"How did you get to the Ponderosa, Gary?"
"I walked down High."
"So you went by the park?"
Yeah."
"What side of the street did you walk on?"
"Uhm, the other side. Not where the park is."
Downes leaned forward. "This is real important, Gary. The murder could have happened right when you passed by the park, so you could be an eyewitness."
Gary looked surprised. "I want you to think real hard.
Did you see anything going on in the park when you passed by?"
Gary's brow furrowed as he struggled to concentrate.
Then, Gary's face broke into a wide grin.
"I did see something, Sergeant Downes. I did."
"What did you see, Gary?"
"I seen a guy and this girl. They were hugging."
"Where did you see this?"
"By the big park entrance, near where you go down to the wishing well, only closer to the street."
"What did the man look like?"
"I'm not sure. It was dark."
"How tall was the man?"
"I don't know. He was leaning on her."
"Leaning?"
"Yeah. You know. Hugging her. Leaning down."
"Gary, this is important. Think real hard. Could the girl have been Sandy? Could the man be the murderer?"
Gary was quiet for a moment. Downes edged forward on his seat. When Gary raised his head, he looked apologetic.
"They was just hugging, Sergeant Downes. I'm sorry, but they was just hugging."
An hour later, Downes and Patrick stepped into the hall, leaving Gary alone in the interrogation room.
"What do you think?" Downes asked.
"I don't know. What about you?"
Downes shook his head. "He seems too dumb to lie, but I don't believe in coincidence. He's admitted to being at the park right around the time the murder probably was committed, he threatened to kill a girl who looks a lot like Whiley."
"I think we need to get a D.A. in on this before we go any further," Patrick said.
Downes frowned. Earl Ridgely had instructed Downes to call him if there was a break in the case, but Ridgely was too close to the Harmons. He'd been invited to Donna's wedding and Jesse Harmon had made a sizable contribution to Earl's campaign. Ridgely might insist on getting Gary a lawyer and that would be that.
Becky O'Shay would never suggest getting Harmon a lawyer, but she would try to take the credit if Harmon confessed. Still, she wouldn't interfere with the interrogation and that was the main thing.
"I'm gonna find Becky O'Shay. That will give you some time to soften up Gary."
"How do you want me to work it?" Patrick asked.
Downes thought for a moment. Then, he got an idea.
"This probably wouldn't work on most people, but Gary is dumber than a post. Why don't you try the black light?"
After Downes explained what he had in mind, Patrick frowned.
"I don't know, Dennis. That doesn't sound right to me.
"What's the problem?"
"It's trickery. It could taint the whole confession, if we get one."
"No it won't. Not if you don't put words in his mouth. Let me tell you how I'd do it."
Peter Hale was certain that the bathroom in his rental home had been built for midgets. There was so little space between the tiny tub and the sink that he could only dry himself by standing sideways and the showerhead was so low that Peter had to stoop to catch the water that drizzled out. It sure was a far cry from the walk-in shower in his condo and its four jetstream nozzles. Still, Peter was in a good mood. He was going out tonight with an attractive, sexy woman and he was certain he was going to have a great time.
Peter wiped away some of the vapor that misted the mirror and combed his hair. He was singing a few bars of "Life in the Fast Lane," one of his favorite Eagles tunes, when the phone rang. Peter wrapped a towel around his waist and rushed into the bedroom.
"Peter?"
."Hi, Becky. I was just getting ready to come over."
"That's why I'm calling. There's an emergency and I have to go to the police station."
"Do you want me to pick you up there?"
"I'm afraid that won't work. This could take all night.
I'm going to have to ask for a rain check."
Peter was crushed.
"You've got one," he said jauntily, masking his disappointment. "I know about emergencies. We had them all the time at Hale, Greaves."
"Thanks for taking this so well. Let's talk later in the week."
Becky hung up and a wave of despondency swept over Peter. He flopped onto the bed. He had been really pumped up for this date. He tried to look on the bright side. Having a date cancel at the last minute wasn't the end of the world. He thought of the many times he had been the canceler. Besides, he told himself, there was a gourmet lasagna microwave dinner in the freezer and a Chuck Norris movie on the tube, sustenance for both the body and the mind. He had everything he needed for an exciting evening right at home.
