Merrick ’s hands had been cuffed, and the cuffs had in turn been chained through a D-ring on the table. He had been given a soda to drink from the machine beside the evidence technician’s office, but he hadn’t touched it. While the room didn’t have a two-way mirror, we were able to watch him on the computer monitor in a partitioned office close by the interview room. We weren’t alone. Although the alcove was big enough for four people at best, almost three times that number were crowded around the screen, trying to catch a glimpse of their new guest.
Detective Sergeant Wallace MacArthur was one of them. I knew him from way back. Through Rachel, I’d introduced him to his wife, Mary. In a way, I had nearly been responsible for her death, too, but Wallace had never held that against me, which was pretty Christian of him, all things considered.
“Not often we get a living legend in here,” he said. “Even the Feds have joined us.”
He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door, where Pender, the new SAC of the small Portland field office, was talking with a man whom I didn’t recognize but whom I took to be another agent. I had been introduced to Pender once at some policeman’s benefit in Portland. As far as the Feds went, he seemed okay. Pender nodded to me. I nodded back. At least he hadn’t tried to have me thrown out, which was reason to be thankful.
MacArthur shook his head in something like admiration. “ Merrick ’s old school,” he said. “They don’t make ’em like him anymore.”
O’Rourke grinned emptily. “Yeah, what have we come to when we can look at someone like him and think, hell, he’s not so bad? He just popped them, neatly and cleanly. No torture. No women. No kids. Just men that somebody figured had it coming.”
Merrick kept his head down. He did not look up at the camera even though he must have known that we were watching him.
Two Scarborough detectives entered the room, a beefy guy named Conlough and a woman named Frederickson, who had made the formal arrest at the Big 20. As soon as they began to question him, Merrick, contrary to expectations, looked up and answered them in soft, civil tones. It was almost as though he felt the need to justify and defend himself. Perhaps he was right. He had lost his daughter. He had the right to ask where she might be.
Conlough: What’s your interest in Rebecca Clay?
Merrick: None, beyond who her daddy is.
C: What’s her father to you?
M: He treated my little girl. Now she’s gone. I want to find out where she is.
C: You think you can do that by threatening a woman? Real big guy, huh, stalking a defenseless woman?
M: I didn’t threaten anyone. I didn’t stalk anyone. I just wanted to ask her some questions.
C: So you do that by trying to bust into her house, breaking her window?
M: I didn’t try to bust into her house, and the window was an accident. I’ll pay for the damage
C: Who put you up to this?
M: Nobody. I don’t need no one to tell me that what happened ain’t right.
C: What’s not right?
M: That my daughter could disappear and nobody give a rat’s ass about finding her.
Frederickson: Maybe your daughter ran away. From what we hear, she was having problems.
M: I told her I’d look out for her. She had no cause to run away.
C: You were in jail. How were you going to look out for her from a cell?
M: (silent)
F: Who gave you the car?
M: A lawyer.
F: Which lawyer?
M: The lawyer Eldritch, down in Massachusetts.
F: Why?
M: He’s a good man. He thinks I got the right to ask questions. He got me out of trouble in Virginia, then helped me when I came back up here.
C: So he gives you a car out of the goodness of his heart. What is he, St. Vincent de Paul’s lawyer?
M: Maybe you should ask him.
C: Don’t worry, we will.
“We’ll talk to the lawyer,” said O’Rourke.
“You won’t get much from him,” I said.
“You’ve met him?”
“Oh yeah. He’s old-school too.”
“How old?”
“So old they built the school out of wattle and daub.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Pretty much what Merrick just said.”
“You believe him?”
“That he’s a good guy who gives away cars to deserving causes? No. Still, he said that Merrick had been one of his clients, and there’s no law against loaning a car to your client.”
I didn’t tell O’Rourke that Eldritch had another client, one who seemed to be covering Merrick ’s tab. I figured he could find that out for himself.
A call came through from the evidence technician. Merrick ’s car was clean. There were no weapons, no incriminating papers, nothing. Frederickson emerged from the interview room to consult with O’Rourke and the FBI man, Pender. The man who had been talking with Pender listened in, but said nothing. His eyes flicked to me, regarded me for a moment, then returned to Frederickson. I didn’t like what passed between us with that look. O’Rourke asked me if there was anything that I thought we should put to Merrick. I suggested asking him if he was working alone, or if he had brought other men with him. O’Rourke seemed puzzled, but agreed to suggest the question to Frederickson.
F: Ms. Clay has taken out a court order against you. Do you understand what that means?
M: I understand. It means I can’t go near her no more, else you put my ass back in jail.
F: That’s right. You going to abide by that order? You don’t plan to, and you can save us all some time right now
M: I’ll abide by it.
C: Maybe you’ll think about leaving the state too. We’d like you to do that.
M: I can’t promise nothing on that front. I’m a free man. I done my time. Got a right to go where I choose.
C: That include hanging around houses up in Falmouth?
M: I ain’t never been to Falmouth. Hear it’s real nice, though. I like being by the water.
C: Car like yours was seen around there last night.
M: Lots of cars like mine. Red is a real popular color.
C: Nobody said it was a red car.
M: (silent)
C: You hear me? How come you knew it was a red car?
M: Car like mine, what else would it be? If ’n it was a blue car, or a green car, then it wouldn’t be like mine. Have to be a red car to be like mine, just the way you said it.
F: You loan your car out to other people, Mr. Merrick?
M: No, I don’t.
F: So if we find out that it was your car-and we can do that, you know; we can take casts, canvass witnesses-then it would have to be you behind the wheel, right?
M: I guess so, but since I wasn’t there, it’s moot.
F: Moot?
M: Yeah, you know what “moot” means, Officer. Don’t need me to explain it to you.
F: Who are the other men with you?
M: (confused) Other men? The hell you talking about?
F: We know you’re not here alone. Who did you bring with you? Who’s helping you? You’re not doing all this without others.
M: I always work alone.
C: And what kind of work would that be?
M: (smiling) Problem solving. I’m a lateral thinker.
C: You know, I don’t think you’re being as cooperative as you should be.
M: I’m answering your questions, ain’t I?
F: Maybe you’ll answer them better after a couple of nights in jail.
M: You can’t do that.
C: Are you telling us what we can and can’t do? Listen, you may have been a big shot once upon a time, but that doesn’t count for anything up here.
M: You got no more cause to hold me. I told you I’d abide by that order.
F: We think you need some time to reflect on what you’ve been doing, to, uh, meditate on your sins.
M: I’m done talking to you. I want to call me a lawyer.
That was it. The interrogation was over. Merrick was given access to a phone. He called Eldritch who, it emerged, had taken the Maine bar exam, along with its equivalents in New Hampshire and Vermont. He told Merrick not to answer any more questions, and arrangements were made to transfer Merrick to the Cumberland County Jail, since Scarborough no longer had holding cells of its own.