“Let’s give it a try.”
He went to a public phone booth on the corner line of the gas station across the highway. I could see him in the floodlighted booth, talking for a long tune. I could not tell from his dispirited pace as he came back what the answer had been.
He got in beside me and pulled the door shut. “He’s based fifty-five miles from here. In Lime County. He’ll leave in about ten minutes, he said, and bring two of his people. They’ll make good tune. They’ll plan on me opening up one of the circuit court hearing rooms in the courthouse and we’ll meet them there.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Told him I had a nut here that wanted me to help him hide the body of a murder victim.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me why I’d called him, and I told him because I thought maybe the nut had a pretty good idea. So ,he said he’d better come over and listen. I don’t think he’ll buy it.”
“No harm in trying to sell it.”
“Why don’t I just lock you up nice?”
“Because at heart you’re a dandy fellow.”
I blinked the lights and the girl came and got the tray and her money. Stanger checked in and said he was going off shift a little early instead of staying on until midnight. He told them to have the dispatcher tell Lew Nudenbarger. We went down to the courthouse. He located the night man and had him unlock the small hearing room next to the offices of the circuit judge on the second floor, and told him to stay by the side door near the parking lot, as Mr. Gaffner would be coming along.
The countersunk fluorescence shone down on a worn red rug, a mahogany veneer table with ten armchairs aligned around it. The air was close and still, and the room had no windows. Stanger fussed with the thermostat until something clicked and cool air began to circulate. We laid out the various items on the oiled top of the table. The two prescription vials, one partially used. The two-headed bug. The recorder, now with AC line cord plugged in. One blue lizard envelope purse that matched the blue lizard pumps wrapped up with the dead wife of Tom Pike. Holton’s revolver. The pry bar, which could be matched to the forced entry marks on the sliding glass doors and the metal medicine chest.
We waited for Gaffner, with Stanger wearing a tired little smile.
19
BEN GAFFNER sat at the middle of the long table. He directed me to sit opposite him, Stanger at my left. His two men sat at his right and his left. The thin, pale one named Rico was his chief investigator. The round, red one named Lozier was the young attorney who assisted him throughout the circuit.
Gaffner was an orderly man. He arranged in useful order in front of him a yellow legal pad, four sharp yellow pencils, glass ashtray, cigarettes, lighter. Rico had brought along a recorder, a Sony 800. He plugged it in, threaded a new tape, tested it, put the mike on top of a book in the center of the table, tested it again, changed the pickup volume, and nodded at Gaffner.
Only then did Gaffner look directly at me. The tape reels turned at slow speed. He had a moon face and his small and delicate features were all clustered in the center of the moon. His hair was cropped close except for a wiry tuft of gray on the top near the front, like a handful of steel wool. His eyes were an odd shade of yellow, and he could hold them on you without shifting them or blinking them or showing any expression. It was effective.
“Your name?” he said finally. Uninflected. No accent, no clue to area of origin. Name, age, address, occupation, marital status, local address.
“It is my understanding that you are making a voluntary confession, Mr. McGee. I must warn you that–”
“I am aware of my rights regarding self-incrimination, remaining silent, right to counsel, and so forth, Mr. Gaffner. I waive them freely and voluntarily, with no threats, promises, or coercion on your part.”