"Oh." Al's face froze. "I told you I work alone."
"You just bang away at the bricks in your living room?" Jason sounded doubtful.
"That's right. That's how I train."
"Must be dusty," he remarked.
Frayme shook his head again. His face held a blank expression. "Not at all. I wrap them in napkins. I told you. I don't fight. I just do it for balance."
"How do you get the balance if you don't practice with anyone?"
He didn't answer.
Jason made a clumsy karate chop with his hand. "What does this have to do with balance?"
"I don't use it to fight."
"Okay, if that's the truth, it's the truth," Jason said. "But what about the witnesses?"
"Oh, Christ. Come on, you know they don't have witnesses." He put his wrists together and raised them over his head. "If they had witnesses, they'd have arrested me already. Anyway, they were my friends. Why would I hurt my friends?"
"Well, that's a good question." Jason tilted his head. "Sometimes friends piss each other off and they're not friends anymore. Then one might have to take revenge."
"Not me. I'm a sweet guy."
Whenever a man claimed he was a sweet guy, Jason always knew he probably wasn't. Nice guys didn't have to advertise for themselves. "Well, that's good to know. I want to talk about karate some more. How long does it take to get good?"
Al made a noise with his lips. "A long time."
"What level of skill do you have?"
Al shook his head. "I wouldn't know. I'm not into competition."
"Okay. When these murders occurred, you were working a big donation with both of the victims. Isn't that a little suspicious?"
A little anger erupted in Al's eyes. "No. This is a personal tragedy for me," he said.
"You hoped it would get you out of the alumni office, away from your do-nothing boss, right?"
Frayme shifted in his metal chair. "How do you know that?"
"Oh, there's a lot of change happening. It was time for a change for you. You do all the work. He does nothing. Clear as crystal. All you needed was one little break on the donor end, and you'd be golden in corporate. That's what you wanted, right?"
Al nodded. "I deserved it. I've given everything for this school."
"Well, maybe your friends refused you, and you lost it," Jason suggested.
Frayme shook his head. "It wouldn't happen like that. I used to get mad, but I don't anymore. I've grown up."
"Why did they refuse you?"
"I didn't say that. I said if they had refused me I wouldn't have been hurt or angry. I'm way over that. I've learned a lot."
"You've learned a lot from your karate. And you're a sweet guy. Maybe you didn't mean to hurt them, just a slap on the cheek."
"You'd have to prove it," he said, looking down at his hands.
"Okay, I understand. I can see how it might happen. That lottery cop coming along the night of his retirement party, a little high and loose, celebrating his good fortune right in your neighborhood. Maybe it was just a chance meeting. He told you he was going to Florida, was taking off without giving you any of his money. So you hit him, just a little tap."
"That's not the way it happened." Frayme slammed his fist on the table so hard it jumped off the floor. "I didn't hit him. I wouldn't do that."
"So how did it happen?"
"I don't know. I was in my office."
"But no one saw you there."
"Doesn't mean I wasn't there."
"Okay, so you're a bit of a loner, no one to practice with. Maybe you don't know how strong you are. The cop pissed you off… an accident. We could work with that."
"I'm not a loner," Frayme said sullenly. "I have people."
"You just told me you practice your religion alone. Doesn't that make you kind of a loner?"
"Marty sits all day playing chess with a fucking computer. If no one sees it, what kind of win can that be?"
"I see your point. Now, Birdie told you she was giving ten thousand to the university the day she was murdered. That must have been a disappointment for you."
"Listen, I don't know where you heard that. It's a crock. I was getting a couple of million from each of them. B and B were doing it for me. I'm telling you it was a sure thing. You just said I was on the way up. Why would I kill my future?"
"Do you have anything to support that, something in writing?"
"Who wants to know?" Frayme's chin quivered. "Maybe I could document with my notes. The pledges were made on the phone, but I don't have tapes. We're not supposed to do that."
"Did Baldwin know about it?"
"Not the amount. He would have tried to handle it himself, and the man couldn't squeeze dick out of the mint." He paused. "Do they think we could go to the estates?"
Jason raised a shoulder. "Maybe."
"I could take a crack at it," Frayme said with an engaging smile.
"How about Jack Devereaux?"
"Oh, God. Don't get me started on Jack." Frayme looked at the graffiti without seeing it.
"What about him?"
"A sad story! I know what it's like. My dad left me, but at least I know where he is. Jack's dad wouldn't even admit he had him. I feel real bad for him."
"Well, you don't need to feel bad for him now. He's on top of the world now. A wonder boy."
Frayme laughed. "Oh, you don't know him. He's a real kook. Afraid of his shadow-crazy-in-the-head paranoid. Look at what he told you about my fighting. A lot of paranoid lies."
"Jack is paranoid? I didn't know that."
"Well, it's common among them. You can't imagine what it's like working with those people day after day. They get some money in their hands and they start treating you like shit."
Jason flashed to his rich banker client who often treated him like shit. "I bet it's tough," he said. Then he got down to it and began questioning the suspect in earnest.
Forty-eight
By midnight Jason had covered all the subjects on his list more than once. He thanked Al for his help and told him he'd see what he could do to get him out. A few minutes later Albert Frayme was quietly released from the Sixth in spite of the many inconsistencies in his story and incriminating statements he'd made. A uniform came in and told him he could go.
By then the squad room had emptied out, and practically no one was there. Only a few people from the second tour were left. Al carried his last water bottle with him as he skipped down the stairs to where Mike and Jason were waiting by the front door of the building.
"Thanks for coming in, Al; you've been a big help," Mike said.
"Am I done?" he asked.
"Yes. You're done for now. We may need your help down the road. You want a ride home?"
"No, thanks. No more hospitality, please. I'll walk." Al glowered at the heavyset lieutenant at the front desk, then put the water bottle right next to his hand.
"Garbage," he said, and gave Jason a triumphant look.
"Don't leave town, and don't get in any trouble," Mike advised him.
"I don't get in trouble." Al stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and walked out the front door, whistling a happy tune as if all his business there were taken care of.
"Why didn't you let me crack him?" Jason asked when the door closed and he was gone.
"We still have some details to pin down. If we can't place him on the scene, we've got a problem. He won't give on his sparring partner. That may be the missing piece. If we can get him and persuade him to testify, we can make an arrest. Come on; we'll drive you home."
"Are you sure you want to? It's out of your way."
"No problem."
April came out of the muster room. "Ready to go?"
The men nodded. Mike disappeared for about sixty seconds behind a closed door, then came out jingling somebody's car keys. He'd snagged a nice unmarked vehicle that was conveniently parked out front.
"Let's roll." He got in the front seat of the shiny Lumina. Jason took shotgun, and April sat in the back.