Read Online The Interrogation by Thomas H. Cook - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas H. Cook
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something to her, didn’t you, Jay?”
“No.”
“Did you want that locket, Jay?”
“No.”
“A pretty silver locket to go with the rubber balls and the toys?”
“I never saw a locket.”
“Then what did you want from Cathy?”
“I didn’t want anything.”
“But you got scared, didn’t you? Cathy wouldn’t let you have her locket. Or whatever it was you wanted. She resisted you. And you got scared when she fought back. And so you killed her.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And after that you took the locket.”
“I didn’t take anything!”
“What was it, a souvenir? Is it because a guy who kills a little girl maybe wants a little souvenir?”
Smalls stared at Cohen in silence, clearly disturbed by what he’d just heard, studying Cohen intently, as if trying to see into his brain, determine exactly what information it contained.
But why was Smalls disturbed, Cohen wondered as he studied Inmate 1407. Was it because the accusation was absurd? Or was it because in a scattershot of dreadful charges, he had hit upon a truth?
8:18 P.M. , Police Headquarters, Sixth Floor Lounge
“You break that bastard yet?” Blunt asked as he lowered himself onto the worn brown sofa.
Pierce shook his head.
Blunt lit a cigar and tossed the match on the linoleum. “I heard you got till morning or he walks.”
“That’s right.”
Blunt pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his face. “They bake us in this fucking place.” He stared about, seeking relief, then said, “A little kid, for Christ’s sake.”
“Anna Lake’s daughter,” Pierce said, and suddenly he was at Anna Lake’s door as it opened to his knock, standing, oddly stricken, by the terrible question in her eyes: Is my daughter dead?
9:34 P.M. , September 1, 545 Obermeyer Street
He’d known that he would soon give her the answer she dreaded, and after that, nothing would ever be the same.
“Are you Anna Lake?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the badge. “My name’s Pierce. Jack Pierce. This is my partner, Norman Cohen.”
Cohen nodded but didn’t speak.
“May we come in, Mrs. Lake?” Pierce asked.
“Miss,” she said. “I’m not married.” She drew open the door. “Have you found her?”
“We found a little girl,” Pierce told her softly. “She was in the park. We’re not sure it’s your daughter.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I’m afraid we couldn’t do that,” Pierce said.
Anna Lake’s face tightened. “Is my daughter dead?”
“We don’t know if the girl we found is your daughter,” Pierce said. “That’s why we’re here. To find out.”
With no further word, Anna led them into the living room. “Please, sit down,” she said, indicating a dark blue sofa.
Pierce sat but Cohen walked to the window and peered out into the chill autumn darkness. Anna Lake sat opposite Pierce, her eyes fixed steadily upon him.
“The little girl we found, she was wearing a red dress,” Pierce told her. “You said that Cathy was wearing a red dress.”
“Yes.”
“Did she have a bandage on her right hand?”
Anna Lake’s face grew very still. “Oh, God.” She stopped as if by a wall of pain. “It’s her, then.”
Pierce expected her to sink her face into her hands the way Jenny had when he’d told her about Debra. But instead Anna remained upright, her face eerily still.
“We need a positive identification, Miss Lake,” Pierce said after a moment.
“Yes,” Anna Lake replied. “Of course.” She rose and walked into an adjoining room, closing the door softly behind her. When she returned, she was wearing a black wool coat. “All right. I’m ready.”
Outside the morgue, Pierce opened the car door. Anna Lake got out, and as she did so, her eyes touched him—or at least that was how it felt—not that they settled upon him, he thought, but that they touched him, like fingertips.
“This way, please,” he said, directing her toward two wide
“No.”
“Did you want that locket, Jay?”
“No.”
“A pretty silver locket to go with the rubber balls and the toys?”
“I never saw a locket.”
“Then what did you want from Cathy?”
“I didn’t want anything.”
“But you got scared, didn’t you? Cathy wouldn’t let you have her locket. Or whatever it was you wanted. She resisted you. And you got scared when she fought back. And so you killed her.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And after that you took the locket.”
“I didn’t take anything!”
“What was it, a souvenir? Is it because a guy who kills a little girl maybe wants a little souvenir?”
Smalls stared at Cohen in silence, clearly disturbed by what he’d just heard, studying Cohen intently, as if trying to see into his brain, determine exactly what information it contained.
But why was Smalls disturbed, Cohen wondered as he studied Inmate 1407. Was it because the accusation was absurd? Or was it because in a scattershot of dreadful charges, he had hit upon a truth?
8:18 P.M. , Police Headquarters, Sixth Floor Lounge
“You break that bastard yet?” Blunt asked as he lowered himself onto the worn brown sofa.
Pierce shook his head.
Blunt lit a cigar and tossed the match on the linoleum. “I heard you got till morning or he walks.”
“That’s right.”
Blunt pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his face. “They bake us in this fucking place.” He stared about, seeking relief, then said, “A little kid, for Christ’s sake.”
“Anna Lake’s daughter,” Pierce said, and suddenly he was at Anna Lake’s door as it opened to his knock, standing, oddly stricken, by the terrible question in her eyes: Is my daughter dead?
9:34 P.M. , September 1, 545 Obermeyer Street
He’d known that he would soon give her the answer she dreaded, and after that, nothing would ever be the same.
“Are you Anna Lake?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the badge. “My name’s Pierce. Jack Pierce. This is my partner, Norman Cohen.”
Cohen nodded but didn’t speak.
“May we come in, Mrs. Lake?” Pierce asked.
“Miss,” she said. “I’m not married.” She drew open the door. “Have you found her?”
“We found a little girl,” Pierce told her softly. “She was in the park. We’re not sure it’s your daughter.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I’m afraid we couldn’t do that,” Pierce said.
Anna Lake’s face tightened. “Is my daughter dead?”
“We don’t know if the girl we found is your daughter,” Pierce said. “That’s why we’re here. To find out.”
With no further word, Anna led them into the living room. “Please, sit down,” she said, indicating a dark blue sofa.
Pierce sat but Cohen walked to the window and peered out into the chill autumn darkness. Anna Lake sat opposite Pierce, her eyes fixed steadily upon him.
“The little girl we found, she was wearing a red dress,” Pierce told her. “You said that Cathy was wearing a red dress.”
“Yes.”
“Did she have a bandage on her right hand?”
Anna Lake’s face grew very still. “Oh, God.” She stopped as if by a wall of pain. “It’s her, then.”
Pierce expected her to sink her face into her hands the way Jenny had when he’d told her about Debra. But instead Anna remained upright, her face eerily still.
“We need a positive identification, Miss Lake,” Pierce said after a moment.
“Yes,” Anna Lake replied. “Of course.” She rose and walked into an adjoining room, closing the door softly behind her. When she returned, she was wearing a black wool coat. “All right. I’m ready.”
Outside the morgue, Pierce opened the car door. Anna Lake got out, and as she did so, her eyes touched him—or at least that was how it felt—not that they settled upon him, he thought, but that they touched him, like fingertips.
“This way, please,” he said, directing her toward two wide
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