Chapter Six

Nick ran a hand over his face and took a long drink of his cold coffee. It was after ten and they had been talking to Lugino for more than three hours. Sam had left early on, promising to come back later. Lugino hadn’t been responsive with a woman in the room. And since she’d kneed him in the balls, he seemed to be particularly against talking to her. She’d gone to make some phone calls, and Lugino had relaxed a bit after she left. Nick knew how he felt.

Through a small one-way window in the viewing room, he watched Officer Polaski wear down Lugino. The idea was to tire the witness, exhaust him, until he was ready to spill everything—or everything you were going to get. Then you recorded the interview.

Nick had had interviews that lasted five minutes and others that had gone six or seven hours. Only one had pushed into the twenty-third hour, leaving Nick almost as desperate for a confession as the perp was for release. Twenty-four hours was the cutoff. Hold them that long, they had to be charged with something. Twenty-three hours and twenty minutes into it, Nick had gotten a full confession and detailed instructions on where to find the murder weapon. In interviewing, patience was an officer’s best friend. He’d ask a question and wait—sometimes ten minutes—for an answer. If he didn’t like the answer, he’d ask it another way or ask a different one and come back to it.

Over a hundred or so interviews, Nick had developed a sort of sixth sense about who was guilty and who was innocent. He didn’t have the guilty feeling about Lugino. He’d missed it in others who had killed, but Lugino lacked a baseness in his gaze and the fake confidence that came with being able to carry off a lie of that magnitude.

Lugino was being held on assaulting an officer, but if they were going to charge him, Nick wanted it to be something more substantial than that. He’d left the interview room to give the other officer a chance to intimidate Lugino before they continued.

He paced the small viewing room, watching while Polaski glared at Lugino. Polaski was the ultimate bad cop. A nice enough guy, he had a rugged, pockmarked face and a scar from the corner of his mouth to above his ear. The scar was from a dog attack when he was a kid. His thick, dark hair divided at the line of his scar like a second part on the side of his head. When he was smiling, the scar dimpled, like a huge lopsided grin. But when he wasn’t smiling, you’d swear it was a gash from a recent knife fight, and you’d wonder how bad the other guy looked.

Polaski’s tactics certainly seemed to be working on Lugino. He had sweated a thick streak down the front of his gray Raiders T-shirt, and his curly dark hair was plastered to his brow.

“Is he talking?”

Nick turned to meet Sam’s gaze. “Polaski’s working him a bit.”

“I got some good news,” she announced, smiling. She was dangling a piece of paper in her fingers.

Nick tried to snatch it but missed. “Good news I could use.”

She handed it to him. “We got a print on the body.”

Nick read the evidence report. “Any matches?”

“Not yet, but maybe we’ll have one soon.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Sam moved up beside Nick to look through the window. He felt her closeness like an electrical current, but he kept his distance. He didn’t let them touch and neither did she. “Any priors besides the possession?”

“That’s it. I can’t figure it. No history of violence.”

“Maybe Sandi drove him to it,” Sam suggested.

It didn’t feel right. “According to the guys he works with, he doesn’t have a temper to speak of. Came to work one day with three broken fingers. Guys razzed him about getting in a fight. Turned out Sandi broke them and he didn’t even get mad—just said it was her fire that made her fun.”

“A real tough guy.”

Nick nodded. “Exactly. Not the type to strangle someone.”

“Maybe not.”

Nick rubbed the stiffness in his right shoulder where the trike had hit.

“How’s that arm?”

He dropped his hand. “It’s fine.”

“Must be getting old if it still hurts.”

He didn’t look at her, but he could tell she was kidding. “It’s fine, I said.”

She was quiet a moment. Through the speaker wired to the interview room, they heard Polaski ask Lugino what he thought his chances were of not getting nailed for Sandi’s murder if he didn’t answer the questions. Lugino didn’t respond.

“Plans have changed a bit for your birthday,” Sam said, frowning.

Nick didn’t blink. “That’s fine,” he said, though he was disappointed.

“It’s just that with Rob grounded, I don’t really want to take him to Chevy’s. I want him to learn from this and taking him out will feel like a reward.”

Nick nodded. “That’s fine. I’m going to dinner at my sister’s on Saturday.”

“But tomorrow’s your actual birthday,” she said, still watching Polaski and Lugino.

“No biggie.”

She watched through the two-way mirror, and he could see her thinking. “Why don’t you come to dinner anyway?”

“Why don’t I take you out?”

Her gaze shot to his. “Take me out onyour birthday?”

He nodded. “Or you can take me.”

She opened her mouth.

“Or we can go Dutch.”

“Just the two of us?” She looked like she was holding her breath.

He laughed. “Okay, it was a bad idea.”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s a good idea.”

He watched her, the nervousness in the way her eyes flitted across the room and she played with her blazer button. He pretended to watch Polaski, wondering what she would say.

