Eight In The Box Part 21

"Negroid characteristics? So he's black?" Mooney asked.

"Probably. But not necessarily. I've seen white men with Negroid-characteristic hair, but it's rare."

"What about red hair with those characteristics?" Mooney asked, glancing over at Alves. "Is someone with that kind of hair more likely to be black or white?"

"I can't tell you anything for sure, but if I had to guess, and I'm doing a lot of guessing here, more than I'm comfortable with, I'd say he's a black male. But a very distinctive black male. Judging by the color of his hair-and there were no dyes used on the hair-he's probably light-skinned black. But the thing that makes him so distinctive is that hair. Very few black men have the red hair that our perpetrator does."

Mooney and Alves looked at each other. They were clearly both thinking the same thing as they got up from their chairs. Mooney was reaching for the phone to hang it up. "Thanks, Eunice," he said. "We have someone we need to speak with."

Alves turned to Mooney. "I know who you have in mind, but he doesn't fit your profile, Sarge. He doesn't fit anyone's profile. He's not a white male."

"Angel, he's one of the whitest black guys I've ever met. I don't care what the actual color of his skin is. That kid is a wealthy, white, privileged aristocrat in a black man's skin. He fits the profile perfectly."

CHAPTER 79.

Connie stepped back into the conference room. "Connie, we have a few more questions before we interview some other people," Mooney said. few more questions before we interview some other people," Mooney said.

"I'm not sure if I want to keep talking. I don't like being considered a suspect," Connie said.

"You're not a suspect. But we have to treat everyone the same if we're going to get to the truth."

"It's hard when two guys you know and respect come to interrogate you for a murder."

"We can't spend any time crying about hurt feelings," Mooney said. "Connie, I need you to think back to your trial last week, the one where Linda Bagwell sat on your jury. Do you remember the trial?"

"Of course."

"Who watched the trial?"

"Just the usual people. Judge Samuels was presiding. Curtis Johnson was the court officer. I forget who the clerk was that day, but it should be listed on the court docket."

"I need you to think carefully about this. Do you remember who may have been in the audience watching the trial?"

"Yeah, I think the defendant's mother, sister and girlfriend were there trying to get sympathy points for the defendant." Connie took his time, thinking before he spoke.

"Was anyone from your office there during the trial?"

"We always watch one another's trials if we have the time. I'm sure Liz popped in and maybe Brendan and one of our interns. Oh, and Mitch sat in for that trial. He watches most of my trials."

"Most of your trials?" Mooney asked.

"If he could, he'd be there from the first word of my opening until the last word of my closing. I have more experience so he likes to watch me. He mimics what I do in his own trials. And it's working. He's won his last few."

"He may be doing more than just watching you to learn trial techniques," Mooney said. "He might actually be obsessed with your jurors."

"What are you talking about?" Connie asked, incredulous. "Are you crazy? You think Mitch killed those people? That makes no sense. He couldn't hurt anyone."

"Judging by the evidence against him, I'd say Mitch has been hurting people for some time now," Mooney said. "You wouldn't happen to know what type of sneakers he owns, would you?"

"I don't know," Connie said. "Why?"

"Think, Connie," Alves said. Connie recognized the desperation in Alves's voice. He wanted wanted Connie to know the answer. "What does he wear to the gym?" Connie to know the answer. "What does he wear to the gym?"

"He wears New Balance when we work out," Connie said, a tone of disgust that the detectives could even suspect his good friend in his voice.

"How do you know they're New Balance?" Mooney asked.

"I was with him when he bought them," Connie said. "I took him to the factory store in Brighton awhile back. I didn't find anything, but he got a pair of cross trainers."

"Thanks, Connie," Mooney said. "Do you know where he is?"

"I think he's back at his desk. You want me to get him so you can clear this up? I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."

"That's all right. Angel can get him. Why don't you hang around, though, in case we need you?"

"I'll be at my desk."

CHAPTER 80.

"Look, I don't know about anyone getting killed," Mitch Beaulieu said. He was unsettled by the detectives' questions. "Just because I broke up with my girlfriend doesn't mean I'm a killer. Not that it's any of your business, but I'm seeing someone else." said. He was unsettled by the detectives' questions. "Just because I broke up with my girlfriend doesn't mean I'm a killer. Not that it's any of your business, but I'm seeing someone else."

"That's convenient," Alves said. "What about your obsession with Connie's trials?"

"What obsession? So what if I watch Connie's trials? Everyone watches him-he's one of the best lawyers in the office. We watch him so we can become better trial lawyers."

"What about the condoms?" Alves asked.

