Above my pay grade, the cop had said. But I’ll check with the boss.
That was freaking hours ago.
Christ. You’d think they’d send in the freaking cavalry. Didn’t they want to solve this? His ace in the hole, the insurance for the soon-to-be-deal, was the threat Ackerman had made about that reporter.
Better hope nothing happened to her in the time they’d kept him waiting. Wouldn’t be his fault if-
The door opened. A big guy, obviously the boss, came into the room first, striding like a drill sergeant. An old drill sergeant. Aaron recognized him from TV, Francis Rivera, the ex-Marine police superintendent. Sherrey, the chubby weasel who’d taken his statement. A woman in cop uniform, then a preppy guy in a sport coat and jeans.
“I’m Jake Brogan,” the preppy one said. “Detective Jake Brogan. Sorry we kept you waiting, sir, I was dealing with an-incident.”
Aaron tried to gauge how to play this. What “incident” would be more important than solving a murder? But fine. Whatever.
“I know who killed Lizzie McDivitt,” Aaron said.
“So you said. Detective Sherrey has filled me in,” the detective said. “Sit down, Mr. Gianelli. Just to clarify? Tell me from the beginning.”
This was the moment, Aaron knew, when the deal went down. He’d tell them all about Ackerman, but only after he got immunity in the rental scam. He’d go over what he’d already said, fine. But he wouldn’t sit down. They were standing, he’d stand. He’d stand tall.
“I know who killed Lizzie McDivitt. The person as much as told me they were gonna do it. In fact, at one point, I was potentially, unwillingly”-he’d already revealed this, so guess no harm in saying it again-“semi-involved.”
“Like I told you, Brogan. With the chocolate stuff,” Sherrey said.
“Exactly,” Aaron said. At least they were listening. “That’s what brought me here. I know what’s gonna happen. That person is going to blame me, and hell if I’m gonna let that go down. There’s a bunch of other stuff, too. I’m sure you know the Waverly Road murder? The one in the empty house? I know about that, too. All connected.”
Brogan looked at Sherrey. Sherrey looked at the superintendent. The superintendent looked at Brogan.
How about that, big guys? Aaron hadn’t told them that part before. Now they had to play ball.
Brogan took out his cell phone-a BlackBerry, what was this, 1990? Checked the screen. Clicked it off.
“Mr. Gianelli?” the detective said. “Look. We’re not dumb TV cops, Aaron. We know the only way you could know for sure who killed Liz McDivitt is if you killed her yourself. What’s more, and it’s corroborated by forensic tests on Miss McDivitt, we found rohypnol in her system. As well as traces of chocolate chip.”
Brogan nodded to Sherrey, who started fussing with something on his belt, then came toward him.
“Aaron Gianelli,” Brogan was saying. “You are now under arrest for-”
What was going on here? This was not going according to his script. And the chief was obviously trying not to smile, which was ridiculous. Asshole.
“-the murder of Elizabeth McDivitt. And for the murder of Shandra Newbury. You have the right to remain silent…”
Aaron’s head exploded, totally. He barely heard the words coming out of that cop’s mouth, barely felt the handcuffs click around his wrist. Holy freaking-he’d come there to tell them the truth, that he knew-he guessed he knew-Ackerman had killed Shandra Newbury, somehow, and that teenager in the Springvale Street house, the one the idiot cops decided was an accident.
Now they thought he-killed-?
“No way, no way,” he said. He wrestled himself away from Sherrey, would have punched the guy, but his hands were-cuffed? “I don’t wanna be silent! Kidding me? I trusted you! I came here to tell you-”
“Do you know how many times this kind of thing happens?” The big guy, Superintendent whoever, was talking, all patronizing. Leaning against the desk, like he owned the place. “Moke like you comes in here, guilty as hell, tries to throw another poor slob under the bus. They think we’ll let ’em off their pissant drug charge, something like that, if they rat out a pal. Suckers.”
“Thing is, Mr. Gianelli,” Brogan said. “It has to be true.”
“You can’t just make shit up.” Sherrey leaned toward him, one hand on his arm, whispering.
“It’s not made up, that’s-that’s-” Aaron looked at the ceiling, looked at the floor, looked at the ceiling. And now he had nothing, no leverage, if he told, he’d have nothing to trade. “That’s crap.”
And suddenly, the answer. The freaking fabulous answer, the reason the cops were idiots and the reason Aaron was about to leave and walk free and if that reporter got killed, who cared, it was their fault for being idiots.
“I couldn’t have killed Shandra Newbury,” he said. He mustered all the venom he could, imagined himself winning a big fat lawsuit, maybe, for false arrest and whatever else there was, screw ’em. “I have an alibi. A big honking alibi. I was with someone that night. I was-”
And then, all the air went out of him, and the room almost went black, he swore it did, the shapes of the cops faded, along with his future. He sank into the chair, his cuffs hitting the padded upholstery behind him.
“Alibi?”
Brogan was actually smiling now, not trying to hide it. What a complete jerk.
“Yeah. Crap. I was with Lizzie McDivitt the night Shandra Newbury was killed.”
Brogan shook his head. “That sucks.”
“Sucks,” Sherrey said.
“Sucks,” the chief said.
“Listen, listen,” Aaron said. He had to make this work. “It’s Colin Ackerman, okay? You know? The guy from the bank. It’s him, all him, and I don’t know, someone he works with, all I know is Brian. Brian something, he’d never tell me. It was all about the rentals, the damn rentals.” Aaron was talking as fast as he could, the words tumbling out, one track of his brain wondering about calling a lawyer, the other track panicking, having to tell, having to get away. He was trapped and about to be nailed for a murder. Two murders! That he hadn’t done.
“The rentals.” The Superintendent was scratching his bald head, all dramatic, like he didn’t understand the word.
“We were renting bank properties, you know?” Aaron couldn’t stop talking, needed to make them understand. “Ackerman’s deal, totally, I was only a-so what, you know? But then Emily-Sue showed up, that girl, and found out, she was in the Springvale Street house when the construction guy was there, and-Ackerman told me they took care of it. I don’t know. I don’t know what they did, I don’t know what that means, I’m only a-and Shandra, too, she found out-”
“We know,” Brogan said.
“Yeah,” Sherrey said.
“Okay then fine, fine, so find Ackerman, ask him, I’ll testify, I’ll do anything, I’ll find out who Brian is, I’ll wear a wire. I didn’t kill Shandra Newbury, couldn’t have, because I was with Lizzie McDivitt, and now she can’t tell you it’s true because she’s frigging dead.”
“Or not,” Lizzie said.
62
Jane waited, knocked on the door again. Heard nothing. Shrugging, she tried the door knob. It turned.
Was anyone actually inside? She’d seen a light, but that could have been on a timer or something. Now she was making up reasons, but-
Her phone rang. “Jane Ryland.”
“It’s Elliot,” the voice said. “I have you on speaker.”
Jane craned her neck. Saw a shadow at the window.