Shit. These guys are smart. They’re hitting every pressure point they can find. They got to George and threatened him.
“I need you to let this go,” George says. “Please, Mr. Casper.”
Chapter 59
“It’s not good, Ben.”
Eddie Volker says these words before he says hello. I’m in his law firm after taking the most circuitous route I possibly could to his office. “Not good at all.”
Eddie is the Beat’s lawyer—the one who represents us in the rare cases when someone tries to sue us for defamation or has some other beef with an article we published. But his principal practice is criminal defense, which is why I had him contact Detective Liz Larkin to discuss my case. I’m here now for a report, and Eddie’s first words aren’t what I wanted to hear.
He has the office of a busy lawyer—piles of paper everywhere, the fancy diplomas and honors framed on his wall, the piping hot cup of Starbucks on his desk. He’s losing his hair as well as his battle with the bulge these days, but he remains a formidable presence. I feel a small measure of comfort with him on my side.
“As you know, they searched your house. They had a warrant, and it looks fine to me. No basis to quarrel with it. Anyway, what they found wasn’t good for us, Ben.”
I don’t answer. There are plenty of things they could find in my town house that would be embarrassing to me, but I can’t imagine what would prove that I killed Diana or Jonathan Liu, especially considering the small detail that I didn’t kill either of them.
“I made a lot of noise about the First Amendment, that cops can’t steal a reporter’s notes or work product, threats to run to court to get a protective order. But I didn’t see anyone trembling in their boots, Ben. I wouldn’t be, either, if I were them.”
“Why not?” I ask.
Eddie rearranges some papers on his desk. Avoidance behavior, something you do when you don’t want to deliver bad news.
“They found traces of carpet fibers from Diana Hotchkiss’s apartment on your shoes.”
“So what? I’ve been in Diana’s apartment many times.”
“They found traces of carpet fibers from Jonathan Liu’s downstairs carpet on another pair of your shoes.”
“That’s impossible.” Since leaving Jonathan Liu’s home, I haven’t been to mine. I’ve been on the run.
Eddie gives a curt nod. It’s not the first time in Eddie’s career that somebody sitting where I’m sitting has denied doing something. It’s probably not even the first time today. The words I didn’t do it have probably echoed off the walls of the office so often that they’re embedded in the plaster.
“Ben, they say you killed Jonathan Liu the same way you killed your mother. They say you either snuck up behind him or you subdued him, put a gun against his temple, and pulled the trigger. Then you made it look like a suicide.”
I stare at the ceiling. “They have no proof of that. They don’t even have proof that I was in his house when he was murdered. A carpet fiber—”
“And your fingerprint on Liu’s computer mouse—”
“Okay, fine, both of those might prove I was there at some point, but not when he was killed.”
Eddie looks at me like he has more to tell me, like the bad-news express hasn’t stopped yet.
“Spit it out,” I say to him.
He sighs. “Ben, they found Jonathan Liu’s wallet in your bedroom.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say. “That’s bullshit!”
“And he used his credit card to buy a plane ticket for himself the evening he was murdered. So anyone who stole his credit card must have done it after that time. Basically, that means they’ve got you in his apartment right about the coroner’s estimated time of death.”
I jump out of my chair. “I can’t believe this is happening. They planted Jonathan Liu’s wallet and those carpet fibers. They framed me. They fucking framed me!”
“I believe you and I’ll fight for you,” Eddie says. “But it’s very bad. They want you to come in for more questioning. And if I don’t deliver you to them by the end of the day, they’re going to issue a warrant for your arrest.”
I cover my face with my hands and drop my head against the wall. They’ve finally got me in the corner.
Eddie comes over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s time to cut your losses, my friend. I’ll take you downtown. They’ll book you, print you, and I’ll see if we can do something about bond.”
I let out a bitter chuckle. “Bond for a double murderer? Is there a good chance I’ll get bond?”