“I suppose so. What difference does it make? What is it you’re trying to say, Mr. Carella? Are you trying to say I killed her? Just because we argued every now and then? Don’t you argue with your wife? Are you married?”
“I’m married,” Carella said.
“So don’t you and your wife—?”
“Let’s talk about you and your wife, okay?” Carella said.
“Where were you between six and seven P.M. on Thursday night?” Hawes asked.
“Listen,” Esposito said, “if this is going to turn into a third degree here, I want to call my lawyer.”
“You don’t need a lawyer to answer a few questions,” Hawes said.
“Not unless the questions make it sound like I killed my wife.”
“Only the answers can do that.”
“I want to call my lawyer.”
“Okay, call your lawyer,” Carella said. “Tell him we’re asking you some simple questions you refuse to answer, and tell him we may have to get those answers before a grand jury. Go ahead, call him.”
“A grand jury? What the hell…?”
“A grand jury, yes. Call your lawyer.”
“I will.”
“I wish you would. We’re wasting time here.”
Esposito went to the phone and dialed a number. He listened as the phone rang and then said, “Joyce, this is Warren Esposito. Is Jerry there? Thank you.” He waited again, and then said into the phone, “Jerry, I’ve got two detectives here, and they’re asking questions about where I was Thursday, and threatening me with a grand jury…Sure, just a second.” He held out the phone to Carella. “He wants to talk to one of you.”
Carella took the phone. “Hello?” he said.
“Who’s this?” the voice on the other end said.
“Detective Carella, 87th Squad. Who’s this?”
“Jerome Lieberman, Mr. Esposito’s attorney. I understand you’ve been threatening my client with a grand jury if he—”
“No one’s been threatening anybody, Mr. Lieberman. We wanted to ask some questions, and he wanted to call his lawyer. So he called you, and here you are.”
“What’s all this about a grand jury?”
“We want to know where he was when his wife was murdered. Your client has a history of wife abuse…”
“I’d be careful what I say, Mr. Carella…”
“Yes, sir, I am being careful. The police were called to this apartment on two separate occasions, I’ve already verified that. On the first occasion Mrs. Esposito’s eyes were bruised and discolored—that was on August eighteenth, Mr. Lieberman—and on the second occasion she was bleeding from the nose, and the patrolman making the report stated that the nose was broken. That was on November twelfth, last month. With such a record, I feel it’s reasonable for us to want to know where your client was at the time of the murder. If he refuses to answer our questions…”
“Have you advised him of his rights, Mr. Carella?”
“We’re not obliged to. This is still a field investigation; your client’s not in custody.”
“Do you plan to take him in custody?”
“On what grounds, counselor?”
“You tell me. You’re the one with all the answers.”
“Counselor, let’s quit playing games, okay? If your client had nothing to do with his wife’s murder, he’s got nothing to worry about. But if he refuses to answer our questions, we’ll subpoena him to appear before a grand jury, and maybe he’ll agree to tell them where he was at the time of the murder. Because if he refuses to tell them, as I’m sure you know, he’ll be held in contempt. Now we can do whatever you say, Mr. Lieberman. This is Christmas Eve, and you know as well as I that we won’t be able to get any grand jury action until the twenty-sixth, but if that’s what you want us to do, just say so. If you’d like my advice—”
“Oh, are you an attorney, Mr. Carella?”
“No, Mr. Lieberman, are you? We want some answers from your client, that’s all. My advice is for you to advise him to cooperate. That’s my advice. Free of charge.”
“And worth every penny you’re charging,” Lieberman said. “Put him back on.”
Carella handed the phone to Esposito. “Yeah,” he said, and listened. “Uh-huh…Are you sure it’s okay?…. All right, I’m sorry to bother you this way, Jerry. Thank you. And Merry Christmas,” he said, and hung up. “What are your questions?” he asked Carella.
“Where were you Thursday night between six and seven P.M.?”
“Coming home from work.”
“Where’s that?” Hawes asked.
“Techno-Systems, Inc., on Rigby and Franchise.”
“What do you do there?” Carella asked.
“I’m a computer programmer.”
“What time did you leave the office on Thursday?”
“Five-thirty.”
“How do you normally get home?”
“By subway.”
“It shouldn’t have taken you more than a half hour from Rigby and Franchise. If you left the office at five-thirty…”
“I stopped for a drink.”
“Where?”
“A place called Elmer’s, around the corner from the office.”
“How long were you there?”
“About an hour.”
“Then, actually, you didn’t start home till about six-thirty, is that it?”
“Six-thirty, a quarter to seven.”
“Who were you drinking with, Mr. Esposito?”
“I was alone.”
“Are you a regular at Elmer’s?”
“I stop in there every now and then.”
“Where’d you drink? At a table or at the bar?”
“The bar.”
“Does the bartender know you?”
“Not by name.”
“Anybody there know you by name?”
“One of the waitresses does. But she wasn’t working on Thursday.”
“What time did you get back here to Harborview?”
“Seven-thirty or thereabouts. The trains were running slow.”
“What’d you do when you got here?”
“There were policemen all over the place. I asked Jimmy what was going on and…that was when he told me my wife had been killed.”
“By Jimmy, do you mean…?”
“Jimmy Karlson, the security guard.”
“What’d you do then?”
“I tried to find out where they’d taken her. They’d moved her body by then. I tried to find out where she was. Nobody seemed to know. I came upstairs and called the police. I had to make six calls before anyone gave me any information.”
“Did you know there’d been another murder in the building?”
“Yes, Jimmy told me.”
“Told you it was Gregory Craig on the third floor?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Mr. Craig?”
“No.”
“Never ran across him in the elevator or anything?”
“I wouldn’t have known him if I’d seen him.”
“What’d you do when you found out where they’d taken your wife?”
“I went to the morgue and made a positive identification.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know who it was. One of the medical examiners, I guess.”
“What time was that?”
“Around nine o’clock. They said I…I could have the body at noon Friday. So I came back here and called the funeral parlor and made arrangements to…to have her picked up.”
“Mr. Esposito,” Carella said, “we’ll have to check with Elmer’s to make sure you were there. It would help us if we had a photograph we could show the bartender. Would you happen to have a recent picture?”
“My attorney didn’t say I could give you a picture.”
“Call him again if you like,” Carella said. “That’s the only thing we’ll use it for, to show at Elmer’s for identification.”