A Novel Murder - Episode 10

The confession

Bob and I tried to engage Nick in small talk during our drive downtown but Nick didn’t utter a word. We brought him into the squad bay and read him his rights. We asked him if he needed anything to drink. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’m okay,” he said. Bobby escorted him into one of the windowless interview rooms while I made sure the room’s camera was set to record. Then I walked into the room and sat down across the table from Nick.

Normally I’d ask him basic questions to loosen him up - where he grew up, where he’d gone to school, and so on. I’d point out anything we had in common to disarm his potential defensiveness: “I used to play pop warner football in your neighborhood!” Some interrogation techniques suggest the interviewer volunteer details about their spouse or family as an indicator of trust and to encourage reciprocation. But at this point we were past the preliminaries, so I cut to the chase.

“Tell me what happened that night.”

Nick took a breath, then began: “Stephen was pissed at Roger. He really needed the money. He ran up his tab at the bar, then when we were closing, he told me he didn’t want to be alone and invited me over. You can say that he was on a mission.”

“To get wasted?”

Nick nodded. “He said to bring the box. I didn’t want to because he told I’d knew he’d kicked a while ago. He was staying sober so he could write his book. I was actually happy that he’d made it around the turn - all power to him. But he said he really needed it that night.”

“Did you two use together before?”

“Now and then. He had a baby habit - it came and went. We’d started out smoking but Steve kept pushing for higher highs. Back-jacking was his idea. I don’t like needles. We went back to his place and cooked some.”

“What did you have?”

“A little Chiba. Crank. Some other stuff. Stephen liked his drugs cafeteria style…”

Nick seemed lost in memory. “Then what?” I prompted.

“We were coasting, then he got all amped up and started yelling and stomping around. He kept going on about his damn book. I got tired of it, like he was putting me down because I wasn’t a hot shit writer like him. So on a goof, I picked up a page and read it out loud. He tried grabbing it from my hands but I pushed him away. I told him it sucked. That really set him off. He called me a punk and said he was going to get me fired. So I took his page and wadded it up. I was going to burn it. Steve tackled me. He was going to hit me with that Asian statue but he dropped it. He was on top of me. I reached over and grabbed the statue and hit him.”

“How many times.?”

“One time. He went down to his knees. I saw blood pouring from the cut. That freaked me out - I can’t stand the sight of blood. I tried mopping it up with some paper. Stephen passed out. Then I left. I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Nick went quiet again. He seemed spent. I looked back at Bob with raised eyebrows. He nodded to let me know Nick’s confession was good enough, then got up and pushed a notepad and a pen across the table to Nick. “We need you to write everything out for us, just like you said it.” Nick picked up the pen.

We sat in silence as Nick slowly wrote out the story he’d just told us. I read it over, then handed it to Bob, who glanced at it, then handed it back to Nick. “Sign and date it.” Nick paused like he was about to buy a car, then scrawled his signature on his story.

Later that night, after we’d finished tapping out our reports on our antiquated desktop computers, then checked each other’s printouts for accuracy, Bobby and I stepped onto the street, eager to become reacquainted with the distant memory of our beds. We were both too tired to say much, so we stood in the street-lit mist, watching our exhaled breath float away

I wondered about the kid’s book. I bet it’ll find a publisher in a heartbeat, now that it featured a young dead author. Some agents have all the luck.

Bobby nudged me. “Got a cigarette?”

“I quit. Remember”

Bob, nodded, stretched, and yawned. “I know. Just wishing you hadn’t.”

We had nothing left to say, so we gave each other a glance that said we’d see each other tomorrow, then walked in opposite directions to our cars.