Maxfield colored as Delilah spoke. “The critics were jealous of my success. They’re just failed writers who couldn’t stand the idea of someone in his early twenties accomplishing something they could only dream of.”
“So the reviews were the product of some conspiracy?”
“I didn’t say that,” Maxfield snapped.
“Do you think these reviewers are part of a plot to frame you for all these murders?”
“Objection,” Swoboda said.
“Sustained,” Judge Shimazu ruled.
“Mr. Maxfield,” Delilah said, “you haven’t written a book in ten years, have you?”
“No.”
“Were you teaching at Eton College because you couldn’t earn a living writing anymore?”
“No, that is not correct. You don’t just manufacture literature like you do toasters. I enjoy teaching creative writing, and the job gave me time to write.”
“Didn’t your publisher give you an advance for a new book and demand it back because you couldn’t deliver?”
“We had creative differences.”
“I see. Is that why your publisher was threatening you with a lawsuit?”
“Objection,” Swoboda said.
“Sustained.”
“After so much early success, being a failed writer must be hard on you.”
“I am not a failed writer.”
“Weren’t you having trouble thinking up a plot for a new book?”
“I had several ideas. I was looking for the right one.”
“Doing research?”
“Yes.”
“Wanting to have all the little details right to make your scenes real for your readers?”
“Yes.”
“Committing horrible murders so you could paint an authentic torture scene for your readers?”
“No. I did not kill anyone.”
“Let’s talk about the boathouse, Mr. Maxfield. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes.”
“I want to make sure I have this right. You were out for a stroll in the forest when you heard a scream?”
“Yes.”
“Then you heard another scream?”
“Yes.”
“So you decided to investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s when you saw a man running away?”
“Yes.”
“That would be pretty important, wouldn’t it, this man running from the scene of the crime?”
“Yes.”
“I would imagine you’d want the police to know about that, especially when they were accusing you of murder and mayhem?”
Maxfield didn’t answer.
“Well, you did think it was important, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“The first time you came in contact with the police after you went on the lam was in Nebraska when you were arrested, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell the arresting officers about this man you saw running from the boathouse?”
“No. I was terrified. They had guns drawn, they were shouting at me.”
“What about when you calmed down?”
“They didn’t ask me any questions. They just put me in a cell.”
“You know Detectives Birch and Marx, right? They were the detectives who testified in court.”
Maxfield looked worried. “Yes.”
“Did Detectives Marx and Birch escort you back to Oregon from Nebraska after you waived extradition?”
“Yes.”
“But first they interviewed you in jail in Nebraska, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“You testified that you had a lot of time to think about what had happened after your arrest?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what you told the detectives about what happened at the boathouse?”
“Not word for word.”
A boom box was sitting on the floor next to counsel table. Delilah picked it up. She stood.
“Your Honor, may I have permission to play the short interview that the defendant gave Detectives Birch and Marx, to refresh Mr. Maxfield’s memory?”
“Objection, Your Honor. No foundation has been laid for this,” Swoboda said, anxious to keep the tape out of evidence. He knew what was on it and had tried to warn Maxfield, but his client wouldn’t listen to him.
“I agree with Mr. Swoboda, Your Honor,” Delilah said. “May I recall Detective Birch?”
The judge told Joshua Maxfield to retake his seat at the defense table and Larry Birch went into the witness box.
“Detective Birch, you’re already under oath,” the judge said. “Miss Wallace, you may proceed.”
“Detective Birch, after the defendant was arrested in Nebraska, did he waive extradition?”
“Yes.”
“How did he get back here?”
“My partner, Tony Marx, and I flew to Nebraska, and the authorities turned over the defendant to us. Detective Marx and I then flew back with the prisoner.”
“Prior to returning to Oregon, did you interview the defendant?”
“Yes.”
“Where did the interview take place?”
“In an interview room at the jail where the defendant was being held.”
“What was the defendant’s condition?”
“He looked rested. We asked if he wanted something to eat or drink. He asked for a sandwich and soft drink and we provided them to him.”
“Did you read the defendant his Miranda rights before questioning him?”
“Yes.”
“Was the interview recorded?”
“Yes.”
Delilah stood up. She was holding a plastic evidence bag. Inside it was a cassette.
“Detective Birch, have you reviewed the interview on this tape?”
“Yes.”
“Is it the interview of the defendant that you conducted in Nebraska?”
“Yes.”
“Your Honor,” Delilah said, “I move to introduce this cassette tape of Detective Birch’s interview into evidence.”
“Mr. Swoboda?” Judge Shimazu asked.
Maxfield’s lawyer could not think of a way to keep the tape from being played. When he did not object, Judge Shimazu gave Delilah permission to play the tape. She put the cassette in the boom box and pressed the PLAY button. The jurors heard Birch introduce himself and Tony Marx and read Maxfield the Miranda rights. There was some discussion about food and drink. Then Birch asked Maxfield if he minded if their conversation was recorded.
“What does it matter what I want? You’re going to do what you want. That’s what I learned in here. I’m the prisoner. I have no rights.”
“Hey, Josh…”
“Joshua.”
“I stand corrected. You have rights. This is America. Didn’t I just read you a card listing several constitutional rights?”
“That’s just to get me to talk.”
“Well, that’s true. But you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, and I won’t record this conversation unless you say it’s okay. I’m taping this for your benefit. This way, if I misrepresent what you say, you’ve got this tape to prove me wrong.”
“Okay. Keep taping.”
“You’ve had some wild days, Joshua.”
No reply.
“What made you choose Nebraska as a hideout?”
No reply.
“You’ve got to answer for the tape. We can’t hear a shrug on the tape.”
“I just drove.”
“Well, you led us on a merry chase. I’ll give you that. But I should have expected that from someone with your imagination. I’ve read your book.”
“You have?”
“Hey, not all cops are dumb. I read A Tourist in Babylon as soon as it came out. Everybody was reading that book. I thought it was great. My wife did, too. We were both disappointed that you’re in this mess.”
“I am not in a mess. I didn’t hurt those women.”
“We have a witness who says you did.”
“Ashley Spencer, right? Poor kid. She must be devastated. First, her father. Now, her mother.”
“She says that you killed her mother and assaulted Casey Van Meter.”
“I’m sure she believes what she’s told you, but it’s not true.”
“If you didn’t attack those women, who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“You see our problem? Ashley says she saw you holding a bloody knife.”
“Yes, but I didn’t kill anyone with it. I picked it up to protect myself. When I came into the boathouse the women had already been attacked. I thought that the killer might still be in the boathouse.