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  But then there was Carlton Scowcroft. If he closed his eyes, Ralph could almost see Gold underlining a key passage in Scowcroft’s statement, and preparing for his summation to the jury, perhaps stealing an idea from OJ’s attorney. If the glove does not fit, you must acquit, Johnnie Cochran had said. Gold’s version, almost as catchy, might be, Since he didn’t know, you must let him go.

  It wouldn’t work, it wasn’t even close to the same, but—

  According to Scowcroft, Maitland had explained the blood on his face and clothes by saying something in his nose had ruptured. It went like Old Faithful, Terry told him. Is there a doc-in-the-box anywhere around here?

  Only Terry Maitland had, with the exception of four years in college, lived in Flint City all his life. He wouldn’t have needed the Quick Care billboard near Coney Ford to direct him; he wouldn’t have needed to ask in the first place. So why had he?

  Samuels came back with a Coke, a burger wrapped in foil, and a go-cup of coffee, which he handed to Ralph. ‘All quiet in there?’

  ‘Yep. They’ve got another twenty minutes, by my watch. When they finish, I’m going to try to get him to give us a DNA swab.’

  Samuels unwrapped his burger and cautiously lifted the bun for a peek. ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘It looks like something a paramedic scraped off a burn victim.’ Nevertheless, he began to eat it.

  Ralph thought about mentioning Terry’s conversation with Rainwater, and Terry’s odd question about the doc-in-the-box, and didn’t. He thought about bringing up Terry’s failure to disguise himself or even to try to hide his face with sunglasses, and didn’t mention that, either. He had raised these issues before, and Samuels had swatted them aside, maintaining – and rightly – that they had no significance when stacked against the eyewitnesses and the damning forensic evidence.

  The coffee was as awful as Samuels had predicted, but Ralph sipped at it anyway, and the cup was almost empty when Gold buzzed to be let out of the interview room. His expression made Ralph Anderson’s stomach contract. It wasn’t worry, anger, or the theatrical indignation some lawyers could muster up when they realized a client was in deep shit. No, this was sympathy, and it looked genuine.

  ‘Oy vey,’ he said. ‘You two guys are in big trouble.’

  20

  FLINT CITY GENERAL HOSPITAL

  DEPARTMENT OF PATHOLOGY AND SEROLOGY

  To: Detective Ralph Anderson

  Lieutenant Yunel Sablo

  District Attorney William Samuels

  From: Dr Edward Bogan

  Date: July 14th

  Subject: Blood Typing and DNA

  Blood:

  Several items were tested for blood type.

  The first was the branch used to sodomize the victim, Frank Peterson, a white male child, 11 years of age. This branch was approximately 22˝ long and 3˝ in diameter. A section about halfway down has been stripped of its loose bark, likely because of rough handling by the perpetrator of the crime (see attached photograph). Fingerprints were found on this smooth section of the branch; they were photographed and lifted by State Criminalistics before the evidence was conveyed to me by Detective Ralph Anderson (Flint City PD) and Trooper Yunel Sablo (State Police Post 7). I therefore state that the chain of evidence remains intact.

  The blood on the last 5˝ of this piece of branch is O+, which is the victim’s type, as confirmed by Frank Peterson’s family doctor, Horace Connolly. There are many other traces of O+ on the branch, caused by a phenomenon called ‘splashback’ or ‘sudsing.’ These likely flew up as the victim was sexually violated, and it is fair to assume that the perpetrator also sustained splashback on his skin and clothes.

  Traces of a second blood type were also found on the specimen. This was AB+, a much rarer type (3% of the population). I believe this to be the perpetrator’s blood, and speculate that he may have cut the hand he used to manipulate the branch, which he must have done with great force.

  A great deal of O+ blood was discovered on the driver’s seat, steering wheel, and dashboard of a 2007 Econoline van found abandoned in the employees’ parking lot behind Shorty’s Pub (1124 Main Street). Spots of AB+ blood were also found on the steering wheel of the van. These samples were conveyed to me by Sgts Elmer Stanton and Richard Spencer of the State Criminalistics Division, and I therefore state that the chain of evidence remains intact.

