Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4)

Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4) Page 82

Of the three people standing next to me in the small, unfurnished chamber, only one seemed to notice—an officer whose name I couldn’t remember—and then only because he was afraid the video camera he was operating would pick up the noise. The other two, G. K. Bonalay and David Tuseman, were too busy watching the scene that unfolded on the other side of the one-way mirror to care.

The interrogation room of the Anoka County Sheriff’s Department served also as a conference room. Fluorescent lights hidden behind marbled plastic ran the entire length of the ceiling. The opposite wall was a huge blackboard, and an audio-visual system mounted on a metal stand had been rolled into the corner. In the center of the room, surrounded by a dozen chairs, was a long table. Richard Nye sat silent and alone at the head of the table. He knew there were people behind the rectangular mirror—I bet he could feel our eyes upon him—only he refused to give us the satisfaction of looking our way, not even when he heard a loud sneeze from behind the glass.

“Bless you,” G. K. said automatically, staring ahead.

“Yes, bless you,” said Tuseman.

Like you guys care, my inner voice replied.

The door of the interrogation room opened and Assistant County Attorney Rollie Briggs stepped inside. He had been popping up throughout this case, yet this was the first time I had seen him. I wasn’t impressed. He was middle-aged and flabby, about half a foot shorter and sixty pounds heavier than Nye.

Yeah, I can see how a clever beauty like G. K. could wrap him around her baby finger.

Briggs was carrying a yellow legal pad. The noise he made as he settled into a chair, dropped the yellow legal pad on the table, and swiveled to face Nye at the table’s head sounded distant and tinny over the cheap speakers in the room behind the mirror.

“Where’s Tuseman? Where’s the county attorney?” Nye asked.

Tuseman stiffened. I knew he was having second thoughts about permitting us to witness the interrogation. I have no idea why he allowed it in the first place, except G. K. kept calling him David and “boss” and he kept calling her Genny and “kid.” I had the impression that they had been close when she worked for him as an intern.

“If he’s smart, he’s in bed,” Briggs answered.

“I want to talk to him,” Nye said.

“But does he want to talk to you?”

“He’s my attorney.”

“Your attorney?”

“Yeah. Him and me had a deal.”

“What deal was that?” Briggs asked casually.

“I was supposed to give up all the bikers and Mexicans I knew who dealt meth in the county,” Nye said. “When I was in jail I was supposed to make as many contacts with the crankheads as I could. When I got out of jail I was supposed to lead you all to them. I did that. I did my part.”

“And in return you drew less than a year in county jail instead of five in state prison,” Briggs said. “What does that have to do with this?”

“We had a deal.”

“Deal’s done.”

“Is it? He’s gonna want me to testify, ain’t he? Well, maybe I’ll get a bad case of whatchacallit, amnesia.”

“Maybe you’ll go to prison for the rest of your life.”

“Lookit,” Nye shouted, stopped, lowered his voice, said, “Lookit, along with my testimony against the bad people, he said he was going to take care of me if I gave him some testimony against Merodie Davies.”

“The county attorney said that?”

Behind the mirror, Tuseman said, “I never.”

“He said he wanted me to testify that Merodie beat on my ass with a softball bat, which is true, so help me,” Nye said. “He said he wanted me to say that Merodie had homicidal tendencies. He said he was gonna put her away, which was all right with me.”

“Why did he want to put her away?”

“I don’t know, man. Somethin’ about teaching a lesson to some old guy thinks he’s God. Lookit, I’m still willing to do that.”

G. K. asked, “Are you getting all this?”

The camera operator nodded.

Tuseman made a noise that sounded like a growl. He formed a fist, but resisted putting it through the wall. Instead, he stared at his assistant.

“What does the sonuvabitch think he’s doing?” he asked no one in particular.

Screwing you over, my inner voice replied. He’s been doing it all along. I gave G. K. a sideways glance. Was it for Muehlenhaus or for her? I wondered. I would like Briggs better if I knew he was doing it for her.

Briggs said, “How was the county attorney going to take care of you?”

“He said he’d watch out for me, keep me out of trouble,” Nye said.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” G. K. clucked just loud enough for Tuseman to hear.

“Yeah?” said Briggs. “Well, that was Thursday, before you started beating up on women. Today is Friday. On Friday all the assholes belong to me.”

“Fuck you,” Nye said.

Briggs reached out with a flat, upturned hand. He made sure Nye got a good look at it as he slowly curled his fingers into a tight fist.

“I got your balls right here and I feel like squeezing,” Briggs said.

Nye cut loose with a long string of obscenities, although he didn’t put much effort into it.

“You want a lawyer?” Briggs asked. “We’ll get you a lawyer.”