“But—that was different—”
“Was it? Allow me to refresh your memory.”
With a sudden flourish, Prescott whipped out a black-and-white glossy photo. Ben didn’t need a detailed explanation to realize this was a picture of a murder victim. He also didn’t require an explanation to tell him what aspect of this victim most interested the police.
In the photo, the black male victim was stretched out across the floor, face up. His body and face had been horribly burned and disfigured. Despite the charred exterior, however, one aspect of the victim’s appearance stood out immediately.
On the victim’s face, someone had carved a broad, bright red smile.
Chapter 15
“ALL RIGHT THEN,” Prescott said, “now that we understand each other, let’s talk turkey, okay?”
“But—I didn’t kill Lily!”
“Really? Well, if you didn’t, you should’ve.” Prescott sat in the chair beside Earl and leaned forward, like they were two old chums having a little chat. “But if you didn’t do it, you won’t mind answerin’ some questions, right?”
“I don’t know nothin’ about it.”
“I know, I know. But you gotta admit—this murder looks a lot like the one you did time for.”
Earl didn’t respond.
“And you knew the lady—Lily Campbell. Didn’t you?”
“I—did.”
“Fact is—she was your girlfriend, wasn’t she?”
Earl’s mouth barely seemed to move. “A long long time ago.”
“Right.” He leaned even closer. “ ’Cause she dumped you, didn’t she?”
Earl gave him a curt nod.
“Well, I appreciate you clearin’ all that up for me. Look—since you didn’t do it, you won’t mind if me and the boys take a look around your apartment, will you?”
Ben’s jaw tightened. He knew Prescotts tactics all too well. First he’d play nice-nice, and get whatever he could out of Earl that way. Then he’d play the bad guy, and see what that produced. He’d wait till the last possible moment to arrest Earl, because as soon as he did that, he’d have to read Earl his rights, and all this amiable chitchat would likely end.
“So whaddaya say, Earl? Can we have a little looksee?”
“Jeez … that’s hard to—”
“Whaddaya know. I just happen to have some consent forms with me.” He whipped some papers out of his coat pocket. “Just sign here and we’ll be able to go about our business.”
Earl winced. “You want me to sign somethin’?”
“Sure, why not? You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then there’s no problemo.” He handed Earl a pen. “Just sign on the dotted line.”
Ben watched as Earl’s hand hovered over the forms. He didn’t want to get involved, but he couldn’t just sit still and allow this travesty of justice to take place. “Earl, don’t sign.”
Earl looked up. “What?”
Prescott pressed his lips together. “Butt out, kid.”
Ben stepped forward. “Earl, listen to me. Don’t sign the forms.”
Earl rose quickly, rubbing his hands together. “Maybe Ben’s right. I think I’ll be going now. I got work to do.”
“You don’t got jack shit.” Prescott pressed himself under Earl’s nose. “Listen to me and listen good, chump. You’re going to answer our questions. Every single one of them. And you will tell the truth. And if you don’t, we’ll tear this place down around your ankles.”
Ben felt his teeth clench. The “bad cop” had arrived. Prescott’s whole routine was loathsome. Mike might be willing to put pressure on a witness to extract the truth, but Prescott was willing to ignore the law and violate rights just to make things a little easier for himself. The man would probably still be using thumbscrews if he thought he could get away with it.
“So don’t give me any lip, understand, Bonner? Understand?”
Earl stood staring at Prescott, trembling, sweating bullets, blubbering without managing to actually say anything.
“All right, Bonner—come clean. Where’s the knife?”
“The knife? But—I don’t got—I mean—I—I got a butter knife in the kitchen. For makin’ sandwiches—”
“Search the kitchen,” Prescott barked to his assistant.
“Please,” Earl pleaded pathetically, “I ain’t done anything.”
“Shut up, Bonner. Just answer the questions.”
Ben felt his rage boiling. This was unforgivable. And unprofessional. And unnecessary. And …
And exactly why people need lawyers. But—
“C’mon, punk,” Prescott growled. “Talk!”
“But—but—” Earl was practically in tears. “Can’t I call—or, or—”
“No! You’re under arrest!”
Ben couldn’t stand it any longer. “Excuse me,” he said, addressing Prescott. “Do you have a warrant?”
Earl glared at him. “Ben! Whatta you think you’re doin’?”
“Who the hell are you?” Prescott barked.
“You haven’t answered my question.” Ben had learned the best response to hyperbolic bluster was to remain absolutely cool. “Do you have a warrant?”
Prescott steered Earl toward the door. “I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated by some idiot.”
“I gather from that nonresponse that you don’t. I assumed as much, since you tried to con Earl into signing consent forms. There are no exigent circumstances present, this arrest isn’t based on evidence discovered at the scene, you haven’t witnessed a felony, and you’ve bullied your way into the suspect’s place of residence. You don’t have the right to make a warrantless arrest, much less to abuse the suspect or search his home.”
Earl’s eyes were wide and worried. “Ben, we don’t wanna make the man mad. Maybe you should just stay quiet.”
“Yeah, maybe you should just stay quiet,” Prescott echoed, still shoving Earl toward the door. “I don’t have to answer questions from you, punk.”
It was now or never. “Actually, you do.” Ben pulled out his wallet and flashed his OBA membership card. “My name’s Ben Kincaid. I’m a lawyer.”
Earl’s eyes widened. “Ben! What you talkin’ about?”
“I’m a member in good standing with the state bar. My bar number is 11756. You can check it out if you like.” He paused. “You may remember me—I handled the Barrett case, which I believe you had some tangential involvement with. And now I’m representing Mr. Bonner.”
Prescott raised a finger. “Kincaid,” he whispered, his brain abuzz. “You’re Morelli’s friend.”
“That’s right. And I’m very familiar with the Tulsa authorized arrest procedures, none of which you’re currently observing. If you don’t back off immediately, I’ll be lodging a formal complaint. You could end up on the bad end of a lawsuit, Prescott.”
“Ben,” Earl whispered, “stop foolin’ around. You could get us into trouble.”
“The lieutenant here is the one in trouble,” Ben said. “He’s been trampling all over your constitutional rights, apparently for no reason other than that he thought he could get away with it.”
Prescott sneered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you attempted to interrogate my client without reading him his rights. I know you attempted to take him out of his domicile by force without a warrant, although you came here with the intent of making an arrest and had plenty of time to get a warrant. I know you told the sergeant to search his kitchen, also without a warrant. Basically, I’d say you totally screwed this prosecution before it even happened.”
Ben and Prescott stared at each other for a protracted moment that seemed more like hours. Their eyes burned into each other’s; neither one flinched.