  A great deal of O+ blood was also found on the clothes (shirt, pants, socks, Adidas sneakers, Jockey underpants) retrieved from a 2011 Subaru discovered at an abandoned boat landing near Route 72 (also known as Old Forge Road). There is also a spot of AB+ blood on the left cuff of the shirt. These samples were conveyed to me by Trooper John Koryta (Post 7) and Sgt Spencer of the SCD, and I therefore state that the chain of evidence remains intact. No AB+ blood has been found in the Subaru Outback as of this report. Such blood may be found, but it’s possible that any scratches the perpetrator suffered in the commission of the crime had clotted by the time he abandoned the Subaru. It is also possible that he may have bandaged them, although the samples are so small that I think this is unlikely. They would be minor cuts, at best.

  I recommend that any suspect’s blood type be ascertained quickly, due to the relative rarity of the AB+ type.

  DNA:

  The line of samples awaiting DNA testing in Cap City is always a very long one, and under ordinary circumstances, results cannot be obtained for weeks or even months. However, due to the extreme brutality of this crime and the age of the victim, samples obtained at the crime scene have been put ‘at the head of the line.’

  Chief among these is semen found on the victim’s thighs and buttocks, but skin samples were also obtained from the branch used to sodomize the Peterson boy, and of course there are the blood samples I have already discussed. A DNA report from the semen found at the scene should be available for potential matching next week. Sgt Stanton told me the report might be available even sooner, but I have dealt with the DNA issue many times before, and would suggest that next Friday seems more likely, even in a priority case such as this.

  Although it is outside protocol, I am compelled to add a personal note here. I have dealt with evidence from many murder victims, but this is by far the worst crime I have ever been called upon to examine, and the person who did it needs to be captured ASAP.

  Memo dictated at 11 AM

  by Dr Edward Bogan

  21

  Howie Gold finished his private conference with Terry at 8:40 PM, a full ten minutes before the half hour he had been allotted was up. By then, Ralph and Bill Samuels had been joined by Troy Ramage and Stephanie Gould, a patrolwoman who had come on duty at eight. She had a DNA kit, still in its plastic bag. Ignoring Howie’s oy vey, big trouble comment, Ralph asked the lawyer if he and his client would okay a DNA swab.

  Howie was holding the door to the interview room open with his foot so it wouldn’t re-lock. ‘They want to take cheek swabs, Terry. You okay with that? They’re going to get them anyway, and I need to make a couple of quick phone calls.’

  ‘All right,’ Terry said. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes, but he sounded calm. ‘Let’s do everything we have to do so I can get out of here before midnight.’

  The man sounded absolutely sure that was going to happen. Ralph and Samuels exchanged a glance. Samuels raised his eyebrows, which made him look more like Alfalfa than ever.

  ‘Call my wife,’ Terry said. ‘Tell her I’m okay.’

  Howie grinned. ‘Number one on my list.’

  ‘Go up to the end of the hall,’ Ralph said. ‘You’ll get five bars.’

  ‘I know,’ Howie said. ‘I’ve been here before. It’s kind of like reincarnation.’ And, to Terry: ‘Say nothing until I get back.’

  Officer Ramage took the swabs, one from each inner cheek, and held them up to the camera before putting each into its little vial. Officer Gould placed the vials back in the bag and held it up to the camera as she sealed it with a red evidence sticker. She then signed the chain-of-
custody sheet. The two officers would take the samples down to the closet-sized room that served as the Flint City PD’s evidence locker. There it would once more be shown to an overhead camera before being filed. Two more officers, probably State Police, would convey it to Cap City the following day. Chain of evidence therefore remains intact, as Dr Bogan would have said. Which might sound a bit prissy, but was no joke. Ralph intended that there should be absolutely no weak links in that chain. No slip-ups. No way to break free. Not in this case.

  DA Samuels started to return to the interview room while Howie was making his calls by the door to the main office, but Ralph held him back, wanting to listen. Howie conversed briefly with Terry’s wife – Ralph heard him say It’s going to be okay, Marcy – and then made a second, even briefer call, telling someone where Terry’s daughters were and reminding the someone that there would be press clogging up Barnum Court, and to proceed accordingly. Then he came back to the interview room. ‘Okay, let’s see if we can’t sort this mess out.’

  Ralph and Samuels sat down across the table from Terry. The chair between them remained vacant. Howie elected to stand beside his client, a hand on his shoulder.