"The condoms? Are you kidding me? What does that prove?"

"We're reasonable men, Mitch," Mooney said. "So, if there's a reasonable explanation for all of this, we're willing to consider it. We're just trying to get to the truth, and the evidence seems to point in your direction. We're giving you a chance to tell your side of the story."

"There's no story to tell." He was having a hard time keeping his hands still. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"We're getting nowhere with this," Mooney said. "Mitch, you don't mind if Connie joins us, do you?"

"I could use an ally in here."

"Angel, could you get him?"

The detectives had been grilling him for over an hour. At first it all seemed like a bad joke. But with each new volley of questions he felt himself more deeply implicated. A wave of panic began to surge through him.

Mitch wasn't so much concerned that the two detectives believed he was a murderer. What worried him was the evidence suggesting his guilt. Even though it was circ.u.mstantial, the evidence would make it impossible for an objective listener, a juror, to believe in his innocence.

As he waited for Alves to return with Connie, Mitch started to second-guess his decision to speak with the detectives. He knew that he shouldn't be talking with them. He was, after all, a lawyer. And the best advice a lawyer can give a client being questioned by the police is to shut up. You have the right to remain silent, so shut your trap. You have the right to remain silent, so shut your trap. When the conversation began they'd even read Mitch his Miranda rights. And still he chose to talk. What an idiot. But why shouldn't he talk? If he chose not to talk he'd have looked guilty. But the more he talked, the more he realized how much evidence they'd developed against him. At least with Connie joining them, he'd have a friend in the room. When the conversation began they'd even read Mitch his Miranda rights. And still he chose to talk. What an idiot. But why shouldn't he talk? If he chose not to talk he'd have looked guilty. But the more he talked, the more he realized how much evidence they'd developed against him. At least with Connie joining them, he'd have a friend in the room.

CHAPTER 81.

Connie followed Alves into the conference room. The room where they had had so many good times with lively lunchtime discussions about restaurants, movies and philosophies of life seemed different. Now it was an interrogation room. Connie at least knew how to conduct himself during an interrogation. Mitch was falling apart. The features of Mitch's face seemed to be collapsing in, and Connie knew he was about to start crying. His skin was ashen and his eyes were pleading. But Connie couldn't help him. Mitch was on his own. they had had so many good times with lively lunchtime discussions about restaurants, movies and philosophies of life seemed different. Now it was an interrogation room. Connie at least knew how to conduct himself during an interrogation. Mitch was falling apart. The features of Mitch's face seemed to be collapsing in, and Connie knew he was about to start crying. His skin was ashen and his eyes were pleading. But Connie couldn't help him. Mitch was on his own.

"Now, Mitch," Sergeant Mooney began before Mitch had a chance to speak, "the reason I invited Connie in here is to prove to you that Detective Alves and I aren't out to get you. We know that you and Connie are close friends. Connie will look out for your best interests. Do you agree?"

"Yes, but he's not really my my lawyer. He still represents the Commonwealth." lawyer. He still represents the Commonwealth."

"Agreed," Mooney said. "But are you confident that he'll protect your interests?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because what I'm going to do now is lay out all the evidence we have that points to you. I'm going to do this with Connie in the room as an objective listener. I think you even referred to him as one of the best lawyers in this court. I don't ordinarily do this, but I'm going to do it as a professional courtesy to you, not only because you're a prosecutor, but also because I trust Connie's judgment. He insists there's no way you could've been involved in any of these crimes."

"Thanks, Connie," Mitch said.

"After I lay out all of these facts for you, as a professional courtesy, I'm going to give you a chance to tell your side. At least help us to explain the evidence. If, at that time, you choose not to talk, all bets are off and we'll follow the evidence where it leads. If it leads us to your arrest, conviction and incarceration, then so be it. Are we clear on that?"

Connie nodded to Mitch, letting him know that it was all right to talk. "Yes," Mitch said in a barely audible whisper. He was clearly terrified by the gravity of the situation.

"Let's begin. Over the past six months or so, five women and one man who sat on juries in this court have disappeared, leaving bathtubs full of their own blood, so much blood that they're presumed to be dead even though their bodies have never been found. A sixth woman also sat on a jury and disappeared last September. Each of these people sat on cases that Connie prosecuted. And you spend a good amount of time watching Connie's trials, correct?"

"So do a bunch of other people. The same court officers always take care of the jurors. They have access to all the jury questionnaires that I've never seen. I don't know anything about these people. I don't know their names, where they lived, where they worked."

"But you do take the T to and from work every day?" Mooney asked. "Each of these murdered jurors also took public transportation to the courthouse, didn't they?"

