He felt sorry for them for a few minutes, then reminded himself that he was the one being transported for interrogation. He turned to look at Slosser and found Slosser already staring at him. “Do I look different?”
“It’s only been a couple of hours. But to me you look like a guy who’s got himself in trouble.”
“Getting older is trouble. Once you’re over sixty, every day is a gift, but carrying your gift around wears you down. I don’t know if young men would be such heroes if they knew that every bruise can turn into a pain that comes back later, and every twinge just might be the start of a heart attack.”
“I’ve got old age figured out. When I can, I’m going to lie on a beach every day and have drinks with little umbrellas in them every night.” He paused. “That’s what you should have done.”
“You may be right.”
“I know I am,” Slosser said. “But nobody quits while he’s still okay and hasn’t made a big mistake yet.”
“People make mistakes because they’re greedy,” Kapak said. “They never have enough. That’s not me. I just want to get through the rest of my life like I am.”
Slosser said, “Will one of you please read Mr. Kapak his rights?” He turned to Kapak. “Since we’re talking, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Fine.”
Detective Serra, the one Slosser clearly had meant, recited the Miranda warning, speaking slowly and clearly.
When she reached “Do you understand these rights?” Kapak said, “I understand,” then turned to Slosser. “So now what did you want to ask me?”
“I think we can wait the last few minutes until we’re in the station.” He had sensed that Kapak was feeling too confident and comfortable, but now he had reminded him that their conversation would be recorded to be used at some future trial.
The car pulled into the driveway to the underground lot and stopped at the building entrance. Lieutenant Slosser and Detective Serra got out and escorted Kapak into the building.
The smell of floor wax and disinfectant filled Kapak’s nostrils. It was the smell of governments, the smell of the physical power that dragged people in who were dirty or bleeding or vomiting and made them invisible in some cell or interrogation room, and then cleaned up the mess. It was a reminder that the government was big, its surfaces hard and enduring and polished, and that human beings were small, soft, dirty, and weak. Thousands of them could be herded through here and there would be no sign of it, not even a human smell.
They took an elevator upstairs to the corridor that Kapak remembered from his questioning after the fight at the construction site. They conducted Kapak up the hall toward the interrogation room. There were cops coming up and down the hallway, doors that were closed, others that were open. Kapak’s mind tried to make sense of the place, his eyes scanning, passing over each sight. He could tell from Slosser’s manner that he thought he knew something Kapak didn’t. He knew that was not out of the question. The last time he was here, Slosser had known much more than Kapak about the fight at the construction site. He was determined not to underestimate Slosser.
His eyes turned to his right to glance into the next open doorway—the girls. Then he was past the doorway, with no way to turn and walk back to look again and be sure. He kept walking at the same pace as the others. In a moment he was inside the interrogation room, and he was sure. Both of them had been looking in his direction, and his eyes had met theirs for a second, he had seen them recognize him, and then he was looking at the plain dirty wall going by.
He sat at the table in one of the plain, hard chairs and considered the implications. There could be no weapon. He had taken it apart and spread the pieces where they would never be found. There could be no fingerprints, blood, fiber after a fire. He had seen the house and there was nothing left. His footprints and tire tracks were obliterated when the fire trucks arrived. There was nothing that could connect him with the actual killing except the two girls. What were their names?
Ariana. That was the tall one, with the sweet disposition. The other one’s name was like it. Irena. There was something that he had seen and needed to think about. They had been surprised. If they had told what they had seen him do, why would they be surprised to see Kapak here?
Slosser watched Kapak sitting at the table, glaring at the wall. He caught Serra’s eye and nodded slightly. She was behind Kapak, so she could risk a quick half-smile to acknowledge that, yes, Kapak had seen the two girls through the open office door, and the sight of them had eroded his confidence.
Slosser said, “Mr. Kapak. The reason I asked you down here was that I wanted to double-check some things from our earlier conversations and pursue a few others in case there’s something you didn’t mention the first time. All right?”
“Sure.”
“A few minutes ago, Detective Serra read you your rights, including the right to refuse to answer questions and the right to have an attorney present. Would you like us to repeat anything or explain anything?”
“No. Are you arresting me?”
“No, we’re not. We’re just after information at the moment.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s begin with Manuel Rogoso. Last time we spoke, you couldn’t remember ever having heard of him. I wondered if you had placed the name since then.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Any reason. Sometimes if a name makes the news and a witness sees a picture, he comes back to me and says, ‘Oh, yeah. I remember him now.’ Or ‘I didn’t know his full name. People just called him Manny,’ or something. Anything like that happen to you?”
“No.” He was becoming alarmed. The girls must have told Slosser he laundered money for their boss, Rogoso. That was a major crime, a federal crime. All he could do was hope there was no evidence left to prove what they’d said, and that maybe they hadn’t told Slosser that Kapak had done the shooting.
“I’ve talked to a lot of people who used to see Rogoso. They say you knew him well. They say you took his drug money and mixed it with your take from the clubs. Then you would send a check to a fake company Rogoso controlled for some imaginary service—linen or advertising or something.”
“They have the wrong man.”
“They all say they have the right man, and that you had a business relationship with Rogoso for years.”
“What people?” Of course it was the girls. There was nobody else who would know and tell. But maybe they’d had to give Slosser something but resisted giving him everything. Saying they’d been there and seen it would get them in trouble, maybe get them killed.
“Lots of people. Some worked for him, some didn’t.”
Kapak felt better. That’s all it was. The two teenaged girls were all they had. Kapak could go into court and look pretty honest and substantial beside two teenaged drug mules in short skirts and tattoos. “Well, they’re wrong. I never knew him.”
“I think I know what must have happened. He was a mean, violent guy. Everybody agrees on that. He got upset because you got robbed a couple of times, and it made him feel unsafe. He called you in to see him, you argued, and he told his men to kill you. Isn’t that right? And then you killed him in self-defense.”
Kapak smiled and shook his head. “I did all of this last night? I’m sixty-four years old. I don’t go quick-drawing guns and shooting everyone in sight so I’ll be a big hero. I don’t own a gun, and I’m sure you must have checked my record to see if I ever did.”