  Smiling, Samuels began.

  ‘You like little boys, don’t you, Coach?’

  There was no hesitation on Terry’s part. ‘Very much. I also like little girls, having two of my own.’

  ‘And I’m sure your daughters play sports, with Coach T for a dad, how could they not? But you don’t coach any girls’ teams, do you? No soccer, no softball, no lacrosse. You stick to the boys. Baseball in the summer, Pop Warner in the fall, and Y basketball in the winter, although I guess you just spectate at that one. All those Saturday afternoon trips to the Y were what you might call scouting expeditions, right? Looking for boys with speed and agility. And maybe checking out how they looked in their shorts, while you were at it.’

  Ralph waited for Howie to put a stop to this, but Howie kept silent, at least for the time being. His face had become an absolute blank, nothing moving but the eyes, going from one speaker to the next. He’s probably one hell of a poker player, Ralph thought.

  Terry, however, had actually begun to smile. ‘You got that from Willow Rainwater. Must have. She’s a piece of work, isn’t she? You should hear her bellowing on Saturday afternoons. “Box out, box out, pick up your feet, now GO TO THE HOLE!” How’s she doing?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Samuels said. ‘After all, you saw her Tuesday night.’

  ‘I didn’t—’

  Howie grabbed Terry’s shoulder and squeezed before he could say anything else. ‘Why don’t we stop Interrogation 101, okay? Just tell us why Terry’s here. Lay it out.’

  ‘Tell us where you were on Tuesday,’ Samuels countered. ‘You started, go ahead and finish.’

  ‘I was—’

  But Howie Gold squeezed Terry’s shoulder again, this time harder, before he could go on. ‘No, Bill, it’s not going to work that way. Tell us what you’ve got, or I’ll go right to the press and tell them you’ve arrested one of Flint City’s premier citizens for the murder of Frank Peterson, thrown mud all over his reputation, terrified his wife and daughters, and won’t say why.’

  Samuels looked at Ralph, who shrugged. If the DA hadn’t been present, Ralph would already have been laying out the evidence, in hopes of a quick confession.

  ‘Go on, Bill,’ Howie said. ‘This man needs to get home and be with his family.’

  Samuels smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes; it was your basic show of teeth. ‘He’ll see them in court, Howard. At the arraignment on Monday.’

  Ralph could feel the fabric of civility fraying, and put most of the blame for that on Bill, who was genuinely enraged at the crime, and at the man who had done the crime. As anyone would be … but that didn’t pull the plow, as Ralph’s grandfather would have said.

  ‘Hey, before we get started, I’ve got a question,’ Ralph said, striving for cheeriness. ‘Just one. Okay, counselor? It’s nothing we won’t find out, anyway.’

  Howie seemed grateful enough to turn his attention away from Samuels. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘What’s your blood type, Terry? Do you know?’

  Terry looked at Howie, who shrugged, then back at Ralph. ‘I ought to. I give six times a year at the Red Cross, because it’s pretty rare.’

  ‘AB positive?’

  Terry blinked. ‘How did you know that?’ And then, realizing what the answer must be: ‘But not that rare. If you want really rare, you want AB negative. One per cent of the population. The Red Cross has people with that type on speed-dial, believe me.’

  ‘When it comes to rare, I always think of fingerprints,’ Samuels remarked, as if just passing the time of day. ‘I suppose because they come up so often in court.’

  ‘Where they rarely figure in the jury’s decision,’ Howie said.

  Samuels ignored him. ‘No two sets exactly alike. There are even minute variations in the prints of identical twins. You don’t happen to have an identical twin, do you, Terry?’

  ‘You’re not saying you have mine at the scene where the Peterson boy was killed, are you?’ Terry’s expression was pure incredulity. Ralph had to give it to him; he was a hell of an actor, and apparently meant to play the string out right to the end.

  ‘We’ve got so many fingerprints I can barely count them,’ Ralph said. ‘They’re all over the white van you used to abduct the Peterson boy. They’re on the boy’s bike, which we found in the back of the van. They’re on the toolbox that was in the van. They’re all over the Subaru you switched to behind Shorty’s Pub.’ He paused. ‘And they’re on the branch that was used to sodomize the Peterson boy, an attack so vicious that the internal injuries alone might well have killed him.’