Peter's attempt to kid himself out of his depression failed miserably and only made him more melancholy.
He couldn't stay home tonight after getting his hopes up for an evening that would vaguely resemble the good times he used to have. Peter thought about going to the restaurant by himself, but his appetite had disappeared.
He contemplated calling Rhonda or picking up a college girl at the Stallion, but his heart wasn't in it. Then, he thought about calling his father.
Peter had been in Whitaker more than a month.
Surely that was a long enough exile. Maybe Richard just wanted to scare him. Maybe he wasn't really written out of the will. He would call his father and explain how working for seventeen thousand a year and living in this dump had taught him about the value of money. He WO d recount a tale or two about the poor unfortunates; he was re resenting. Surely Richard would see p that he was a new man with a sense of responsibility.
Certainly he would say that all was forgiven and welcome Peter home with open arms.
Peter dialed his father's home number. Richard picked up the phone on the third ring.
"Richard Hale," a strong, confident voice announced.
Peter wanted to say something, but he couldn't speak.
"Hello?" his father said with a tinge of annoyance.
All Peter's energy drained away, leaving him helpless.
The receiver at Richard Hale's end dropped angrily onto its cradle.
"Dad, it's Peter," Richard Hale's son whispered into the dead line.
Gary looked up anxiously when the door to the interrogation room opened. He had been left alone for almost half an hour and he was getting scared. His anxiety increased when Bob Patrick entered the room.
"Hi, Gary," Patrick said pleasantly, "I brought you a drink."
Before entering the room, Patrick had dried a can of Coke and dusted it with detection powder. Although invisible to the naked eye, the powder would look orange under the ultraviolet light beamed from the tan flashlight Patrick carried. Gary did not want to take the Coke from Patrick, but he was very thirsty. He eyed the officer warily. The fact that Patrick was being nice to him made Gary suspicious.
"Where's Sergeant Downes?"
"He had something to do. He'll be back soon."
Gary took the Coke with his right hand and drank it greedily. Patrick sat down next to Gary and placed the tan flashlight where Gary could see, it. Then, Patrick took several crime scene photographs of Sandra Whiley and laid them next to the flashlight. Gary took one quick look at the photos and turned his eyes away.
"What's the matter, Gary?"
"I don't like them p ... pictures."
"Is it the blood that bothers you?"
"Y ... yes."
"Most of the killers I've interviewed couldn't look at their victim's blood," Patrick lied. There had been only two homicides in Whitaker County since he had been on the force and he had never interviewed any of the prisoners. "I don't know what it is, but the blood of their victim scared them. Maybe they thought I could see that blood on them even when they had taken great pains to wash it off. What do you think about that, Gary?"
"I don't know," Gary answered, still averting his eyes from the photos.
Patrick gathered up the pictures and put them away.
Gary relaxed visibly. Patrick tapped the black light.
"Know what this is?"
Gary shook his head.
"It's a blood machine, a light that can pick up the smallest drop of blood on a killer's hands. Most murderers think that you can wash off the blood of a victim, but you can't. Oh, you can scrub and scrub, but the blood of a murdered person works its way into the skin and no amount of cleaning can make it completely disappear."
Patrick paused to let Gary absorb what he had just said.
"Now you say you didn't kill that girl. Well, I'm open-minded." Patrick picked up the tan flashlight and pointed it at Gary. "Why don't you stick out your hands and we can settle this right now."
Gary wrapped both hands around the Coke can and drew it into his chest.
"What's the matter, Gary? You aren't worried about what the blood machine might show, are you?"
"N ... no."
"Then open your hands and hold them palm up."
Gary put the can down. He opened his hands and stared at them. There was nothing on them. Very slowly, Gary extended his hands toward Patrick. Patrick pressed the button on the flashlight and directed the ultraviolet beam at Gary's palms. Large iridescent orange splotches appeared on both hands. Gary stared at the orange splotches in horror.