“Where did you want to go?”

He shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

She paused and tried to look nonchalant. “Okay. Tell me where and I’ll meet you there.”

Nick grinned. “Okay. I’ll leave you a message tomorrow.”

Polaski waved for Nick to return.

“Got to go.” He paused and looked at her. “See you tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Tomorrow.” She motioned to the room. “Give Lugino my regards.”

“You gonna watch?”

She smiled without meeting his gaze. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He thought briefly about the prospect of a dinner alone with Sam. Apart from work, they hadn’t been alone since that night. She’d always kept at least one boy around as a barrier. Or maybe there was just always a boy around. He reminded himself that tomorrow would just be two friends having dinner. With a quick breath, Nick entered the interview room and sat down next to Polaski.

They had already agreed that Nick would take the regular questions and Polaski would butt in when they didn’t like Lugino’s answers. A classic good cop, bad cop.

Nick cracked his knuckles to relieve some of the tension that had built up in his body and forced his mind back to the case.

“You ready to talk to us, Lugino?” Nick asked.

The man nodded, looking exhausted.

Nick flipped on the handheld recorder and placed it in front of the suspect. “Please state your full name for the record.”

“James Lee Lugino.”

“Date of birth,” Nick continued.

“March twenty-four, nineteen fifty-three.”

“What was the nature of your relationship with Sandi Walters?”

Lugino furrowed his brow.

“How did you know Sandi Walters, Mr. Lugino?”

Lugino nodded. “She was my girlfriend.”

“But she was with someone else, maybe even married to him. Sandi was with Mick Walters, wasn’t she?”

He shook his head. “They weren’t together, and they never got married. He’s Molly’s dad, is all.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Lugino shook his head. “He’s basically a good guy. Sandi and I were good together. They weren’t.”

“You sure Sandi wasn’t planning to get back with Mick? Maybe that made you jealous? Maybe you lost your temper?”

Lugino shook his head. “Ask Sandi’s mom, ask Mick. Hell, you can even ask Molly. Sandi and I were together, Mick’s around for Molly’s sake, but Sandi wasn’t interested in him.”

Nick continued to question Lugino on his relationship with Sandi Walters, when they met, where they went. He’d already heard it three times, but this time it was official. This time it was being recorded. It wasn’t going anywhere. Even as he spoke, he wondered if the lab would get any more information on the case—some other lead to follow, a match to the print.

“Do you use alcohol?”

He nodded.

“Out loud, please, Mr. Lugino.”

“Yes, I drink sometimes.”

“How about drugs?”

“No.”

“Did you ever take drugs with Sandi Walters?”

“No,” he answered again.

Nick didn’t need to see Polaski’s reaction to know Lugino was lying. He was a bad liar.

“Have you ever taken drugs, Mr. Lugino?” Polaski interrupted, leaning over the table and pushing his scarred face toward Lugino.

The suspect looked around the room and then closed his eyes before answering. “Yeah, a long time ago I did.”

“Don’t lie to us again,” Polaski warned.

Lugino looked at Nick for help.

“What sort of drugs?” Nick asked.

Lugino shifted in his seat, the plastic chair making a cracking sound. “It was a long time ago. What difference does it make?”

“Answer the question,” Polaski ordered tightly.

Lugino wiped a hand across his forehead. “Yeah, I used to do drugs.”

“What sort of drugs?”

The man shrugged, though he appeared anything but relaxed. “I don’t know—pot mostly. Some acid, ’shrooms.”

“What about heroin?”

Lugino nodded.

Polaski made a low sound like a growl.

“Yeah, some smack once or twice maybe.”

“Methamphetamine?” Nick continued like he was reading off a laundry list.

Lugino gave him a blank look.

“Crank,” Polaski added. “You ever do crank?”

Lugino looked down at the floor. “Yeah, probably, but a long time ago.”

“Cocaine?”

Lugino looked relieved. “No. I never did coke.”

Nick knew it was too expensive. “What about the night of July twelfth? Were you taking drugs then?”

He shook his head.

“Please answer out loud,” Nick said.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Polaski asked.

Lugino ran a hand through his hair, which he had pulled straight and it was now standing on end in some places. The gray showed under the harsh halogen lights, and Nick noticed his skin looked gray too. “I don’t remember—maybe.”

“What sort of drugs would you have taken?”

“Pot, maybe some downers.”

“No heroin?”

Lugino squinted, turning his head to the side, perplexed, the way dogs did. “What?”

“Heroin,” Polaski repeated. “Smack, H, horse, scag. I thought you said you’d done heroin before?”

Lugino looked straight at Nick without blinking. “I didn’t. Not that night.”

“Did Sandi Walters take heroin that night?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t with her until later.”

“But you didn’t take heroin that night?”

He shook his head fiercely. “No.”

