o’clock and spent the entire day hanging around outside the building and calling Lillian constantly.”

“Is there anyone who can verify what you’re telling us?”

“Not really. Around five o’clock I finally left and stopped in at my parents’ apartment.”

“And you claim that you are not aware that Lillian Stewart got off the subway at the Chambers Street station shortly after nine thirty yesterday morning, just about the time you were supposedly hanging around outside your trustee’s office nearby?”

“No, I have no idea when or where Lillian may have gotten out of the subway. You can check her cell phone. I called her every half hour all day and I also left messages on the landline in her apartment.”

“What do you think may have happened to her?” Rita asked, her voice concerned and thoughtful, in direct and intentional contrast to Simon’s hostile tone.

“Lillian told me that she had other offers for the sacred parchment. I believed her. I tried to convince her that whoever wanted to pay her illegally might get caught someday and she could end up in prison for selling stolen property. I told her that if she sold it to me, I would never tell anyone that I had gotten it from her.”

“And what would you have done with the parchment, Mr. Callahan?” Benet asked, his own voice sarcastic and disbelieving.

“I would have given it back to the Vatican, where it belongs.”

“You say you have something around two million, three hundred thousand dollars in your trust fund? Why didn’t you offer all of it to Lillian Stewart? Maybe that extra three hundred thousand dollars might have made a difference.”

“I would hope that you can understand that I wanted to have something left of my trust fund for my own life. And it would not have made a difference,” Richard said emphatically. “I was appealing to Lillian on two levels to sell it to me. First, the fact that it would be in both her best interest and mine for her to receive the money as a gift, since I am allowed under tax law to give away that amount of money without penalties. I told her that I would be returning the parchment to the Vatican. I said that I didn’t think that there would be any further stolen property investigation that she would have to worry about. I would simply say that the person who had had it was afraid to admit it to anyone but me.

“My other plea to her was that I knew that she and Jonathan loved each other very much. He trusted her with that parchment. I told her that she owed it to him to see that it was returned to the Vatican Library. I said that if we did it this way, she would have money for the future and I would take care of the rest of it.”

Richard stood up. “As of now, I have been answering the same questions for over two hours. Am I free to leave?”

“Yes, you are, Mr. Callahan,” Benet said. “But we will be in touch with you shortly. You’re not planning to take any trips or otherwise leave the immediate area, are you?”

“For the most part I will be at home. You have my address. I am going absolutely nowhere, unless here in New Jersey you consider the Bronx to be outside of the immediate area.”

Richard paused, by now clearly upset. “I am very concerned that a woman I consider to be a friend is missing. I am completely floored that you obviously think that I had something to do with her disappearance. I assure you that I will be available to you at any hour of the day or night until the first day of class next week and then I will be in my lecture hall at Fordham University on the Rose Hill campus. If necessary, you can reach me there.”

He turned and walked out of the interrogation room, forcibly closing the door behind him.

Benet and Rodriguez looked at each other. “What do you think?” Benet asked.

“He’s either completely truthful or completely lying,” Rita said. “I don’t think there’s any in-between.”

“My gut says that he’s an accomplished liar,” Benet declared. “He claims he was hanging around all day outside an office until five o’clock, when he left to go to Mommy and Daddy’s Park Avenue apartment. Come on, Rita, get real.”

“Should we get him back tomorrow and see if he’ll take a lie-detector test?” Rita asked. “The way we talked to him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he lawyered up.”

“Let’s check with Peter about any polygraph. I’m not sure what he’s going to want to do.”