Chapter TEN.
Dennis Downes and Becky O'Shay conferenced in the small room on the other side of the two-way mirror.
Through the glass, Becky could see Gary Harmon. The suspect huddled on his chair, casting frequent frightened looks at Bob Patrick.
"I called Don Bosco from County Mental Health and he's going through his records to see if he has anything on Gary," Downes said.
"Good idea," Becky agreed. "I definitely think you're on to something. Take the magazines." Becky pointed at the pile of sex books the police had found in Gary's house. "We can assume Harmon saved these particular issues for a reason and I've noticed something they have in common. The centerfolds are all blondes like our victim and Karen Nix."
"Good going, Becky. I didn't spot that."
"Were the victim in the gully and the victim in Blaine blond?"
"One was and the girl he peeped on at the college was blond."
"All right!" Becky exclaimed.
"What about the absence of blood on his clothing and in the house?" Downes asked.
"I don't think we should spin our wheels worrying about that. Let the criminalists run their tests. If they don't come up, with anything, we can worry about it then. Harmon may have done something as simple as getting rid of his bloody clothes."
"You're right. If he confesses, we'll find out what happened to the blood."
Downes stood up. "It's about time I started questioning Gary again. Do you think I should Mirandize him?"
"You haven't done that yet?"
"I didn't want to spook him. Besides, he's not in custody. I made it clear that he's free to leave whenever he wants to."
"Technically, you may be right, Dennis, but I'd do it now. Harmon's been here for several hours. Some judges would consider him to be in custody."
"Okay. I'm gonna start taping the conversation.
You'll be able to hear everything we say in here once I switch on the intercom."
"Good. You know, it might not be a bad idea to have Don Bosco sit in here with me. The observations of a trained psychologist could be useful at trial."
Downes left to get a tape recorder. Becky was really excited. She rarely got a chance to be in on an investigation from the beginning and this was no ordinary invest1gation. Her date with Peter Hale was forgotten. Dating Richard Hale's son might have been useful, but Peter wasn't going anywhere. She might not need him to get a job, anyway. O'Shay's plans did not include a long stay in Whitaker. She would gain experience here, then try to land a job with the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office in Portland or the more prestigious United States Attorney's Office. After a few years, she planned to parlay that experience into a job in a big firm where she could make some real money. If she could claim credit for breaking a case involving a serial killer she might not have long to wait before she was on her way.
ties asked "What happened with the black light?" Dow Patrick. They were in the hall outside the interrogation room.
"Gary freaked. He started moaning and wringing his hands as soon as I turned on the fight."
"Did he admit to anything?"
"No, but he's pretty scared. If he's going to crack, it'll be now."
Gary stood up when Dennis Downes preceded Bob Patrick into the room.
"Can I go home now? I don't want to stay here," he pleaded, casting a worried glance at Bob Patrick.
"I have just a few more questions I want to ask you."
"Can I go then?"
"Oh, sure. And don't think I don't appreciate all you're doing to help the police. I wouldn't keep you here if I didn't think you could help the people of this city solve this terrible case."
Downes held up the tape recorder. While Gary looked at it, Downes flashed a quick look at Bob Patrick.
"To make sure I get what you say down right," Downes said, "I'd like to use a tape recorder. My memory ain't what it used to be and this gadget saves me from having to write everything down. Do you mind if .
I tape-record our conversation "No.
"Great. Before we get started, I'm going to read you your Miranda rights."
"What are you doing that for?" Patrick asked angrily.
"This punk's just gonna hide behind a lawyer's skirts like every other guilty asshole."
Downes jumped to his feet.
"I've had enough out of you, Officer Patrick. Gary has nothing to hide. If he does want a lawyer that's his right. Now, I expect you to apologize to Mr. Harmon."
"You've got to be kidding?"
"Apologize, then get out."
Gary watched Bob Patrick flush with anger, then he heard him mumble an apology and storm out, slamming the door behind him. He felt so relieved that he sagged on his chair.