“Did you kill Sandi Walters?” Polaski asked.

Lugino shook his head, his eyes wide with the look of a man truly shocked. “No.”

“But you do admit having sex with her that night?” Nick continued.

Lugino nodded, his shoulders sagging. His hands in his lap, he dropped his head. “She told me to meet her at that field. She loved that place. There were a couple horses across from there. Hell, she’d even named the damn horses—Cupcake and Butterscotch.” He blinked hard, and his voice was rougher when he spoke again. “That night, I was late—almost a half hour, I think. She was just leaning up against the tree, almost naked.”

“Tell us what happened then,” Nick prodded

“I came to talk to her. I’d been drinking some. I remember she seemed out of it.”

“Out of it, meaning what?”

“Passed out.”

“Not moving?” Nick continued.

Lugino winced at the implication. “Yeah, not moving.”

“But you didn’t think she might be dead?” Polaski pushed.

“God, no. No. I never thought that. I thought she’d passed out. She does that from time to time.”

“She was naked when you found her?” Nick added.

“Wearing her underwear.” He touched his neck. “With these little branches in her hair.”

“And that didn’t strike you as unusual?” Polaski asked, clearly not buying the story.

Lugino seemed to crumple. “No. To be honest, Sandi always loved to be naked. She’d been doing heroin lately.” He looked up. “I haven’t, but she had. And it made her do some crazy stuff. It made her feel hot and she loved the feel of the air on her skin. So she was taking her clothes off all the time. It didn’t seem so weird. I thought it was kind of sexy.” The last word seemed to leave him small and deflated.

“And you had sex with her despite her lack of movement?” Polaski continued without missing a beat.

Lugino looked up at Nick, his eyes begging someone to stop the questions.

“Is that right, Mr. Lugino?” Polaski continued.

Nick sat back and listened. Nothing about Lugino’s reaction seemed off. Nick found it hard to buy the story about having sex with a dead woman without knowing it, but stranger things had happened.

“Yes. I had sex with her.” His head down, Lugino’s shoulders shook, and Nick was fairly certain he was crying. His voice quivering, he told the story again. When she hadn’t moved after sex, he tried to rouse her. That was when he figured out she was dead. In a moment of panic, he’d bolted.

“You didn’t take her underwear off?”

He shook his head.

“Please answer the question.”

“No. I didn’t take them off.”

“How did you have sex with her without removing her underwear?”

He motioned to the side with his hand. “I just sort of, moved them to the side,” he said without looking up.

“You didn’t make any markings on the body?”

Lugino looked up at Polaski. “No.”

“You didn’t put anything on her foot?”

“No.”

“Do you chew gum, Mr. Lugino?”

He frowned. “Gum?”

“Right. Do you chew gum?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Gets stuck in some crowns I’ve got.”

“How about Ms. Walters?”

“You mean about gum?”

“Right.”

Lugino nodded. “Yeah, Sandi likes—liked gum.”

“What kind?”

“Big Red.”

“Any others?”

“No. Mostly just that one, I think.”

Nick stopped and watched Lugino, starting to feel sorry for the guy. Nick pictured him realizing Sandi Walters was dead after having sex with her and rushing off. How long would it be until Lugino could close his eyes without thinking about having sex with a corpse? Would he ever?

“Do you know a woman named Karen Jacobs?” Nick asked.

Lugino sniffled and looked up, the cheeks above his beard red and splotchy. “Who?”

“Karen Jacobs?”

Lugino stared at the far wall and then shook his head. “No. I never heard of her.”

“How about Charlie Sloan?”

Lugino frowned. “That name’s familiar. He work at Denny’s with Sandi?”

Nick glanced at Polaski, who shook his head. He lifted the recorder off the table and pressed the stop button. Then he followed Polaski out of the room.

“I don’t buy that sex thing. He’s got to be lying,” Polaski said when they’d shut the door on Lugino. “Who the hell could have sex with someone and not realize they’re dead? It’s too sick.”

Nick rubbed his eyes. Damn, he was tired. “I agree it sounds hard to believe. But he didn’t even blink at the sound of Karen Jacobs’ name or Charlie Sloan’s.”

“Maybe he didn’t know their names,” Polaski continued. “Doesn’t mean someone didn’t tell him about the case. It’ll be easy to check if his blood type matches the semen at the scene. He’s admitted he was there. It’s got to be him.”

Nick nodded, not sure what he thought anymore. His mind kept coming back to the evidence. The evidence pointed at Lugino. His fingerprints, the semen, it was enough to close the case. “See if he’ll agree to toxicology. Maybe we can find something that proves he’s lying. And we’ve got a print on the body. We’re running him against that.”

Polaski nodded and headed back into the interview room.

But he knew what the D.A.’s office would want—and it was the one thing he couldn’t give them. What was the damn motive?