Bite Me dh-3 Page 9

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  He smelled slightly of the bourbons he’d had for lunch. At two in the afternoon he needed a shave. His grey suit looked like he’d slept in it and as he leered over each provocative photo of Kiki naked, tied to the bed, and lewdly exposed he raised his eyebrows and gave a quick smirk. My new court appointed attorney, Louis Laufen, Louie the Lout.

  “Wow, busy night, man. She’s a real looker, I’ll give you that much,” he said setting the stack of photos down.

  “Yeah, Mister Laufen, your colleague, Daphne Cochrane, had me convicted based on those,” I said.

  We were in the same interrogation room where I’d met with my former, death penalty, court appointed public defender, yesterday morning. The room was still dingy and still smelled bad.

  “Call me Louie. No doubt Daft can have an edge to her. In her defense, she deals with a lot of shit, a lot of jerks, and you can’t really blame her for ending up getting a little jaded. She’s smart, though.”

  “Well the reason you’re here is she had me convicted before we even went to trial. I didn’t do this shit, any of it.”

  “Yeah, well pretty strong evidence, here. I’m still waiting on the toxicology report, already a day late. Tell me your version, again.”

  I was already further in the game with Louie on my side after only thirty minutes. He may have smelled like bourbon and looked like shit, but maybe that made us kindred spirits. At least he displayed a passing interest in my explanation. The only problem was I didn’t have much of an explanation.

  I started in anyway, told him about Kiki and the knife. I told him about getting hired by K-R-A-Z, based on her passing comment to her brother. Then I told him about the press conference shooting. I continued on, including the spray paint and my ill advised hiring of Gary Hobson, how he passed out after drinking a fifth of Kiki’s gin. I finished up with me painting the wall and then going back to her house with bottles of Blue Sapphire and Jameson. He nodded, made the occasional note on a legal pad and glanced from time to time at the top photo, Kiki naked, tied, gagged, and sporting that black eye. I finished up my love story with getting tasered, cuffed and arrested by the cops in her bathroom.

  “And you don’t have any recollection of the night, nothing?”

  “Not a thing, other than Kiki continually keeping my glass full, I think she poured a total of three drinks for me, at least that I remember, Jameson.”

  “Water?”

  “No, just a couple of ice cubes.”

  “That’s how I’d take it,” Louie said absently, then pushed the top photo over and stared at the next one.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “it was going to be a long night, we had sex, skipped dinner, more sex. Next thing I know, I wake up tied to the bed with the mother of all hangovers. I’m still trying to shake the headache.”

  “Still?’

  “Yeah.”

  “That typical?”

  “No, I’ve had some bad hangovers, but forty-eight hours later and still suffering? No, never.”

  He made a note, then drummed his pen on the legal pad and seemed to be in deep thought.

  “Big black space where the night should be?” he asked.

  “Yeah, literally, no recollection.”

  “Classic symptoms of date rape. Sounds like someone fed you Roofies, or some kind of shit, a pretty healthy serving. You take anything, ecstasy, whites, CFM’s?”

  “I hardly even know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t do drugs, at all.”

  “I guess we’ll see when that toxicology report gets in. Tell me about this,” he said flicking through the photos and pushing one my way. It was Kiki, wrists tied to the bed and half rolled over on her side, clearly displaying a large reddish-purple bite mark on her ass. Along with her wrists tied, she had the leopard print gag stuffed in her mouth and a wild-eyed look on her face.

  “Not much to tell. I don’t recall taking the photo or anything. I told that attorney, Daphne, all this yesterday, in fact I didn’t even know my phone took photos. Christ, I just make phone calls on the damn thing. Hey, I’m a guy, I even hate to text, not that I’m any good at it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Louie said absently. “So, you’ve never taken photos with it before, your phone?”

  “Never. I didn’t know the thing could do that.”

  “The bite mark, that a usual or sometimes deal you’re into?”

  “You mean bite her on the ass?”

  “Yeah, her or any other partners for that matter.”

  “No, not that I recall. I gotta be honest, I’m not into the whole pain thing. I’ve met some kinky gals in my day. But none of that, the pain deal never really turned my crank, you know?”

  “And you state you didn’t know she was married to Thompson Barkwell over at K-R-A-Z the same fellow who hired and then fired you?” He asked flipping to another sheet of paper.

  “Hired, fired and stiffed me on a part of my fee. No, I had no idea. I knew she was Farrell’s sister. In fact, she sort of gave them my name. They hired me for a couple of days, then got these idiotic, overweight, right wing nit-wits working for them and let me go.”

  “So you were screwing the boss’s wife, right?”

  “I never knew she was married to the guy. In fact I had been with her before I ever knew her brother or Thompson Barkwell even existed. I saw her in the office once or twice, K-R-A-Z. She never mentioned she was married, never did or said anything that I picked up on. First I heard of it was when one of the cops referred to her as Misses Barkwell, then that attorney Daphne mentioned it yesterday.”

