Nightbred(54)

“We’re going to videotape this interview, Mr. Gates. What you say in this room will definitely be used against you in court. Do you understand, and consent to that?”

“Yes.”

Sam nodded to Massey, who switched on the camera and recited the time, the date, and their names for the record. What she needed to do first was see if she could shake Gates out of his parrot act. “What’s your middle name, Eugene?”

He looked up at her as if expecting her to provide a hint. When she didn’t, he frowned and thought about it. After thirty seconds, he said, “Victor.”

“Do you know what day it is?” After he answered that just as slowly, she sat back and studied his face. He had the remains of a summer tan, but it had taken on a yellow cast, and the skin around his mouth and under his chin looked loose. He smelled of soap, and his clothes were clean, but his fingernails looked as if he’d been digging in the dirt for days. “What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

He licked his lips with a dry tongue. “Nothing.”

“How about dinner last night? Lunch yesterday?” Before he could answer, she asked, “When was the last time you ate anything, Eugene?”

It took him a full minute before he replied, “Three days ago.”

Massey whistled. “That long, huh?” A candy bar landed on the table in front of Gates, and when Sam glared at Massey, he shrugged. “The guy’s probably hungry, right?”

“Hungry.” Eugene reached out with his cuffed hands to pick up the candy bar. “Right.” He tore off the wrapper and crammed the entire bar into his mouth, closing his eyes as his cheeks bulged and he chewed.

“If he chokes on that, you’re writing up the reports,” Sam told Massey. She waited for the suspect to swallow before she said, “Mr. Gates, I can get you some real food, if you want.”

“Real food.” He nodded, and seemed unaware that tears were rolling down his face.

He’s been starved. Sam felt an unwilling sympathy for the man. “Before I order a meal for you, I’d like you to tell me about the last time you saw Noel Coburn.”

“The last time . . . was in the garden.”

“Was this your garden?”

He shook his head. “She made it for us. She was nice. She kept us in the garden as long as she could.”

Sam frowned. Murder suspects could invent all kinds of imaginary reasons to be found temporarily insane at trial, but Gates didn’t seem to be phonying it up. “Eugene, have you been using some of the stuff in your sample case?”

“No.” He turned his right wrist back and forth, jangling the cuffs and a bracelet around his wrist.

Sam leaned over and tugged back the end of his jacket sleeve. Gates wore a MedicAlert bracelet, and when she turned over the oval tag, she saw a list of serious allergies to substances that included opiates. “Did anyone else give you drugs?”

“No.” He stared down at his bracelet. “Gold.”

The bracelet was the classic MedicAlert red and silver on a silver chain, so he wasn’t talking about that. “What’s gold, Eugene?”

His eyes met hers. “Hell.”

Massey uttered a soft, urgent sound, and when Sam looked at him, he made a swirling motion with his finger beside his temple.

Sam felt inclined to agree with him, but she had to press for details before they could write him off as a potential nutcase. “Eugene, what was the name of the woman who kept you in the garden?”

“Whore.” He lunged across the table at her, trying desperately to claw at her with his hands.

Sam stood and moved out of reach, and just as quickly as he had attacked, Gates subsided back in his chair. “Why did you kill Noel Coburn, Eugene?”

His face reddened as his voice returned to the flat monotone. “He owed me money and he wouldn’t pay. So I killed him.” He looked up at her, his eyes hard and ugly. “You whore.”

“Hey,” Massey said. “Watch your mouth.”

Sam watched his face. “How did you kill Coburn, Eugene?”

He stared at her, his expression confused. “I tied the rope around his wrists, and held it when . . . when . . .”

“When what?”

Gates bent over, his face darkening to purple as he tried to open his jacket.

Sam hurried around the table. “Massey, call for a rig.” She loosened the knot in his tie and popped his collar. “Now. He’s having a heart attack.”

Massey ran to the wall phone as Sam released Gates from his cuffs and lowered him to the floor. He looked up at her, his eyes wide as he tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth.

“Starting CPR.” Even as she began compressions, Sam knew it was hopeless; she could smell the rot that had already begun to seep into his scent.