I guess he figured possession was nine points of the law, or something. I turned away and put my hands behind my back. Shortly after that I felt handcuffs going on. It wasn’t the first time I had felt them, but this time it seemed a lot more significant.
I just stood there silently while the circus came to town. Next on the scene was a Baltimore County Police car, followed closely by an ambulance. Maybe the coroner wasn’t coming; maybe they only got the body after the hospital pronounced it dead. The ambulance guys didn’t waste more than ten seconds determining Hamilton didn’t need their professional talents, so they just sat down in the living room while more cops showed up.
Next up was a Baltimore County Police sergeant, who knew something about the case, and who argued I should be turned over to them. No dice. I was probably a valuable bargaining chip for the Troopers, so I got hustled out the door and put into the Trooper car. I sat there, mute, for another ten minutes while the sergeant and the Trooper argued, and then the Trooper solved the problem by driving me over to the barracks in Westminster.
I gave my name to the cops in the barracks, again, and was dumped into a holding cell. John would have to dig me up there. It turned out he didn’t. Before he ever showed, the sergeant and a lieutenant from the Baltimore County Police showed up, and they got custody of me. I was recuffed and loaded into a Police car and driven down to Towson. That was fine with me; Towson was where Carstans was based and I suspected he was going to be involved in this mess very quickly.
I waited in the holding cell in Towson about three hours before I was yanked out and taken to an interrogation room. Inside I found Carstans, a Baltimore County Police lieutenant, a Maryland State Trooper sergeant, John Steiner, and another man I had never met before. Almost immediately as I showed up, the sergeant and the lieutenant started arguing again over who had possession of me. I was cuffed to the table.
Carstans slipped around them and came over to me. He asked, “Was it your brother who did all this?”
I was on the verge of answering when I felt John’s hand on my shoulder. “We need to talk to our client.” I just looked over my shoulder at him and nodded. The unknown man next to John must have been another lawyer.
Carstans just nodded and muttered an assent. He went to the door and knocked on it, and it opened. The sergeant and the lieutenant kept arguing as they went out the door.
Once we were alone, John sat down. “How are you doing, Carl?”
“Okay, I guess. Better than Hamilton is doing.” I turned to the other fellow and asked, “Who are you?”
John answered for him. “This is Robert DeAngelis. He’s a criminal attorney here in Towson, probably the best in the county.”
“Mister Buckman,” he said by way of greeting.
“Pleased to meet you. I’d shake your hand but, well…” I rattled my handcuffs and smiled at him. I turned back to John. “A criminal attorney? You can’t handle this?”
“It’s one thing for me to dig you out of a school fight when you’re thirteen. It’s quite different when you’ve killed somebody. You need him, Carl.”
I turned back to DeAngelis. I shrugged and said, “Nothing personal. Welcome aboard. Has John told you what’s been going on in my life?”
DeAngelis had a pleasant baritone and a look of confidence and surety. He probably did great with juries, especially if they had a lot of women on them. “Yes, but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, have they processed you into the system yet? Fingerprints, photographs, that sort of thing? Have you been booked yet?”
“No. I’ve just been sitting in a cell since I got here. I think they’re still trying to figure out who owns me,” I answered.
He smiled at that. “That actually makes things a touch simpler. Now, I want you to tell me what has happened, right from the start. Just imagine I’ve never heard of you or your case, and have never talked to anybody about you. Start from the beginning.”
For the next hour and a half, I went through everything with the pair of them, starting with the night Becky called the cops the night of the reunion. About halfway through the talk, there was a rap on the door and Detective Carstans came in. “Any idea when we can talk?” he asked.
DeAngelis answered, “We’ll let you know,” dismissing him.
Carstans snorted and smiled. “You just do that. By the way, for the time being, you belong to us. That can always change, though, so be nice to me.” He left and I finished my tale.
One interesting thing that DeAngelis asked about several times was the knife that Hamilton had carried. “And you say that it wasn’t your knife? It wasn’t a kitchen knife or something like that?”
“No, no way. It looked to me like a Bowie knife or something. It was ridiculous, way too big to be useful. Besides, I know the knives around the house, it was nothing like them.”
“How so?” he asked.
“Well, there’s the butter knives in the kitchen, and the steak knives, and the kitchen knives — you know paring knives and chef’s knives and stuff. I got them all as a set, you know what I mean?” He nodded and I continued. “Other than that, I have a pocket knife, a Buck knife with a lockback blade. That’s in my bedroom right now. In the den I have a couple of Gerber combat knives, including a mini-knife I use as a letter opener, but they’re nothing like what he had with him.”
He quizzed me some more about the knife and also the timing of his visit today. I also had John tell him some more about the security company who was watching over Marilyn and Charlie.
The one thing I left out was that Hamilton was on the verge of leaving, when I called him back and shot him. I knew enough to know that if I said he was advancing towards me, I could call itself self defense. What really happened, which was just as much a case of self defense to my mind, would probably be called murder. I would have to take those last few seconds to the grave with me. Hamilton would probably meet me in hell to exact his revenge.
I asked a question. “When can I call Marilyn and let her know what happened?”
“Maybe later today. She won’t be able to come home, though. Right now your house is a crime scene,” said John.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Still, she’ll be better knowing this is over. Do we talk to the cop now?”
John looked at DeAngelis, who nodded. John went to the door and knocked on it. The door was opened and John spoke to whoever was on the other side. The door shut again and we waited another ten minutes for Carstans to show up. He had a thick folder with him.
First, however, John said, “Let’s get the cuffs off our client first. You know him by now. He’s not a flight risk and he’s not dangerous.”
Carstans shrugged. “Probably not. Try not to run on me, Carl. I’d hate to let the Staties shoot you.” He undid my cuffs.
I immediately stretched and then rubbed my wrists. “Thanks, Lew,” I said to him.
“You want to tell me what happened now?” he asked.
I glanced over at DeAngelis, who nodded, and told Carstans everything. He already knew about the firebomb attack, and how I had sent my family away for safety. He also knew I had owned the Colt. He hadn’t been out to the house, but the reports were already filtering back that the bullets went in the front, so it wasn’t like I had chased Hamilton down and shot him in the back. DeAngelis stressed several times that any knife found needed to be examined and possession needed to be determined, and how it wasn’t my knife. If Hamilton was the owner of the knife and brought it into my house, it was case closed, self defense.
“When can our client be released?” asked DeAngelis.
Carstans stared at him. “That’s a very good question, counselor. I’m not even sure he’s going to be released.”