  “Yeah, Daft,” he said absently and drummed his pen some more on the legal pad.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So, let me be honest, right now it looks like you’re in pretty deep shit. But, things change. I don’t want you talking to anyone, unless I’m at your side. No one in the cell, no one in here, no one, anywhere. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Someone asks you how you want your eggs for breakfast you don’t answer unless I tell you. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “I mean it, the least little thing you say, can and will be used against you. Sound familiar?”

  I nodded.

  “I’d say you were drugged. It’s got all the symptoms. I don’t know why? If it’s a set up, why? It’s not like you got funds they can blackmail you for, right?”

  “Right, I don’t have any funds.”

  “No Swiss bank accounts anything like that?”

  “You kidding? I got three ex-wives who bleed me dry, a car that is in constant need of repair, a house I’m always late with the mortgage payment, and…”

  “I get it. Three ex-wives, you’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Okay, toxicology report is our next step. Oh, I want to get a dental impression from you, too. I’ll send someone over later today.”

  “A dental impression?”

  He slid the image over of a bound and gagged Kiki with the bite mark on her ass.

  “I got a funny feeling we blow that up, get some forensic geek to look at it and compare it to your dental impression we might just find it ain’t you.”

  “But then who did it?”

  “Well, we know she didn’t, you don’t think you did it. Who? That’s kind of the sixty thousand dollar question. That, and why in the hell you’re being set up? You involved in any other work? Another client that’s snakey or would rub this K-R-A-Z bunch the wrong way?”

  “No, no one, and even if I was, I don’t know how they would possibly know about it.”

  “Okay, well, as long as nothing else goes wrong, lets look at this as rock bottom and we’ll begin to climb our way out of the hole. Deal?”

  “Yeah, Louie, thanks for believing me.”

  There was a knock on the door, followed immediately by Detective Norris Manning, red faced, tie undone, striding in and looking very business like. My favorite arresting officer, Dixon
Heller, the detective sergeant who wore the ill fitting brown suit at Kiki’s house followed behind him. This afternoon he wore an ill fitting light blue suit. My friend Aaron LaZelle, brought up the rear and looked very tired.

  Manning stared at me with ice cold, blue eyes and attacked a piece of gum with his front teeth.

  “Devlin Haskell, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Mister Thompson Barkwell. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will…”

  I’d heard it all before, or most of it, the reading me my rights part. But, the Thompson Barkwell murder charge came out of left field.

  “Don’t say a thing,” Louie commanded.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  At least with the murder charge I was guaranteed a cell all to myself. Not that it improved my sleep. The following afternoon we were on the fifth floor, in my favorite interrogation room. Detectives Manning, Heller and LaZelle seated across from me and my estimable attorney, Louie Laufen, dutifully at my side. Louie had to be wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.

  We’d been in the interrogation room for quite some time. Long enough for me to determine the city of St. Paul must have cornered the market on grey paint and the lowest bidder had won the contract for the air filtration system. The overhead fluorescent light flickered in perfect time to my throbbing headache.

  “And you have no recollection of driving to Mister Barkwell’s home?” Manning asked for the umpteenth time.

  I looked at Louie, just like I’d done all morning and most of this afternoon, before I answered.

  Louie gave a slight nod.

  “Look, I’ve told you guys a thousand times before. I have no recollection of the night. I sort of remember, maybe, a third drink, then it’s pretty blank up until the time your goons tasered me in the bathroom.”

  “I think my client, Mister Haskell, has been fairly consistent on this point, he simply does not recall anything from the night in question,” Louie added.

  “Pretty convenient,” Heller quipped, he’d been acting the part of the bad cop for the past few hours.

  “Look, if I could remember anything I’d tell you,” I pleaded.

  They sat stone faced and stared back at me.

  “I’ve no idea where Barkwell even lives.”

  “And yet we have a 911 call reporting a red 1995, Cadillac DeVille, weaving across the center lane shortly after three in the morning, not four blocks from Thompson Barkwell’s home. Amazingly, you drive a red 1995, Cadillac DeVille, don’t you?” Heller asked.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “My car’s more of a burgundy.”

  “Oh.”

  “Broken left tail light?”

  “No, it just shorts out once in a while.”

  “So it might have at least appeared to be broken, even if it was only a short?” Heller asked.

  Louie shook his head.

  “Possibly,” I felt on pretty solid ground.

  “Blue door on the passenger side?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess so.”

  “You guess so. Surprise, surprise, a vehicle very similar to yours is spotted in the vicinity at close to the approximate time of death. And, the following day we find Thompson Barkwell beaten to death in the basement of his home with your invoice stuffed in his mouth,” Heller said.

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “You’d expressed to me personally, the day we met in the K-R-A-Z offices that you were expecting some difficulty in getting paid, isn’t that correct?” Manning jumped in.

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I think you suggested you weren’t happy about having some sort of board review your invoice, is that correct?”

  “No, well, what I meant was…”

  “Don’t answer that,” Louie said.

