He had to half-drag me to his car. Not because I was fighting him, but because I couldn’t. Stunned, semiconscious, and bleeding, was no match for him. When we reached the Mercedes, he popped the trunk and shoved me inside. I had only a second to register the fact that there was already a body in it. Bennett Walker.
Chapter 58
Edward Estes declined to speculate as to the whereabouts of his client.
“You might want to give him a call,” Landry said in a voice filled with magnanimous sarcasm. “Give him the heads-up. As a courtesy from the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office.”
He left Paulson to deal with the attorney.
“Every cop in the county is looking for Walker’s car,” Weiss said as they walked away from the house. “We’ve got the airports covered.”
“What about the marinas? Walker races boats. If he can get to a marina, he can be down the coast in a hurry.”
“I’ll notify the Coast Guard,” Weiss said. “You know Estes is gonna try to say the phone was planted.”
“He can say whatever he wants. We’ve got the discovery on videotape. No jury in this neck of the woods is going to believe the poor-little-rich-boy routine a second time around.”
His phone rang. He grabbed it. Dugan.
“I’m just saying,” Weiss went on.
“Save it,” Landry said, snapping the phone shut. “Let’s go break his alibi. Barbaro is waiting for us.”
The Spaniard sat in the interview room, waiting. Landry watched him through the one-way glass. He appeared calm and relaxed, not like a man about to rat out his best friend on a murder. He ran a hand back through his hair, checked his watch, casually drummed his fingers on the table. He looked confident.
Landry turned to Dugan. “You got that thing working?” The voice-stress-analysis machine-it had a yard-long name Landry had never bothered to learn-would pick up on the voices in the conversation and determine whether or not any of the parties were feeling stress or anxiety. A poor man’s lie detector of sorts, and a good tool if the interviewee was easy to rattle. Landry had to think it would be of little use here. “Press him on the London case,” Dugan said, adjusting a knob on the machine. “He won’t be expecting that.”
Landry nodded, picked up a file folder with case notes, and went in. “Mr. Barbaro. Thank you for coming down.
“ Barbaro made a small dismissive motion with his hand. ”I felt an obligation.“
“To whom?”
Barbaro studied him for a second, making up his mind. “To Irina, of course.”
“You didn’t seem to feel any obligation when you gave your first statement, saying that you and Mr. Walker were passed out at his home that night and never saw Irina Markova after you left Players. Why is that?”
He sighed like a man burdened by a great disappointment. “I never imagined what had happened. That my good friend could have killed the girl.”
“Really?” Landry said. “That seems strange to me, seeing how you went through virtually the same experience in London a couple of years ago.”
The Spaniard’s dark eyes met his. “That was something very different.”
“A young woman, raped and murdered. How is that different?”
“The man who perpetrated the crime was not a friend of mine.”
“He got off. Did you know he was guilty too?”
Barbaro shrugged. “I was not surprised.”
“Another wealthy guy,” Landry said. “Into the polo scene.”
“A sponsor, yes.”
“Scotland Yard tried to pin it on you.”
“Prosecuting a foreign polo player would have been much easier than prosecuting a wealthy member of British society.”
“The wealth-has-privilege thing.”
“Money is the universal language, is it not?”
“So here you are, years later, in the States,” Landry said. “Playing polo, minding your own business, and son of a bitch if a girl you know isn’t murdered. You must have thought that was a hell of a coincidence. I know I do.”
“I came here of my own volition, Detective,” Barbaro said. “I came to tell you the truth.”
“As opposed to the lie you’ve been telling me.”
“I don’t excuse my behavior.”
“That’s good. What changed your mind?”
“I’ve been accused of growing a conscience.”
“Is that right? Have you?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Do you have anyone who can corroborate your story-that you left the party at Walker’s house?”
“I thought I saw Lisbeth Perkins. I don’t know whether she saw me.
“Lisbeth Perkins told us she was home in bed shortly after one. Why wouldn’t she tell us she saw you later?”
“You would have to ask her that question.”
“Are you aware Lisbeth was attacked last night and threatened?”
“I heard, yes.”
“Do you think she might be more apt to tell us she saw you now than she would have before the beating?”
“I resent that implication, Detective,” Barbaro said, rising from his chair. “I came here to set the record straight about that night. If you’re not interested in that, I’ll take my leave.”
“You didn’t see anyone else going back to your car?” Landry asked. “No one saw you?”
“I saw the Freak,” Barbaro said.
“What freak?”
“The Freak,” Barbaro said impatiently. “That’s what she is called. She is a crazy woman. She is always around the parking lot there.”
“And this freak is your alibi?”
Barbaro sighed. “Detective, if I was going to simply make up a story, do you not think I would come up with something less ridiculous?”
Landry sidestepped the issue. “Do you think Bennett Walker murdered Irina Markova?”
Barbaro looked suddenly very weary. “I think, Detective Landry, that for some men who have too much, there is never enough.”
“I guess what I’m wondering, Mr. Barbaro,” Landry said, “is, were you one of those men too? This happened before in your life, you were suspected, denied it, came around and talked, and an acquaintance of yours almost went to prison. Maybe that’s your idea of tipping the scales.”
“And maybe,” Barbaro said, “you can go to hell.”
As he reached to open the door, someone knocked, and Weiss stuck his head in, looking to Landry.
“We’ve got Walker’s car-and a dead body.”
Chapter 59
“He’s going to kill us,” Bennett said, terror in his voice. “He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?”
“Shut up!” I snapped.
It was pitch-dark in the trunk. The smell of diesel fuel, sour sweat, and fear gagged me. I lay half on top of him. When I tried to move away, I cracked my head on the trunk lid.
“He’s a Russian,” he said. “He’s that gangster Irina talked about. He’s killed people.”
“Shut up!” I snapped again. My arm was burning like hell and still bleeding.
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Shut up!” I screamed, and kneed him as hard as I could. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Yes, he’s going to kill us! He’s going to kill you, and he’s going to torture you first, and I’m going to watch, you son of a bitch!”
“Jesus Christ, Elena! Do you hate me that much?”
“It’s nothing less than you deserve for the lives you’ve ruined.”
“Oh, my God,” he said again. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
To him.
“Can you move?” I asked. “Are your hands free?”
“No. They’re tied behind my back.”
“Roll over,” I ordered. “I’ll try to undo the rope.”
“It’s duct tape.”
“Roll over!”
Bennett struggled to move, to turn away from me. I struggled to get my hands in position. My injured arm was throbbing like the beat of a bass drum. I could move my fingers, but they felt swollen and clumsy. I couldn’t find the end of the tape. I broke a fingernail trying to scratch through it.