The Interrogation by Thomas H. Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

thinking maybe Smalls comes from Seaview.”
    “Why Seaview? There are Ferris wheels all over the damn country.”
    “Yeah, but Smalls doesn’t have an accent from some other part of the country. He sounds like a guy from around here. And the fact is, the only place around here that has a permanent Ferris wheel is Seaview. Or at least it used to have one. Remember that amusement park they had there?”
    “That’s a real long shot, Norm.”
    “Sure it is, but what do we have to lose?”
    “We have ten hours left,” Pierce reminded him. “You really think chasing a fucking Ferris wheel is a good use of that time?”
    “If we can find out who Smalls is, maybe we can find an outstanding warrant. We could hold him on that warrant. Buy time.”
    “That’s the problem. Time. We don’t have time to go chasing around Seaview.”
    “Not we. You. I can keep at him here.”
    “You want me to drive to Seaview alone? Ask people if they remember some kid on a Ferris wheel in a park that closed ten, twelve years ago?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s because you think I’m blowing the interrogation, isn’t it? It’s because you want to get me out of here. That’s what all this Seaview shit is about.”
    “Look, Jack, I don’t think we’re both needed here atthe moment, that’s all I’m saying. We both know the case inside out. Two of us in the same room? What’s the point?”
    Pierce considered the matter, then shook his head. “Not yet, Norm. I want to go at him one more time. If I don’t get anywhere, then I’ll go to Seaview.”
    Cohen knew there was no point in arguing the matter. He turned back toward the interrogation room, then stopped. “You’re not coming with me?”
    “I think I should cool off a little,” Pierce said. “But listen, go at him hard. No more of this Good Cop bullshit. We don’t have time for that. So hit him hard. I’ll come in and give him more of the same. Like a one-two punch. Maybe we can shake him up that way.”
    Cohen nodded, then stepped inside the room. He sat in the chair opposite Smalls. For three minutes he let Smalls stew in the silence while he mapped his strategy, decided on just how friendly to be, then just how hard, the way to build the interrogation to a knife point. When he’d plotted the route, tested it in his mind, he leaned forward abruptly.
    “Let’s talk about the pipe, Jay. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? What they found in the pipe?”
    8:55 P.M. , September 1, City Park, Drainage Pipe 4
    “Holy shit! Look at this.”
    In the tube of light the pipe had now become, Zarella slogged through the brightly illuminated debris to where Sanford stood, halfway through the length of the tunnel.
    “What’d you find, Pete?” he asked as he reached his partner.
    Sanford pointed down into the muck. “Look at that.”
    Zarella felt his stomach heave. “Oh, Jesus …”
    “Do you think it’s real?” Sanford asked.
    Zarella looked closer. “I guess it could be.”
    Sanford bent forward and plucked the single blue eyeball from the sodden leaves.
    “Jesus,” Zarella moaned.
    Sanford gave the eye a gentle squeeze. “Glass,” he said. “Like maybe from a doll or something.”
    They found the rest of the doll seven minutes later at the bottom of a soggy cardboard box heaped with other toys, rubber balls, marbles, an unstrung badminton racket, a rusted cap pistol, a jump rope with one light blue plastic handle.
    Sanford shined his flashlight up the length of the pipe, then beyond it. “If that little girl came up that path there, this freak could have seen her from right here.”
    Zarella turned to see Pierce and Cohen moving toward them.
    Cohen surveyed the sides of the drainage tunnel. “Any idea how long this guy was living here?” he asked.
    “We didn’t question the suspect, sir,” Zarella replied.
    Cohen stepped closer. The wall was covered with the usual graffiti, but as his flashlight scanned it, something different emerged from the gloom.