  “The board was going to review my invoice and I didn’t want to wait for a month before the board met, that’s all. I wasn’t worried about getting approved, just the time frame,” I thought my explanation sounded reasonable.

  “So you thought you’d go over after a few drinks and get the check, right?”

  “No.”

  “You were pretty upset when Thompson Barkwell gave you the check, weren’t you?” Heller again.

  “No.”

  “Did you assault him?” Heller asked.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t assault anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know a Matthias C. Hogue?” Manning jumped in.

  “No.”

  “He claims you assaulted him, during your meeting when Thompson Barkwell paid your invoice.”

  “Don’t answer that,” Louie said.

  “Bullshit. I didn’t assault… Wait, you don’t mean that fool in the camouflage? The little fat guy? He had a gun for Christ sake, I just disarmed him is all.”

  “And threatened Mister Hogue and Mister Barkwell?”

  “Don’t answer that?” Louie said.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t point your hand like a pistol and shoot Mister Hogue and Mister Barkwell, in fact make to shoot Barkwell twice?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Louie said.

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t a threat, it was a warning.”

  “A warning?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Gentlemen, might we take a brief moment, I’d like to confer with my client,” Louie said, sounding frustrated.

  Heller exhaled loudly then nodded, got up from the table and walked out. Manning and Aaron followed. Aaron looked at me on the way out and shook his head. As soon as they were out of the room Louie glared at me and said, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I thought…”

  “Don’t think. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve managed to find some even thinner ice and push us out onto it. Jesus Christ will you Shut. The. Hell. Up. Dev. You are not helping.”

  “But I…”

  “No, just shut up.” He glanced at his watch, “it’s almost five, I’m calling it quits for the day. Remember what I told you, someone asks you how you want your eggs done you don’t answer unless I tell you what to say, got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Good, now not another word, it’s only the rest of your life we’re dealing with here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Despite the luxurious private cell and paper thin pad for a mattress I didn’t sleep worth a damn. We were back at it by ten the following morning, in same room, with the same flickering light, only I think the place smelled a little worse.

  Louie threatened to strangle me if I said one word without his express approval. I’d been responding to the same questions for the past couple of hours, only this time with one word answers after the okay from Louie. Aaron wasn’t with us, but Heller seemed to have more than enough fire in his belly to pick up any slack.

  “So, you know, I was thinking last night. How do you guess a great looking woman like Kiki ended up with a fat load like Thompson Barkwell?” Heller sort of glanced around the room, today we were all just pals talking.

  “No wonder she was attracted to you, right?” he said.

  I didn’t respond.

  “So then I got to wondering, when you went over to Barkwell’s the other night it’s amazing you didn’t get stopped for speeding. I mean good looking woman like that, tied to the bed just waiting for you. Must have been tough to even leave, right?”

  I stared straight faced.

  “You drive over there on Snelling or did you take Hamline, you know and avoid the construction?”

  “I don’t think my client was able to take either route actually, Detective Heller. While I understand you’ve got some serious problems on your hands, the murder of Thompson Barkwell and the supposed rape of his estranged wife, I’m sure you received the same report I finally got this morning. Mister Haskell’s toxicology results? You did receive the report didn’t you?” Louie asked, and then pulled a manila folder out
of his briefcase.

  He lowered his head and made a show of pulling his reading glasses down slightly, then peered over the top across the table at Heller and Manning.

  Heller nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “If I might bring your attention to page three, paragraph two, of the toxicology report gentlemen. This is the analytical report regarding Mister Haskell’s urinalysis and blood workup.”

  Heller and Manning suddenly appeared crestfallen. Heller thumbed through his file until he brought out four or five pages stapled together in the upper left corner.

  “Good,” Louie smiled coldly. “If you’d care to follow from the second sentence as I read.” He cleared his throat then began, “detection of sufficient quantity of flunitrazepam with the resulting effect of profound intoxication, an inability to remember events, possible amnesia, and excessive sedation. Other adverse effects include gastrointestinal disturbances lasting twelve hours or more. Gentlemen, someone fed my client Ecstasy and Roofies,” Louie said and casually tossed his copy of the toxicology report on the table.

  “I’m afraid that sounds just a little too convenient,” Heller stammered.

  “Look you’ve pounded on my client for almost three days here. Mister Haskell can’t remember a thing. Your own report indicates he was so severely drugged he was incapable of functioning. Let’s face it, he’s been set up. If I were you, I’d be out there looking to find out who and why?”

  Amazingly, Louie seemed to have taken the wind out of their sails and they never got it back. I was back in my private cell by three that afternoon. About three-thirty, Louie and a sheriff’s deputy escorted a young woman to my cell. Although I couldn’t see them I could hear their approach based on all the whistles and cat calls.

  “Dev, Amanda Nguyen, Amanda, Dev Haskell,” Louie introduced her through the window in the steel door. The sheriff’s deputy gave a nod back down the corridor to the central area so they would open my cell door. It was all computerized and the door opened electronically.