  ‘No need for fingerprint powder or UV light on those,’ Samuels said. ‘Those prints are in the boy’s blood.’

  This was where most perps – like ninety-five per cent – would break down, lawyer or no lawyer. Not this one. Ralph saw shock and amazement on the man’s face, but no guilt.

  Howie rallied. ‘You have prints. Fine. It wouldn’t be the first time fingerprints were planted.’

  ‘A few, maybe,’ Ralph said. ‘But seventy? Eighty? And in blood, on the weapon itself?’

  ‘We also have a chain of witnesses,’ Samuels said. He began ticking them off on his fingers. ‘You were seen accosting Peterson in the parking lot of Gerald’s Fine Groceries. You were seen putting his bicycle in the back of the van you used. He was seen getting into the van with you. You were seen exiting the woods where the murder took place, covered with blood. I could go on, but my mother always told me that I should save some for later.’

  ‘Eyewitnesses are rarely reliable,’ Howie said. ‘The fingerprints are iffy, but eyewitnesses …’ He shook his head.

  Ralph jumped in. ‘I’d agree, at least in most cases. Not in this one. I interviewed someone recently who said Flint City is really just a small town. I don’t know if I buy that completely, but the West Side is pretty tightly knit, and Mr Maitland here is widely known. Terry, the woman who ID’d you at Gerald’s is a neighbor, and the girl who saw you coming out of the woods in Figgis Park knows you very well, not just because she lives a little way down from you, on Barnum Street, but because you once brought back her lost dog.’

  ‘June Morris?’ Terry was looking at Ralph with frank disbelief. ‘Junie?’

  ‘There are others,’ Samuels said. ‘Many.’

  ‘Willow?’ Terry sounded out of breath, as if he’d been punched. ‘Her, too?’

  ‘Many,’ Samuels repeated.

  ‘Every one of them picked you out of six-packs,’ Ralph said. ‘No hesitation.’

  ‘And was the photo of my client perhaps wearing a Golden Dragons cap and a shirt with a big C on it?’ Howie asked. ‘Was that one perhaps tapped by the finger of the questioning officer?’

  ‘You know better,’ Ralph said. ‘At least I hope you do.’

  Terry said, ‘This is a nigh
tmare.’

  Samuels smiled sympathetically. ‘I understand that. And all you have to do to end it is to tell us why you did it.’

  As if there might be a reason on God’s green earth that any sane person could understand, Ralph thought.

  ‘It might make a difference.’ Samuels was almost wheedling now. ‘But you should do it before the DNA comes back. We’ve got plenty, and when it matches those cheek swabs …’ He shrugged.

  ‘Tell us,’ Ralph said. ‘I don’t know if it was temporary insanity, or something you did in a fugue state, or a sexual compulsion, or just what, but tell us.’ He heard his voice rising, thought about clamping down on it, then thought what the hell. ‘Be a man and tell us!’

  Speaking more to himself than to the men on the other side of the table, Terry said, ‘I don’t know how any of this can be. I wasn’t even in town on Tuesday.’

  ‘Where were you, then?’ Samuels asked. ‘Go ahead, lay it on us. I love a good story. Read my way through most of Agatha Christie in high school.’

  Terry turned to look up at Gold, who nodded. But Ralph thought Howie looked worried now. The stuff about the blood type and the fingerprints had rocked him hard, the eyewitnesses even harder. He’d been rocked most of all, perhaps, by little Junie Morris, whose lost dog had been returned by good old reliable Coach T.

  ‘I was in Cap City. Left at ten on Tuesday morning, got back late Wednesday night. Well, nine thirty or so, late for me.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you had anyone with you,’ Samuels said. ‘Just off on your own and kind of gathering your thoughts, right? Getting ready for the big game?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Did you take your car or the white van? By the way, where did you have that van stashed? And how did you happen to steal one with New York plates in the first place? I’ve got a theory about that, but I’d love to have you confirm or deny—’

  ‘Do you want to hear this or not?’ Terry asked. He had, incredibly, begun to smile again. ‘Maybe you’re afraid to hear it. And maybe you should be afraid. You’re in shit up to your waist, Mr Samuels, and it’s getting deeper.’