She'd gone off the Aurora Bridge. Matthews made mental note of the mistake.
"If you wouldn't mind," LaMoia glanced over at Matthews, "it might help to clear this up all the more quickly if I took a look at it, yes."
"Have at it."
Another look between Matthews and LaMoia. LaMoia said, "The lieutenant'll stay here while I go down and check it out."
Neal clearly didn't like the idea. He appeared to weigh the value of dissenting but indicated a hook by the apartment door where a set of keys hung.
"I won't be going into the vehicle," LaMoia corrected. "I won't even be touching it. A cursory, external examination is all."
"Because you don't have a warrant. Are you guys charging me with something?"
"Should we be?"
"Fuck no! I'm just asking what's going on here."
"What's going on," LaMoia replied flatly, "is that I'm going to go out and look at your car while Lieutenant Matthews asks you a few questions." He added, "Do you have any problem with that?"
"No ... problem," he confirmed, reluctantly.
LaMoia left the apartment and Matthews moved around to the same chair in front of the green couch and faced Neal. The man's demeanor changed noticeably, which came as no great surprise to her. Accustomed to controlling women, Neal would believe he could gain the upper hand over Matthews. It occurred to her that she couldn't rule him out as the man watching her from the parking garage. If those kids had lied about the khaki clothing, then anyone could have been up there watching her.
"When was the last time Mary-Ann was in your car, Mr. Neal?"
"What is all this with the car? Why do you have to hassle me? I didn't do anything to Mary-Ann."
"When you say you didn't do anything, exactly what do you mean? Anything of a violent nature, is that it? Because we know you had sexual relations with Mary-Ann-you've already told us about that. You cohabitated here in this apartment," she reminded.
"You argued, at least you implied as much. I need to advise you, Mr. Neal, that we take your answers seriously. They're being written down, and we're assuming you're making every effort to aid us in our investigation. Are you going to tell me now that you never struck Mary-Ann, never threatened her, never abused her in any way or fashion-because when you make a sweeping statement like the one you just made, you force me to reconsider every other answer you've given us."
"I didn't kill her," he said, though he sounded much less convinced, and Matthews made note of the last minute of their exchange. As she was writing he said, "She was in the car all the time. Okay? Maybe not every day, but all the time."
"Did you ever strike her when she was in the car?"
"I'm not saying I ever hit her."
"Do you need for me to repeat the question?" She found herself interested in his ability to pay attention to the questions and identify some of the traps she was trying to lay. Neal was no stranger to such interrogations, if she had to guess. Her colleagues in Special Assaults didn't keep track of the number of times a person was brought in for questioning-but had they, she believed Neal's jacket would be littered with such interviews.
"I never hit her when she was in the car. Never hit her, period."
"Was Mary-Ann ever in an accident in the vehicle?"
"Damn near, the way she drives."
Matthews noted the present-tense answer, wondering at the same time if Neal had yet to fully accept Mary-Ann's death, or if it was merely a slip of the tongue. Guilt and remorse could play tricks on the brain. "Should I repeat the question?"
"No accidents, okay?"
She let the tension in the air settle, like waiting for smoke to clear. "Then you could see no reason, no explanation, for any of Mary-Ann's spilled blood being found in or on your vehicle-this nineteen ninety-two champagne Corolla?"
"Blood?" His eyes went wide and she could feel his chest knot with panic. He was wondering how she'd jumped to this, thinking what he'd overlooked, what she'd led him into.
"It's a simple enough question," she said, "or would you like me to repeat it as well?"
"What's all this about?"
"The question concerns possible explanations for blood found in your-"
"I heard the goddamn question. I asked what it's about."
Neal gave the impression of genuine surprise at her implication they might connect Mary-Ann's blood to his car. She didn't trust this impression, but she took note of it nonetheless. If he could play his girlfriends, then why couldn't he play investigators Guys like Lanny Neal grew accustomed to playing everyone around them to get what they wanted. It made him difficult to read, and she found it even more difficult to trust her own assessments. Domestics-and this had every indication of being just that-usually cleared on a confession or a statement by the guilty party. Some eighty percent of domestic homicides were cleared through confessions to the first officer to arrive on the scene. Lanny Neal was bucking the odds, but it didn't let him off the hook.
LaMoia stepped through the door without knocking. "Hands in plain view, Mr. Neal," he said strongly, approaching the couch. "Keep them on your knees."
Matthews understood immediately where this was headed Neal did, too, for that matter. She stood out of her chair, wishing LaMoia had consulted her first. She'd softened up Neal with her questioning, might have gotten to a confession if LaMoia had given her some time. He then asked Neal to stand and carefully patted him down, searching for weapons. This completed, he delved into the cushions and cracks of the green monster-she didn't envy him that job-brushed his hands off, and set the suspect back down into the couch.
"Are you familiar with court-ordered search warrants?" LaMoia asked Neal.
Matthews wondered if the pat-down had been motivated by real evidence or LaMoia's desire to imply the discovery of real evidence. With LaMoia, one could never tell. She continued to believe she knew where this was headed, though for the first time she began to question from what it had come.
"Yeah."
"I've applied by phone for permission to search and seize your property, Mr. Neal. Specifically, your car. I'm well aware that we already had your verbal permission to inspect the vehicle, but this more formal step is necessary to protect what we call the chain of custody, in terms of evidence collection. Do you understand?"
"Not really. The warrant stuff, sure. But why?"
"I thought you might tell me," LaMoia said. "It could save us all a lot of time."
Matthews told the suspect, "What we were just discussing is of relevance here."
His face reflected a mixture of annoyance, anger, and uncertainty.
"If there's blood in that car, I've got no idea how it got there. None."
Matthews informed LaMoia that they'd just been exploring various possibilities for any such evidence. She dropped the hammer with, "... since we know that Mr. Neal has the only key to the vehicle."
"It's not the only key," he spoke up. His eyes pleaded for understanding. "You asked if Mary-Ann had a key. She didn't. But it wasn't the only key. I've got one of those spare key things inside under the driver-side rear wheel."
This news hit her like a bomb, and she could see it had with LaMoia as well, though he hid it cleverly from Neal, disguising it as a yawn that he covered with his hand. He wanted Neal thinking he was bored. Anything but.
"A second key," LaMoia said.
"Rear wheel, up on the axle. One of those magnetic boxes."
Matthews asked, "And you would expect that key to be in place at the moment?"
"Last time I used that was a good two months ago. It's gotta be there."
"Locked yourself out?" LaMoia asked.
"Over on Forty-fifth. We'd gone to that Thai place ... Vietnamese whatever it is. Mary-Ann's birthday."
"I'm going to check it out," LaMoia informed Matthews. "You okay here?"