The kid said, “C’mon. I’ll patch it in the ambulance.”
The wound was leaking blood. Suddenly, it hurt like hell.
31
“We’ve been going at this for over an hour,” Martinez said. “You’re making life difficult on yourself, Mr. Waterson.” The detective leaned across the table in the interview room. “Dolores Sparks shot her son, hoping to make it murder/suicide. He’s been on the operating table for the last three hours, hanging on to life by a thread. The woman wants to die, Waterson.” He snapped his fingers. “She turned you in like that!”
“You’re gonna fry, sir,” Webster jumped in, “unless you do something to help yourself.”
“If you talk to us,” Martinez said, “tell us what happened…give us the triggerman…and then maybe Mr. Kent over here will deal.”
Mr. Kent was John Kent, a fifty-five-year-old Fundamentalist Christian who had put in over twenty years with the DA’s office. Fight religious with religious-Decker’s idea.
Kent smoothed his tie and said, “You talk to us honestly, Mr. Waterson. Then maybe I can save you from the chair.”
“How many times must I repeat myself. Dolores Sparks is a very sick woman.” Waterson’s eyes darted about the interview room, deep, wet circles under the arms of his suit jacket. He ran his hand through white, thin hair. “She’s been on medication for years. She’s not a credible person. No jury will believe anything she says.”
“So y’all willing to go to trial,” Webster said. “Good luck to you.”
Martinez said, “You know, Mr. Waterson, if you don’t start talking-”
“I didn’t do anything,” Waterson insisted. “I killed no one.”
Webster said, “But you know who pulled the trigger because you hired them.”
“All you have is Dolores’s word against mine. Is it my fault that some demented lady mistook my kindness for craziness?”
Kent said, “Sir, you don’t stand a chance.”
“I wish I had a nickel every time a lawyer said that to me.”
“Spare your life, sir. Then use it to repent to Jesus to spare your soul.”
“My soul…” Waterson looked away.
Farrell Gaynor folded his arms. “You make a good living, Mr. Waterson. You want to tell us how you got so far in the hole?”
Waterson gave Gaynor a steely glance. “I don’t believe I have to answer that. I don’t believe I have to answer any more of your questions.”
“You’re going to talk to us one way or the other. You want a mouthpiece…” Martinez handed him the phone. “I’ve always said, be my guest.”
Waterson looked at the phone, but didn’t move.
Gaynor said, “You won’t tell us about your financial woes, I’ll tell you about them. Your wife, Ellen, underwent treatment for renal cancer. Unsuccessful treatment. Eventually, both kidneys came out. She had two transplants that failed. You blamed Azor for that, didn’t you?”
“Never-”
“Then your medical insurance topped out,” Gaynor continued. “Four more years of expensive out-of-pocket dialysis. And during this terrible time in your life, Azor’s just raking it in-”
“You’re despicable.”
“Are you sure you don’t mean Azor’s despicable?”
Foam gathered at the corner of Waterson’s mouth. “He was despicable-a sinner and a pervert.”
Webster said, “I was taught Jesus loves all His children.”
“Not those who mock His words. Pray fervently in public and debase in private.”
Kent’s voice was soothing. “I know it’s hard, Mr. Waterson. Hard to watch the wicked prosper while the righteous suffer.”
The room went quiet.
“You did what you thought was right,” Kent said. “In your eyes, in God’s eyes. But the law doesn’t see it like that, sir. And the law’s going to punish you severely. You might lose your life unless you do something to help yourself.”
Tears spilled down Waterson’s cheeks. “I don’t need help. I didn’t do anything.”
“You did do something, Mr. Waterson,” Martinez said. “We all here know you did do something. You contracted murder-”
“No…” Waterson shook his head. “No, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“But that’s how it happened.”
Martinez said, “How much did you pay them?”
Waterson was quiet.
“I got receipts from your account,” Gaynor spoke up. “Which match up nicely with money that had been withdrawn from Dolly Sparks’s account. Ten grand in and out right before Azor died. Ten grand in and out right after Azor died. And for good measure, a final ten withdrawn just last Friday-the day after Dr. Reginald Decameron died.”
Waterson wiped tears from his cheek. “Abominations before the Lord. Both of them.”
“How’d you find out about Azor’s inclinations?” Webster asked.
Waterson lowered his head. “Azor had called me…to talk about estate planning. At least, that’s what he said. A strange call because his affairs seemed to be in order.”
A long pause.
“He told me he had some changes in mind. Setting up separate accounts for Curedon once it hit the market. Accounts in his name only. Separate property…as opposed to community property. Naturally, I asked him why.”
Another hesitation.
“Then he just…blurted it out. I was…stunned…repulsed.”
He looked beseechingly at Kent.
“What really disgusted me was his complete…lack of remorse. He told me he was going to drop out for a while to think over who he was. He was planning to do evil in the form of an abomination…and he spoke as if he needed a simple vacation.”
Waterson’s eyes became hot flames.
“He was going to leave her…just like that. Forty years of marriage and suddenly, he was going to desert her. How could he do that?”
Webster said, “Must have pissed you off. Especially since you stuck with your wife through thick and thin.”
“You’d better believe it pissed me off,” Waterson spat. “But that was Azor. An egotist who thought he was God. I couldn’t let him do that to Dolly. At the very least, I had to warn her.”
“So you told her Azor’s plans to drop out,” Martinez said.
“Of course, I told her. She was entitled to know.”
“What’d she say?”
“She was in shock. Utter, complete shock!” Waterson’s lower lip trembled. “I couldn’t stand to see her in such pain. He was going to ruin her life, everything she worked so hard for. Don’t you understand anything!”
“Of course, we understand, Mr. Waterson.” Martinez nodded encouragingly. “Whose idea was it to kill him?”
Waterson was silent.
“Mr. Waterson, whose idea was-”
“I heard you.”
The cops waited for him to continue.
Waterson said, “That was never the plan.”
“Then what was the plan?” Webster asked.
Waterson buried his head in his hands. “What difference does it make? I told her I’d take care of things.” Again, he looked at Kent. “Dear God, what is to become of my damnable soul?”
“You want a lawyer now, Mr. Waterson?”
Waterson didn’t answer.
Kent said, “Let’s give you some representation, sir. Then perhaps I can help you.”
Waterson looked at Kent. “I’m a sixty-three-year-old man. Even if you’d plead it down to life in prison, eligible for parole in twenty…what does that make me…eighty-three? Assuming I can last that long.” His eyes were filled with tears. “I’ve had enough hardship. I think I’d rather die.”
“What about the monsters who killed without remorse?” The DA sat next to Waterson. “Don’t let the real sinners go unpunished. That’s a crime even Jesus could not forgive.”
“What kind of a life do I have in prison?”
“A chance to serve God, sir. A chance to do penance. Do penance here on earth, sir. And Jesus will forgive you. Take you into His bosom and save you from eternal damnation.”