"How would I know?" Mitch asked. "I don't know how people get to and from the courthouse."

"I'm telling you right now, Mitch, that every one of these people took the T into Dudley Square to perform their civic duty. And you want us to believe that you never b.u.mped into any of them on the bus or the train?"

"I don't know. I may have. But I never pay attention to the jurors. When I'm in a courtroom watching one of Connie's trials, I'm focused on Connie, not studying the jurors."

"Did you just say that you watch Connie so that you can become a better trial lawyer, yet you don't study the jurors?" Mooney asked.

Mitch nodded his head.

"Let me tell you something that you may not realize I'm aware of," Mooney said. "Anyone who's ever spoken to Connie about trying cases knows that he believes jury selection is the most important part of the trial. So there'd be nothing more important than studying the makeup of the jury. Seeing how old they are, what they do for a living, what neighborhood they live in. These are the most important lessons you'd learn from Connie. You're heading down the wrong path if you're going to start lying to me, Mitch. You don't want to do that."

Connie didn't say a word. He was trying to give Mitch a chance to explain. But now he'd been caught in a lie. Connie knew Mitch had lied because he was afraid, but that wasn't how the detectives would see it. To the detectives it showed his consciousness of guilt.

Connie watched as Mitch's eyes glanced to the right as he tried to come up with an explanation. Connie had taken part in a course on the Reid method of criminal interviews and interrogation run by the National DAs a.s.sociation. Most people's eyes drifted to the left when they were recalling something that actually happened. Their eyes moved to the right when creating "a fact" that never actually occurred. These were subconscious movements. Mitch's glance to the right didn't escape Mooney's keen eye either.

"Sarge, I didn't mean it like that," Mitch said. "I didn't pay much attention to how they looked. I'd notice their s.e.x, their race, things like that, but it wasn't as if I sat there and studied their faces so I'd recognize them outside the courtroom. I never did that. You have to believe me."

The three men stared at him blankly. Connie looked at Mitch as though he didn't even recognize him, as if he weren't the Mitchum Beaulieu that he'd known and worked with. That the friend he'd had in Mitch Beaulieu had grievously disappointed him. Connie could see that the look he gave Mitch hurt him more than any of the questions thrown at him by the detectives.

"Let's say I believe you didn't get a good look at any of the victims. And let's say I believe you never ran into them on the T. Should I then ignore that one of your co-workers has recently disappeared, possibly because he knew too much?"

"Wait a minute," Mitch said, finally indignant. "Are you suggesting that I killed Nick?"

"Who said Nick was dead?" Mooney asked coldly. "Do you know something we don't?"

"I don't know anything. You're the one acting like Nick's dead."

"Is he?"

"I don't know." Mitch sank deeper into his chair.

"Come on, Mitch," Mooney said. "Let it out. You'll feel much better not having all these secrets bottled up inside you."

"This is ridiculous." Mitch was angry again. "Nick was my friend. Sure, I worked late with him last week, but so did Connie. He and Connie were still here when I left, and Nick was alive and well. And you said yourself that the victims all sat on Connie's juries. Why are you coming after me?"

"Hey, what the f.u.c.k?" Connie said. "Why are you throwing me under the bus? I'm trying to help you out. If you want, I'll leave you here on your own." Connie stood up.

"I'm sorry, Connie. I wasn't suggesting you did anything wrong. I'm not trying to get you in any trouble. Please don't leave."

Mooney watched Mitch carefully as Connie settled back in his chair. Connie could see Mooney preparing to hit Mitch with another round of questions. He wasn't going to let up on him. Mooney probably figured Mitch was about to give it up.

"Mitch," Mooney said. "I realize this is difficult, but there's more evidence that points to you. I told you about the condom we found at the crime scene this morning? It was a Sentinel brand with a spermicidal lubricant. That is the brand you use, isn't it?"

"So what? It's a G.o.dd.a.m.n condom that they sell in every CVS, Walgreens and Seven-Eleven."

"And it's also the condom you use. Do you have any with you, Mitch?"

"No I don't have any with me. I'm at work. Why the h.e.l.l am I going to bring condoms to work? They're at my apartment."

"Really? No luck with the ladies lately?" Alves joined the conversation. "Don't women just p.i.s.s you off sometimes? A good-looking guy like you and no one wants to take you home for the night. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Who says I haven't been lucky?"

"Let me finish," Mooney said. "We found a shoe print in the dirt at one of the murder scenes. The print was left by a New Balance sneaker. Do you own a pair of sneakers, Mitch?"